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.