ENGLISH SPEECH CONAN OBRIEN Failure Happens English Subtitles
I’ve been living in Los Angeles for two years,
and I’ve never been this cold in my life.
I will pay anyone here $300 for GORE-TEX gloves.
Anybody.
I’m serious.
I have the cash.
Before I begin, I must point out that behind
me sits a highly admired President of the
United States and decorated war hero while
I, a cable television talk show host, has
been chosen to stand here and impart wisdom.
I pray I never witness a more damning example
of what is wrong with America today.
Graduates, faculty, parents, relatives, undergraduates,
and old people that just come to these things:
Good morning and congratulations to the Dartmouth
Class of 2011.
Today, you have achieved something special,
something only 92 percent of Americans your
age will ever know: a college diploma.
That’s right, with your college diploma
you now have a crushing advantage over 8 percent
of the workforce.
I’m talking about dropout losers like Bill
Gates, Steve Jobs, and Mark Zuckerberg.
Incidentally, speaking of Mr. Zuckerberg,
only at Harvard would someone have to invent
a massive social network just to talk with
someone in the next room.
My first job as your commencement speaker
is to illustrate that life is not fair.
For example, you have worked tirelessly for
four years to earn the diploma you’ll be
receiving this weekend.
That was great.
And Dartmouth is giving me the same degree
for interviewing the fourth lead in Twilight.
Deal with it.
Another example that life is not fair: if
it does rain, the powerful rich people on
stage get the tent.
Deal with it.
I would like to thank President Kim for inviting
me here today.
After my phone call with President Kim, I
decided to find out a little bit about the
man.
He goes by President Kim and Dr. Kim.
To his friends, he’s Jim Kim, J to the K,
Special K, JK Rowling, the Just Kidding Kimster,
and most puzzling, “Stinky Pete.”
He served as the chair of the Department of
Global Health and Social Medicine at Harvard
Medical School, spearheaded a task force for
the World Health Organization on Global Health
Initiatives, won a MacArthur Genius Grant,
and was one of TIME Magazine’s 100 Most Influential
People in 2006.
Good God, man, what the hell are you compensating
for?
Seriously.
We get it.
You’re smart.
By the way Dr. Kim, you were brought to Dartmouth
to lead, and as a world-class anthropologist,
you were also hired to figure out why each
of these graduating students ran around a
bonfire 111 times.
But I thank you for inviting me here, Stinky
Pete, and it is an honor.
Though some of you may see me as a celebrity,
you should know that I once sat where you
sit.
Literally.
Late last night I snuck out here and sat in
every seat.
I did it to prove a point: I am not bright
and I have a lot of free time.
But this is a wonderful occasion and it is
great to be here in New Hampshire, where I
am getting an honorary degree and all the
legal fireworks I can fit in the trunk of
my car.
You know, New Hampshire is such a special
place.
When I arrived I took a deep breath of this
crisp New England air and thought, “Wow, I’m
in the state that’s next to the state where
Ben and Jerry’s ice cream is made.”
But don’t get me wrong, I take my task today
very seriously.
When I got the call two months ago to be your
speaker, I decided to prepare with the same
intensity many of you have devoted to an important
term paper.
So late last night, I began.
I drank two cans of Red Bull, snorted some
Adderall, played a few hours of Call of Duty,
and then opened my browser.
I think Wikipedia put it best when they said
“Dartmouth College is a private Ivy League
University in Hanover, New Hampshire, United
States.”
Thank you and good luck.
To communicate with you students today, I
have gone to great lengths to become well-versed
in your unique linguistic patterns.
In fact, just this morning I left Baker Berry
with my tripee Barry to eat a Billy Bob at
the Bema when my flitz to Francesca was Blitz
jacked by some d-bag on his FSP.
Yes, I’ve done my research.
This college was named after the Second Earl
of Dartmouth, a good friend of the Third Earl
of UC Santa Cruz and the Duke of the Barbizon
School of Beauty.
Your school motto is “Vox clamantis in deserto,”
which means “Voice crying out in the wilderness.”
This is easily the most pathetic school motto
I have ever heard.
Apparently, it narrowly beat out “Silently
Weeping in Thick Shrub” and “Whimpering in
Moist Leaves without Pants.”
Your school color is green, and this color
was chosen by Frederick Mather in 1867 because,
and this is true—I looked it up—“it was
the only color that had not been taken already.”
I cannot remember hearing anything so sad.
Dartmouth, you have an inferiority complex,
and you should not.
You have graduated more great fictitious Americans
than any other college.
Meredith Grey of Grey’s Anatomy.
Pete Campbell from Mad Men.
Michael Corleone from The Godfather.
In fact, I look forward to next years' Valedictory
Address by your esteemed classmate, Count
Chocula.
Of course, your greatest fictitious graduate
is Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner.
Man, can you imagine if a real Treasury Secretary
made those kinds of decisions?
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Now I know what you’re going to say, Dartmouth,
you’re going to say, well “We’ve got Dr. Seuss.”
Well guess what, we’re all tired of hearing
about Dr. Seuss.
Face it: The man rhymed fafloozle with saznoozle.
In the literary community, that’s called cheating.
Your insecurity is so great, Dartmouth, that
you don’t even think you deserve a real podium.
I’m sorry.
What the hell is this thing?
It looks like you stole it from the set of
Survivor: Nova Scotia.
Seriously, it looks like something a bear
would use at an AA meeting.
No, Dartmouth, you must stand tall.
Raise your heads high and feel proud.
Because if Harvard, Yale, and Princeton are
your self-involved, vain, name-dropping older
brothers, you are the cool, sexually confident,
lacrosse playing younger sibling who knows
how to throw a party and looks good in a down
vest.
Brown, of course, is your lesbian sister who
never leaves her room.
And Penn, Columbia, and Cornell—well, frankly,
who gives a shit.
Yes, I’ve always had a special bond with this
school.
In fact, this is my second time coming here.
When I was 17 years old and touring colleges,
way back in the fall of 1980, I came to Dartmouth.
Dartmouth was a very different place back
then.
I made the trip up from Boston on a mule and,
after asking the blacksmith in West Leb for
directions, I came to this beautiful campus.
No dormitories had been built yet, so I stayed
with a family of fur traders in White River
Junction.
It snowed heavily during my visit and I was
trapped here for four months.
I was forced to eat the mule, who a week earlier
had been forced to eat the fur traders.
Still, I loved Dartmouth and I vowed to return.
But fate dealt a heavy blow.
With no money, I was forced to enroll in a
small, local commuter school, a pulsating
sore on a muddy elbow of the Charles River.
I was a miserable wretch, and to this day
I cannot help but wonder: What if I had gone
to Dartmouth?
If I had gone to Dartmouth, I might have spent
at least some of my college years outside
and today I might not be allergic to all plant
life, as well as most types of rock.
If I had gone to Dartmouth, right now I’d
be wearing a fleece thong instead of a lace
thong.
If I had gone to Dartmouth, I still wouldn’t
know the second verse to “Dear Old Dartmouth.”
Face it, none of you do.
You all mumble that part.
If I had gone to Dartmouth, I’d have a liver
the size and consistency of a bean bag chair.
Finally, if I had gone to Dartmouth, today
I’d be getting an honorary degree at Harvard.
Imagine how awesome that would be.
You are a great school, and you deserve a
historic commencement address.
That’s right, I want my message today to be
forever remembered because it changed the
world.
To do this, I must suggest groundbreaking
policy.
Winston Churchill gave his famous “Iron Curtain”
speech at Westminster College in 1946.
JFK outlined his nuclear disarmament policy
at American University in 1963.
Today, I would like to set forth my own policy
here at Dartmouth: I call it “The Conan Doctrine.”
Under “The Conan Doctrine”:
- All bachelor degrees will be upgraded to
master’s degrees.
All master’s degrees will be upgraded to PhDs.
And all MBA students will be immediately transferred
to a white collar prison.
- Under “The Conan Doctrine,” Winter Carnival
will become Winter Carnivale and be moved
to Rio.
Clothing will be optional, all expenses paid
by the Alumni Association.
- Your nickname, the Big Green, will be changed
to something more kick-ass like “The Jade
Blade,” the “Seafoam Avenger,” or simply “Lime-Zilla.”
- The D-Plan and “quarter system” will finally
be updated to “the one sixty-fourth system.”
Semesters will last three days.
Students will be encouraged to take 48 semesters
off.
They must, however, be on campus during their
Sophomore 4th of July.
- Under “The Conan Doctrine,” I will re-instate
Tubestock.
And I will punish those who tried to replace
it with Fieldstock.
Rafting and beer are a much better combination
than a field and a beer.
I happen to know that in two years, they were
going to downgrade Fieldstock to Deskstock,
seven hours of fun sitting quietly at your
desk.
Don’t let those bastards do it.
And finally, under “The Conan Doctrine,” all
commencement speakers who shamelessly pander
with cheap, inside references designed to
get childish applause, will be forced to apologize—to
the greatest graduating class in the history
of the world.
Dartmouth class of 2011 rules!
Besides policy, another hallmark of great
commencement speeches is deep, profound advice
like “reach for the stars.”
Well today, I am not going to waste your time
with empty clichés.
Instead, I am going to give you real, practical
advice that you will need to know if you are
going to survive the next few years.
- First, adult acne lasts longer than you
think.
I almost cancelled two days ago because I
had a zit on my eye.
Guys, this is important: You cannot iron
a shirt while wearing it.Here’s another one.
If you live on Ramen Noodles for too long,
you lose all feelings in your hands and your
stool becomes a white gel.
- And finally, wearing colorful Converse high-tops
beneath your graduation robe is a great way
to tell your classmates that this is just
the first of many horrible decisions you plan
to make with the rest of your life.
Of course there are many parents here and
I have real advice for them as well.
Parents, you should write this down:
- Many of your children you haven’t seen them
in four years.
Well, now you are about to see them every
day when they come out of the basement to
tell you the wi-fi isn’t working.
- If your child majored in fine arts or philosophy,
you have good reason to be worried.
The only place where they are now really qualified
to get a job is ancient Greece.
Good luck with that degree.
- The traffic today on East Wheelock is going
to be murder, so once they start handing out
diplomas, you should slip out in the middle
of the K’s.
And, I have to tell you this:
- You will spend more money framing your child’s
diploma than they will earn in the next six
months.
It’s tough out there, so be patient.
The only people hiring right now are Panera
Bread and Mexican drug cartels.
Yes, you parents must be patient because it
is indeed a grim job market out there.
And one of the reasons it’s so tough finding
work is that aging baby boomers refuse to
leave their jobs.
Trust me on this.
Even when they promise you for five years
that they are going to leave—and say it
on television—I mean you can go on YouTube
right now and watch the guy do it, there is
no guarantee they won’t come back.
Of course I’m speaking generally.
But enough.
This is not a time for grim prognostications
or negativity.
No, I came here today because, believe it
or not, I actually do have something real
to tell you.
Eleven years ago I gave an address to a graduating
class at Harvard.
I have not spoken at a graduation since because
I thought I had nothing left to say.
But then 2010 came.
And now I’m here, three thousand miles from
my home, because I learned a hard but profound
lesson last year and I’d like to share it
with you.
In 2000, I told graduates “Don’t be afraid
to fail.”
Well now I’m here to tell you that, though
you should not fear failure, you should do
your very best to avoid it.
Nietzsche famously said “Whatever doesn’t
kill you makes you stronger.”
But what he failed to stress is that it almost
kills you.
Disappointment stings and, for driven, successful
people like yourselves it is disorienting.
What Nietzsche should have said is “Whatever
doesn’t kill you, makes you watch a lot of
Cartoon Network and drink mid-price Chardonnay
at 11 in the morning.”
Now, by definition, Commencement speakers
at an Ivy League college are considered successful.
But a little over a year ago, I experienced
a profound and very public disappointment.
I did not get what I wanted, and I left a
system that had nurtured and helped define
me for the better part of 17 years.
I went from being in the center of the grid
to not only off the grid, but underneath the
coffee table that the grid sits on, lost in
the shag carpeting that is underneath the
coffee table supporting the grid.
It was the making of a career disaster, and
a terrible analogy.
But then something spectacular happened.
Fogbound, with no compass, and adrift, I started
trying things.
I grew a strange, cinnamon beard.
I dove into the world of social media.
I started tweeting my comedy.
I threw together a national tour.
I played the guitar.
I did stand-up, wore a skin-tight blue leather
suit, recorded an album, made a documentary,
and frightened my friends and family.
Ultimately, I abandoned all preconceived perceptions
of my career path and stature and took a job
on basic cable with a network most famous
for showing reruns, along with sitcoms created
by a tall, black man who dresses like an old,
black woman.
I did a lot of silly, unconventional, spontaneous
and seemingly irrational things and guess
what: with the exception of the blue leather
suit, it was the most satisfying and fascinating
year of my professional life.
To this day I still don’t understand exactly
what happened, but I have never had more fun,
been more challenged—and this is important—had
more conviction about what I was doing.
How could this be true?
Well, it’s simple: There are few things more
liberating in this life than having your worst
fear realized.
I went to college with many people who prided
themselves on knowing exactly who they were
and exactly where they were going.
At Harvard, five different guys in my class
told me that they would one day be President
of the United States.
Four of them were later killed in motel shoot-outs.
The other one briefly hosted Blues Clues,
before dying senselessly in yet another motel
shoot-out.
Your path at 22 will not necessarily be your
path at 32 or 42.
One’s dream is constantly evolving, rising
and falling, changing course.
This happens in every job, but because I have
worked in comedy for twenty-five years, I
can probably speak best about my own profession.
Way back in the 1940s there was a very, very
funny man named Jack Benny.
He was a giant star, easily one of the greatest
comedians of his generation.
And a much younger man named Johnny Carson
wanted very much to be Jack Benny.
In some ways he was, but in many ways he wasn’t.
He emulated Jack Benny, but his own quirks
and mannerisms, along with a changing medium,
pulled him in a different direction.
And yet his failure to completely become his
hero made him the funniest person of his generation.
David Letterman wanted to be Johnny Carson,
and was not, and as a result my generation
of comedians wanted to be David Letterman.
And none of us are.
My peers and I have all missed that mark in
a thousand different ways.
But the point is this : It is our failure
to become our perceived ideal that ultimately
defines us and makes us unique.
It’s not easy, but if you accept your misfortune
and handle it right, your perceived failure
can become a catalyst for profound re-invention.
So, at the age of 47, after 25 years of obsessively
pursuing my dream, that dream changed.
For decades, in show business, the ultimate
goal of every comedian was to host The Tonight
Show.
It was the Holy Grail, and like many people
I thought that achieving that goal would define
me as successful.
But that is not true.
No specific job or career goal defines me,
and it should not define you.
In 2000—in 2000—I told graduates to not
be afraid to fail, and I still believe that.
But today I tell you that whether you fear
it or not, disappointment will come.
The beauty is that through disappointment
you can gain clarity, and with clarity comes
conviction and true originality.
Many of you here today are getting your diploma
at this Ivy League school because you have
committed yourself to a dream and worked hard
to achieve it.
And there is no greater cliché in a commencement
address than “follow your dream.”
Well I am here to tell you that whatever you
think your dream is now, it will probably
change.
And that’s okay.
Four years ago, many of you had a specific
vision of what your college experience was
going to be and who you were going to become.
And I bet, today, most of you would admit
that your time here was very different from
what you imagined.
Your roommates changed, your major changed,
for some of you your sexual orientation changed.
I bet some of you have changed your sexual
orientation since I began this speech.
I know I have.
But through the good and especially the bad,
the person you are now is someone you could
never have conjured in the fall of 2007.
I have told you many things today, most of
it foolish but some of it true.
I’d like to end my address by breaking a taboo
and quoting myself from 17 months ago.
At the end of my final program with NBC, just
before signing off, I said “Work hard, be
kind, and amazing things will happen.”
Today, receiving this honor and speaking to
the Dartmouth Class of 2011 from behind a
tree-trunk, I have never believed that more.
Thank you very much, and congratulations.