Hi everyone,
I had a good time up in the Bay area this past weekend. Before my
friend Peggy Liu's wedding party in the city, I had a chance to drive
around the Presidio and surrounding neighborhood and take some pictures
of the Golden Gate bridge. I'll post them on the Internet this coming
week and include a link to them in next week's email.
This coming weekend I'm looking forward to seeing "X-Men". Some friends
really liked it, while others thought that it was OK. Let me know if
you've seen it and what you think.
This week's thought provoking question is: "If you could have directed
any film in history, what movie would it be?"
This week's humor was forwarded by John Chao, followed by Conan
O'Brien's speech at Harvard forwarded by Steve Krause. This speech is
not as inspirational as Carly Fiorina's speech at MIT that I forwarded
last month, but it's funnier and has some good points as well. (It's
long).
Enjoy!
-Josh.
_________________________________________
The Debate
Several centuries ago, the Pope decreed that all the Jews had to leave
Italy. There was, of course, a huge outcry from the Jewish community,
so the Pope offered a deal. He would have a religious debate with a
leader of the Jewish community. If the Jewish leader won the debate,
the Jews would be permitted to stay in Italy. If the Pope won, the Jews
would have to leave.
The Jewish community met and picked an aged Rabbi, Moishe, to represent
them in the debate. Rabbi Moishe, however, could not speak Latin and
the Pope could not speak Yiddish. So it was decided that this would be
a "silent" debate.
On the day of the great debate, the Pope and Rabbi Moishe sat opposite
each other for a full minute before the Pope raised his hand and showed
three fingers. Rabbi Moishe looked back and raised one finger.
Next, the Pope waved his finger around his head. Rabbi Moishe pointed
to the ground where he sat. The Pope then brought out a communion wafer
and chalice of wine. Rabbi Moishe pulled out an apple. With that, the
Pope stood up and said, "I give up. This man is too good. The Jews can
stay."
Later, the Cardinals gathered around the Pope, asking him what had
happened. The Pope said, "First I held up three fingers to represent
the Trinity. He responded by holding up one finger to remind me that
there was still one God common to both our religions. Then I waved my
finger around me to show him that God was all around us. He responded
by pointing to the ground to show that God was also right here with us.
I pulled out the wine and the wafer to show that God absolves us of our
sins. He pulled out an apple to remind me of original sin. He had an
answer for everything. What could I do?"
Meanwhile, the Jewish community crowded around Rabbi Moishe, asking what
happened. "Well," said Moishe, "first he said to me, 'You Jews have
three days to get out of here.' So I said to him that not one of us was
leaving.
Then he tells me the whole city would be cleared of Jews. So I said to
him, 'Listen here Mr. Pope, the Jews ... we stay right here!"
"Yes, yes, . . .and then?" asked the crowd.
"I don't know," said Moishe,
He took out his lunch, and I took out mine."
__________________________________________
Conan O'Brien was invited to be the Class Day speaker at Harvard
University on Wednesday, June 7th, 2000. Hopefully, the following speech
will be an inspiration to all graduates, past or present, or anyone else
who needs a job.
I'd like to thank the Class Marshals for inviting me here today. The
last
time I was invited to Harvard it cost me $110,000, so you'll forgive me
if
I'm a bit suspicious. I'd like to announce up front that I have one goal
this afternoon: to be half as funny as tomorrow's Commencement Speaker,
Moral Philosopher and Economist, Amartya Sen. Must get more laughs than
seminal wage/price theoretician.
Students of the Harvard Class of 2000, fifteen years ago I sat where you
sit now and I thought exactly what you are now thinking: What's going to
happen to me? Will I find my place in the world? Am I really graduating
a
virgin? I still have 24 hours and my roommate's Mom is hot. I swear she
was checking me out.
Being here today is very special for me. I miss this place. I especially
miss Harvard Square - it's so unique. No where else in the world will
you
find a man with a turban wearing a Red Sox jacket and working in a
lesbian
bookstore. Hey, I'm just glad my dad's working.
It's particularly sweet for me to be here today because when I
graduated,
I wanted very badly to be a Class Day Speaker. Unfortunately, my speech
was rejected. So, if you'll indulge me, I'd like to read a portion of
that
speech from fifteen years ago:
"Fellow students, as we sit here today listening to that classic Ah-ha
tune which will definitely stand the test of time, I would like to make
several predictions about what the future will hold:
"I believe that one day a simple Governor from a small Southern state
will
rise to the highest office in the land. He will lack political skill,
but
will lead on the sheer strength of his moral authority.
"I believe that Justice will prevail and, one day, the Berlin Wall will
crumble, uniting East and West Berlin forever under Communist rule.
"I believe that one day, a high speed network of interconnected
computers
will spring up world-wide, so enriching people that they will lose their
interest in idle chit chat and pornography.
"And finally, I believe that one day I will have a television show on a
major network, seen by millions of people a night, which I will use to
re-enact crimes and help catch at-large criminals."
And then there's some stuff about the death of Wall Street which I don't
think we need to get into....
The point is that, although you see me as a celebrity, a member of the
cultural elite, a kind of demigod, I was actually a student here once
much
like you. I came here in the fall of 1981 and lived in Holworthy. I was,
without exaggeration, the ugliest picture in the Freshman Face book.
When
Harvard asked me for a picture the previous summer, I thought it was
just
for their records, so I literally jogged in the August heat to a
passport
photo office and sat for a morgue photo. To make matters worse, when the
Face Book came out they put my picture next to Catherine Oxenberg, a
stunning blonde actress who was accepted to the class of '85 but decided
to defer admission so she could join the cast of "Dynasty." My photo
would
have looked bad on any page, but next to Catherine Oxenberg, I looked
like
a mackerel that had been in a car accident.
You see, in those days I was six feet four inches tall and I weighed 150
pounds. Recently, I had some structural engineers run those numbers into
a
computer model and, according the computer, I collapsed in 1987, killing
hundreds in Taiwan.
<<...>>
After freshman year I moved to Mather House. Mather House, incidentally,
was designed by the same firm that built Hitler's bunker. In fact, if
Hitler had conducted the war from Mather House, he'd have shot himself a
year earlier.
1985 seems like a long time ago now. When I had my Class Day, you
students
would have been seven years old. Seven years old. Do you know what that
means? Back then I could have beaten any of you in a fight. And I mean
bad. It would be no contest. If any one here has a time machine,
seriously, let's get it on, I will whip your seven year old butt.
When I was here, they sold diapers at the Coop that said "Harvard Class
of
2000." At the time, it was kind of a joke, but now I realize you wore
those diapers. How embarrassing for you.
A lot has happened in fifteen years. When you think about it, we come
from
completely different worlds. When I graduated, we watched movies
starring
Tom Cruise and listened to music by Madonna. I come from a time when we
huddled around our TV sets and watched "The Cosby Show" on NBC, never
imagining that there would one day be a show called "Cosby" on CBS. In
1985 we drove cars with driver's side airbags, but if you told us that
one
day there'd be passenger side airbags, we'd have burned you for
witchcraft.
But of course, I think there is some common ground between us. I
remember
well the great uncertainty of this day. Many of you are justifiably
nervous about leaving the safe, comfortable world of Harvard Yard and
hurling yourself headlong into the cold, harsh world of Harvard Grad
School, a plum job at your father's firm, or a year abroad with a gold
Amex card and then a plum job in your father's firm.
But let me assure you that the knowledge you've gained here at Harvard
is
a precious gift that will never leave you. Take if from me, your
education
is yours to keep forever. Why, many of you have read the Merchant of
Florence, and that will inspire you when you travel to the island of
Spain. Your knowledge of that problem they had with those people in
Russia, or that guy in South America -- you know, that guy -- will
enrich
you for the rest of your life.
<<...>>
There is also sadness today, a feeling of loss that you're leaving
Harvard
forever. Well, let me assure you that you never really leave Harvard.
The
Harvard Fundraising Committee will be on your ass until the day you die.
Right now, a member of the Alumni Association is at the Mt. Auburn
Cemetery shaking down the corpse of Henry Adams. They heard he had a
brass
toe ring and they aims to get it.
Imagine: These people just raised 2.5 billion dollars and they only got
through the B's in the alumni directory. Here's how it works. Your phone
rings, usually after a big meal when you're tired and most vulnerable. A
voice asks you for money. Knowing they just raised 2.5 billion dollars
you
ask, "What do you need it for?" Then there's a long pause and the voice
on
the other end of the line says, "We don't need it, we just want it."
It's
chilling.
What else can you expect? Let me see, by your applause, who here wrote a
thesis. (APPLAUSE) A lot of hard work, a lot of your blood went into
that
thesis... and no one is ever going to care. I wrote a thesis: Literary
Progeria in the works of Flannery O'Connor and William Faulkner. Let's
just say that, during my discussions with Pauly Shore, it doesn't come
up
much. For three years after graduation I kept my thesis in the glove
compartment of my car so I could show it to a policeman in case I was
pulled over. (ACT OUT) License, registration, cultural exploration of
the
Man Child in the Sound and the Fury...
So what can you expect out there in the real world? Let me tell you. As
you leave these gates and re-enter society, one thing is certain:
Everyone
out there is going to hate you. Never tell anyone in a roadside diner
that
you went to Harvard. In most situations the correct response to where
did
you to school is, "School? Why, I never had much in the way of book
larnin' and such." Then, get in your BMW and get the hell out of there.
You see, you're in for a lifetime of "And you went to Harvard?"
Accidentally give the wrong amount of change in a transaction and it's
"And you went to Harvard?" Ask the guy at the hardware store how these
jumper cables work and hear, "And you went to Harvard?" Forget just once
that your underwear goes inside your pants and it's "and you went to
Harvard." Get your head stuck in your niece's dollhouse because you
wanted
to see what it was like to be a giant and it's "Uncle Conan, you went to
Harvard!?"
But to really know what's in store for you after Harvard, I have to tell
you what happened to me after graduation. I'm going to tell you my story
because, first of all, my perspective may give many of you hope, and,
secondly, it's an amazing rush to stand in front of six thousand people
and talk about yourself.
<<...>>
After graduating in May, I moved to Los Angeles and got a three week
contract at a small cable show. I got a $380 a month apartment and
bought
a 1977 Isuzu Opel, a car Isuzu only manufactured for a year because they
found out that, technically, it's not a car. Here's a quick tip,
graduates: no four cylinder vehicle should have a racing stripe. I
worked
at that show for over a year, feeling pretty good about myself, when one
day they told me they were letting me go. I was fired and, I hadn't
saved
a lot of money. I tried to get another job in television but I couldn't
find one.
So, with nowhere else to turn, I went to a temp agency and filled out a
questionnaire. I made damn sure they knew I had been to Harvard and that
I
expected the very best treatment. And so, the next day, I was sent to
the
Santa Monica branch of Wilson's House of Suede and Leather. When you
have
a Harvard degree and you're working at Wilson's House of Suede and
Leather, you are haunted by the ghostly images of your classmates who
chose Graduate School. You see their faces everywhere: in coffee cups,
in
fish tanks, and they're always laughing at you as you stack suede shirts
no man, in good conscience, would ever wear. I tried a lot of things
during this period: acting in corporate infomercials, serving drinks in
a
non-equity theatre, I even took a job entertaining at a seven year olds'
birthday party. In desperate need of work, I put together some sketches
and scored a job at the fledgling Fox Network as a writer and performer
for a new show called "The Wilton North Report." I was finally on a
network and really excited. The producer told me the show was going to
revolutionize television. And, in a way, it did. The show was so hated
and
did so badly that when, four weeks later, news of its cancellation was
announced to the Fox affiliates, they burst into applause.
Eventually, though, I got a huge break. I had submitted, along with my
writing partner, a batch of sketches to Saturday Night Live and, after a
year and a half, they read it and gave us a two week tryout. The two
weeks
turned into two seasons and I felt successful. Successful enough to
write
a TV pilot for an original sitcom and, when the network decided to make
it, I left Saturday Night Live. This TV show was going to be
groundbreaking. It was going to resurrect the career of TV's Batman,
Adam
West. It was going to be a comedy without a laugh track or a studio
audience. It was going to change all the rules. And here's what
happened:
When the pilot aired it was the second lowest-rated television show of
all
time. It's tied with a test pattern they show in Nova Scotia.
<<...>>
So, I was 28 and, once again, I had no job. I had good writing credits
in
New York, but I was filled with disappointment and didn't know what to
do
next. I started smelling suede on my fingertips. And that's when The
Simpsons saved me. I got a job there and started writing episodes about
Springfield getting a Monorail and Homer going to College. I was finally
putting my Harvard education to good use, writing dialogue for a man
who's
so stupid that in one episode he forgot to make his own heart beat. Life
was good.
And then, an insane, inexplicable opportunity came my way . A chance to
audition for host of the new Late Night Show. I took the opportunity
seriously but, at the same time, I had the relaxed confidence of someone
who knew he had no real shot. I couldn't fear losing a great job I had
never had. And, I think that attitude made the difference. I'll never
forget being in the Simpson's recording basement that morning when the
phone rang. It was for me. My car was blocking a fire lane. But a week
later I got another call: I got the job.
So, this was undeniably the it: the truly life-altering break I had
always
dreamed of. And, I went to work. I gathered all my funny friends and
poured all my years of comedy experience into building that show over
the
summer, gathering the talent and figuring out the sensibility. We
debuted
on September 13, 1993 and I was happy with our effort. I felt like I had
seized the moment and put my very best foot forward. And this is what
the
most respected and widely read television critic, Tom Shales, wrote in
the
Washington Post:
"O'Brien is a living collage of annoying nervous habits. He giggles and
titters, jiggles about and fiddles with his cuffs. He had dark, beady
little eyes like a rabbit. He's one of the whitest white men ever.
O'Brien
is a switch on the guest who won't leave: he's the host who should never
have come. Let the Late show with Conan O'Brien become the late, Late
Show
and may the host return to Conan O'Blivion whence he came."
There's more but it gets kind of mean.
Needless to say, I took a lot of criticism, some of it deserved, some of
it excessive. And it hurt like you wouldn't believe. But I'm telling you
all this for a reason. I've had a lot of success and I've had a lot of
failure. I've looked good and I've looked bad. I've been praised and
I've
been criticized. But my mistakes have been necessary. Except for
Wilson's
House of Suede and Leather. That was just stupid.
<<...>>
I've dwelled on my failures today because, as graduates of Harvard, your
biggest liability is your need to succeed. Your need to always find
yourself on the sweet side of the bell curve. Because success is a lot
like a bright, white tuxedo. You feel terrific when you get it, but then
you're desperately afraid of getting it dirty, of spoiling it in any
way.
I left the cocoon of Harvard, I left the cocoon of Saturday Night Live,
I
left the cocoon of The Simpsons. And each time it was bruising and
tumultuous. And yet, every failure was freeing, and today I'm as
nostalgic
for the bad as I am for the good.
So, that's what I wish for all of you: the bad as well as the good. Fall
down, make a mess, break something occasionally. And remember that the
story is never over. If it's all right, I'd like to read a little
something from just this year:
"Somehow, Conan O'Brien has transformed himself into the brightest star
in
the Late Night firmament. His comedy is the gold standard and Conan
himself is not only the quickest and most inventive wit of his
generation,
but quite possible the greatest host ever."
Ladies and Gentlemen, Class of 2000, I wrote that this morning, as proof
that, when all else fails, there's always delusion.
I'll go now, to make bigger mistakes and to embarrass this fine
institution even more. But let me leave you with one last thought: If
you
can laugh at yourself loud and hard every time you fall, people will
think
you're drunk.
Thank you.
