Gettin' Gary wit' Garys - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson

Evidently, it’s Gary Month. We didn’t plan it. We didn’t vote on it. It wasn’t declared by any official body or mentioned in any press release. One morning, the calendar just flipped, and there it was, Gary Month, sprawled across the entire grid in blocky, defiant handwriting that none of us recognized, but all of us accepted. It was the kind of handwriting that buys a used jet ski with cash. The kind of handwriting that smells vaguely of cigar ash and pine tar.

 

What is Gary Month? Don’t overthink it. That’s not very Gary of you. Gary Month is not a theme, or a brand or a cultural observance. It’s a vibration. A presence. A sustained, low-frequency Garyness humming through every hallway and parking lot. It is both a month-long spiritual commitment and a blunt-force lifestyle shift.

 

Gary Month is for everyone, but not everyone is ready.

 

Some will tell you Gary Month started with Gary Busey, but that’s like saying oxygen started with scuba tanks. Busey merely channeled the ancient Gary force. 

 

Others say it was Gary Sinise, who famously emerged fully formed from a Gary-shaped clay amphora discovered on a soundstage in 1992. Sinise has never confirmed this, but he hasn’t denied it either, which is classic Gary strategy. Leave them wondering, then dramatically exit through a Gary-style fog machine. For anyone who grew up in the 1990s, Lieutenant Dan from Forrest Gump is kind of like an uncle. Not the kind of parental sibling who gives you birthday money, but the kind who has a distant, unhinged stare. You always knew he’d show up eventually, maybe in the rain, maybe driving something loud, maybe just there at the edge of the barbecue. He might not say much. He might say something weird and heavy. Either way, he’s family. That’s the Sinise guarantee.

 

Then there’s Gary Shandling, the original tricky trickster of prime-time HBO television. Shandling didn’t just break the fourth wall, he turned it into a sliding door, walked through it, stood in your kitchen and politely asked if you’d seen his misplaced self-awareness. Shandling was the Gary who laughed inwards; the Gary who stared directly into the lens of existence and said, “Oh. Gary?”

 

But Gary Month isn’t about fame. It’s about essence. Do you slam your car door with just a little too much force? Gary. Do you own three pairs of sunglasses but only trust one of them? Gary. Have you ever shouted “Let’s ride” before opening a PDF? That’s Gary. It’s the subtle art of doing too much on purpose.

 

And this year’s Gary Month festivities are shaping up to be the most Gary’d up yet. There are Gary Circles, small unregulated gatherings where participants chant, “Gary... Gary... Gary…” until one of them falls into a deep trance and falls off the Gary platform. No one stops them. No one writes anything down. There is no leader. There are no refreshments. There is just Gary.
Gary Watch 2025 is the unauthorized campaign to find and document every living Gary within a 50-kilometre Gary radius. Not interview them. Not learn about their lives. Just find them. Map them. Respectfully nod from a distance. Then move on. It’s not about surveillance. It’s about reverence.

 

Then there is the Gary Gauntlet, a mysterious obstacle course rumoured to appear only during Gary Month. Those who complete it are said to earn Total Gary Clarity, a state in which all Garys, past and present, can be heard whispering practical advice about where to store your passport. The Gauntlet is said to include a rope swing, a tactical vest, a used Camaro and at least one confusing question shouted through a megaphone.

 

Some Gary disciples suggest taking up a Gary Craft, perhaps woodburning, or shouting at television sets, or writing a screenplay in which all the characters are emotionally unavailable but deeply charismatic. 

 

Newcomers to Gary Month often ask if they’re allowed to participate if they’re not named Gary. The answer is always yes. You are now. Everyone is Gary in Gary Month. You might not be Gary all year, but in this time, this sacred stretch of 30 or so days, you are spiritually deputized. You may find yourself chewing gum more aggressively. Wearing a shirt that looks like it once belonged to a blackjack dealer in Reno. Starting a sentence with “Back in ‘87” even though you were born in 1994.

 

This is normal. This is part of the Garying.

 

So embrace it. Embrace the reckless wisdom of the Gary. Slam the door of convention. High-five the unknown. Shave something. Burn something. Fix a carburetor. Write a novella. Leave a voicemail. Fax a loved one.

 

And if someone questions what you’re doing, just stare off into the middle distance and say: It’s Gary Month. You wouldn’t understand.