Chris Gethard

Anyone who's ever been around an emergency in Manhattan realizes that there are plainclothes officers on these streets walking past us more than we ever realize.

I will never forget what happened on August 14, 2003. I know the exact sequence of where I was for every moment of that evening. It was a tragic day, and it's burned into my memory. Many people might remember that date, vaguely, as the date of the infamous eastern seaboard blackout that plunged all of New York City into darkness.

I'm a dummy from New Jersey.

In 2002, I was taking an improv class because, as a white male with glasses who was born between 1978 and 1994, it's legally required that I take at least one improv class in my life.

No one in New York hangs out in their apartments.

If you are dating someone in New York City, and they invite you over to watch a movie, they don't really want to watch a movie.

When I really have it together, I think I successfully pull off looking like the exact middle point between Macklemore and Ron Howard, only with a much bigger forehead than either of them.

I don't think I'm ugly per se, but on bad days, I have been told that I look like the monster from 'The Hills Have Eyes.' That was extremely confidence-shattering, so I try to take care of myself.

I'm not exactly Don Draper when it comes to physical attractiveness.

I classify myself as a comedian, but I'm one of those comedians who also acts so that I can split the difference and feel insecure about both.

I do not like confrontations in New York City.

Anyone who lives in N.Y.C. will tell you that getting into a confrontation on a city street is a complete nightmare 100 percent of the time.

West Orange, where I grew up, is the hometown of Ian Ziering from 'Beverly Hills, 90210,' Scott Wolf from 'Party of Five,' David Cassidy from the 'Partridge Family,' and Mike Pitt of 'Boardwalk Empire' and 'Dawson's Creek.'

Cops in New York City don't have the best reputation. It's a fast-paced city, and they deal with a lot, and many people have seen lots of cops interact with the public utilizing what can be gently called 'not the best customer service.'

Cops are everywhere in New York City. Cars drive by every few minutes. Uniforms stand nonchalantly at street corners.

I think Carmen Christopher is going to be massively huge. He's just too funny. He's got funny in his bones, and he wants to conquer every room.

I just really remember the feeling of being a younger comedian who was kind of an outlier for being experimental and weird and how that could feel lonely or hopeless.

I remember the people who mentored me, and I just love being able to do that for other people.

I think so often about how, when I was starting out at UCB, Conan O'Brien was in town, and on his show back then, they sometimes did character bits, and I started getting paid to dress up as a page or a Dutch boy on his show.

There are certain fundamental things that scream, 'I just moved to New York.' Things like eating cheesecake at Junior's or heading out to Coney Island to ride the Cyclone.

Getting help for my issues was one of the hardest things I've ever done, because when I get dangerously sad or manic, those feelings seek to perpetuate themselves.

Thank you to anyone who's ever watched or supported 'TCGS.' Even if you checked it out once, hated it, and never checked it out again - thank you for giving us a chance.

My medications make me easier to deal with. They don't interfere with my creativity or turn me into a zombie or dull my real personality. They help me connect with people, allow me to stay calm when situations seem overwhelming, and help keep my thoughts from racing out of control. They help me leave the house when I'm scared to. They help.

Public transportation is like a magnifying glass that shows you civilization up close.

Bits are fake conversations comedians have because they are uncomfortable being vulnerable with other human beings in any way.

Northern New Jersey looks like a cluster of idyllic suburbs, but each of those seemingly normal towns has a dark side that's constantly gossiped about but never publicly acknowledged. They seem to thrive on their strangenesses.

'What if?' is just about the worst question I can ask myself, and I want to avoid it at all costs for the rest of my life.

As a largely unsuccessful comedian, I've become someone that younger people sometimes find and ask for advice, which I'm happy to give, even though it makes me feel old.

I get to do comedy for a living.

I've exceeded the expectations people had for me as an unconfident runt who grew up in North Jersey as well as the expectations I had for myself.

When people ask me, 'Why don't you drink?' I usually smile and say 'Because I'm not good at it.'

I'm very happy with my decision to go sober. It's helped my life. It's helped my mental stability.

Having money didn't make me less of a socially incapable loser; it just made me a socially incapable loser who wasn't in debt.

No aspect of my brief and mild fame actually made me happier.

When my TV show was in production, dozens of women asked me out on Facebook. Some were shy about it; some were blatant. Some I knew, some were total strangers. But they went for it.

In 2010, I was the star of a sitcom. It came and went pretty fast. But in the months from when I was cast in the sitcom through when it was done airing, my life did change remarkably.

The bad you see in N.Y.C. is troubling to know when it rears its ugly head.

Any notable moments spent on a subway usually do nothing more than expose human awfulness at its most pronounced.

The stereotype of New Yorkers is that we're people who avoid warm human interaction, we're always in too much of a rush to enjoy simple things, and that we're just generally rude.

I had bedbugs in 2005. I felt like a leper. Worse than a leper. At least lepers had a colony they could go and live in with other people who empathized. I instead had friends stand up from tables and walk out of restaurants when I told them I had bedbugs, because they were afraid I'd transfer the bugs to them.

Bedbugs have never been cool, and bedbugs will never be cool.

Shows are my saving grace. In between actual jobs, the only thing that keeps me sane is the knowledge that I can go up on stages.

I feel like a lot of performers' worst shows happened in Philly. There's something about that town.

As a stand-up, as a storyteller, as an improviser, I've done thousands of shows. They allow me to work out new material that might turn into something later. They let me keep my muscles sharp for when the rent-paying gigs do come along. They keep me sane.

It's a fun uphill struggle, making health insurance as a comedian, actor, and author. But it's hard to explain to people how I make a living. In New York, most people know enough creative types that I make some sense. But when I'm talking to someone like my suburban cousins or my mom's friends, it doesn't always go smoothly.

The UCB has long been known as a hub of the best comedy in New York City, but it's never been the most well organized or cared for place in the world.

By August of 2003, I had graduated from Rutgers, gone through a stretch of living at my parents' house, and wound up sharing an apartment with a college friend of mine in Montclair, New Jersey.

In late 2004, I left my much-maligned home state of New Jersey for the supposedly greener pastures of Astoria, Queens. I'd finally be in the mix, living off the subway line, able to go from audition to audition during the day and from late night show to late night show in the wee hours of the morning.

I quit drinking in 2002, mere months before my college graduation.