The Show About Nothing

The following reflection was written in 2003, when I was between 25 and 26 years old.


I’d never been much of a fan of Seinfeld. I wasn’t a fan of many TV shows in college because my silly TV only had a half-functioning antenna and I couldn’t get many stations. We didn’t have a common area TV with a cable hookup like the bigger dorms had. I guess that was the price of Cluster House living, and so I only ever got over to common areas that had TVs in the other buildings on Sunday nights to watch episodes of The X-Files. I wasn’t much of a fan of Seinfeld, so it was rather strange that I made a point of traveling up to Haverhill to watch the series finale at the Fishes with Stef.

I remember we sat there in the darkened living room, awaiting what we imagined would be as amazing a television show as was ever made. I mean, that’s how much they hyped this motherfucking show, the “show about nothing.” We sat there and watched, and afterward we went, “Huh?”

The show just stunk. It was one hour of life (I think it was a special hour-long episode) that I will never get back. I suppose some people found the humor in it, and I will admit that a I chuckled a time or two, but after watching that episode all I found myself saying was, “I’m sure glad we won’t ever have to watch that show again.”