Bill Cosby: Carnegie Mellon commencement ceremony, 2007

Bill Cosby gave the keynote address at Carnegie Mellon University’s 2007 commencement ceremony. Transcript from ‘The Piper,’ Carnegie Mellon

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“Ah, nerds. Why anybody would accept themselves as nerds bothers me. If I’m looking at nerds — according to nerds — it’s, I think it has to do with something like you don’t know how to mingle. You don’t know how to get along with other people. Or dance. Or just stand in a room and look human. I don’t know why you want to accept yourselves as being that, because you all have continued on where non-nerds stopped.

Now let’s do the math. And they quit. All the non-nerds did that — they said I’m tired, why do I have to know this? You guys continued on. That’s not nerdy. I think it’s very, very brave, considering how many friends you lost.

But look at how many friends you gained. And listen to yourselves having fun.

Oh boy … that’s enough of that. I want to get on with YOUR life. Graduation … those of you doing this for the first time, from college, I will have you know from my experience… I think this is the most important occasion in family life. And the reason why I consider it to be that, there’s the wedding, funeral and college graduation. Of the three, the only one that does not have a reputation for a family fight is the graduation. People fight at funerals — knock the coffin over, the corpse is out of the box. Weddings, people are ripping up dresses, bridesmaids don’t like their dresses.

But nobody fights at graduation. (That’s) not to say that they’re (your families) are not confused, because you really are supposed to go some place other than back home. That alone says volumes for love. Right? These people are taking you back. Those of you who asked to come to this school because it was away from home, you wanted to see if you could find yourselves, or to see if you could be independent. Now you’re graduating, you are going back home. This is very disappointing. You don’t have to be a nerd to disappoint people, but for God’s sake, get a job.

Wait, we don’t want hostility from the families.

I was 25 years old and I was good. And I knew I was good. I knew I was good because I felt confidence and I was working a place called the Gate of Horn in Chicago. It was a folk place, and I was one of the fastest-rising new comedians in the United States of America. And I knew I was good. I looked across the street from the Gate of Horn and there was a place called Mr. Kelly’s. Mr. Kelly’s is where I wanted to be. It was a nightclub, they sold liquor but they had great comedians playing there — big name tags, the biggest. They had been on TV. And that’s where I wanted to go, and while playing the Gate of Horn I knew that I should be there. And finally some five months later, after playing nightclubs, coffee houses, Greenwich Village, two brothers came, the Marienthal brothers, to see me in this club that held 90 people and they had frappes and weird things. I’m just a half a year out of the projects; I don’t understand this new coffee stuff with the chocolate chips in them and Italian biscuits that are hard. And one of the owners said to me, ‘The Marienthal brothers from Mr. Kelly’s are here to see you.’ And it didn’t even bother me. I said, ‘Well, let them see me.’ That’s how good I am.

And I went on stage — we worked from 8 p.m. until 4 in the morning. My job description was to break up the monotony of the folk singers. I was good. I did my 20 minutes of whatever, and the Marienthal Brothers said, ‘We’d like to meet you.’ There was no backstage. We went to the, um, some storage room above the coffee shop. And they said we like you and we’re going to give you — and at the time, pardon me, I was making $120 a week, this was in the ’60s … the early ’60s. It still was no money. New York was very expensive, and they offered me $400 a week and airfare to Chicago. across the street from the Gate of Horn, and I said, ‘I’ll take it.’ I flew out for two weeks. I was the opening act. I don’t remember who the closing act was. It was a female singer. And I had a suit and a tie. I went up to the dressing room. I went in about 3 o’clock to get the feel of the room. And I walked around looking at this club because I’m here, and I began to look at the pictures of these great comedians, men and women who were on TV. I had not been on TV as of yet. But I’m good. I went up to the room, this was around 4:30, and first show is 8 o’clock. And, I began to talk from within to myself about these great comedians. And I began to see this club as some kind of mountain that I was approaching. I began to feel a loss of confidence. And I began to talk to myself in such a way that a heaviness began to push and make me feel inferior as a performer. And by 7 o’clock I had done one of the most masterful jobs of making myself feel that I did not belong in this club. And I couldn’t get out of it. And I kept telling myself, ‘But you are good!’ But these other voices kept coming: ‘But you are not that good, and people, the audiences, know. These people know. And when they see you, they are going to know that you are not good, you don’t belong here.’

There was a knock on the door, and it was one of the fellows, technician, and he said, ‘How you doing, Bill? How do you want to be introduced?’ I said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is one of America’s fastest-rising new comedians, and then my name.’ He said okay and he went down, and I went back to my state of depression. And he said, ‘Come on down, take your place.’ I wasn’t ready. I didn’t feel ready. And I felt this audience knew more than I. And I stood behind the curtain and the fellow introduces and then you walk out and you stand on the stage. The place holds, oh, … 200, about 150 people. And then the trio was playing, do, do, do. Ta da, jhump! ‘And now ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Kelly’s is proud to present one of the fastest-rising new comedians in the United States of America! Let’s have a big hand for Bill Cosby.’ And the people started to applaud, and I walked up and I looked out at these people, and it got worse. I did what supposedly had been a 35-minute act in 18 minutes, and I said thank you, and I walked off. I don’t remember what the audience said. I went up to my dressing room. I was not nauseous, I just felt this is the end and I’m going back to Temple University and I’m going to finish out my senior year and play pro ball and maybe get paralyzed for $13,000 a year as a cornerback with the New York Giants.

And the Marienthal brothers knocked on the door, and I looked at both of them, and they looked at me and I said, ‘Please, understand me. I don’t want to be paid. I’m going back to the hotel and I am going to go home. And I will return the round-trip money. I want to thank you for the opportunity.’ And one of the brothers said, ‘Good.’ The other one said, ‘Yeah. We both agree — you need to go back. You need to go back and you need to go back to college and you need to finish out your career. And while you are back at the hotel, do us a favor and send Bill Cosby back here for the second show, because you stink. And ask Bill Cosby why he sent you.’ And they left.

Well, I would like to tell you that that speech — I mean if this was a movie it would be that I went on stage and I killed them in the second show. It got worse. I didn’t know what I was going to do for the second show. And the time was coming, coming, coming, coming. ‘Would you please set yourself, sir?’ And I went down and I stood behind the curtain. Da, da, da.

And the man said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Bill Cosby.’ I said, ‘What are you doing? The guy said, ‘I beg your pardon?’ I said, ‘Where is the intro I gave you?’ He said, ‘Did you see the first show?’ And we started a repartee back and forth. I forgot all about that mess I fed myself, and the audience started to laugh and thought it was in fact a part of the show. And I did my 36-minute act in an hour and 10 minutes. The poor woman following me to this day will not speak to me because I destroyed the place. I pranced, I moved, I ad-libbed. When I came off, the guy said, ‘Man, that was a great show.’ I said, ‘Yeah, … I didn’t… this is the first time I have seen at least 80% of it.’ The Marienthal Brothers said, ‘Gee whiz, thank you. Where is that boy who was here for the first show?’ I said, ‘He’s gone, man.’

So it’s obvious what I’m saying to you — very obvious. Don’t talk yourself into not being you at any time. You don’t have an excuse that works when you say, ‘But I was nervous.’ That’s not you. That’s not how you got here. Yeah, you can be nervous, it’s good for you, tunes you. But people want to see YOU. I don’t care what you do, when you are good then you bring you out. Thank you. And it’s not for you to stand around and measure yourself according to diplomas and degrees. You are you, and you are not to go beneath… or put yourself beneath anybody. ‘Oh, I’m from Harvard.’ ‘Yes, I’m from Carnegie Mellon.’ Is that the alma mater?

And be proud. But you can’t be proud and you can’t carry it out unless you are sure of yourself and prepared. And that’s where the nerds stand tall. That’s how you got that name, that’s what it means. I looked it up. ‘Nerd: a prepared person who doesn’t really give a damn about the dance.’ So in closing, I close.

Ratatouille (2007): The Critic’s Job

The 2007 animated movie ‘Ratatouille‘ tells the story of a rat, Remy, who dreams of being a chef. Towards the end of the movie, he cooks a simple dish of ratatouille for the feared restaurant critic Anton Ego (voiced by Peter O’Toole). The dish reminds Ego of his mother’s cooking. He writes a review calling Remy ‘the finest chef in France.’

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Anton: In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read.

But the bitter truth we critics must face is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so.

But there are times when a critic truly risks something and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends.

Last night, I experienced something new, an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core.

In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau’s famous motto, “Anyone can cook.” But I realize only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau’s, who is, in this critic’s opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau’s soon, hungry for more. I will be returning to Gusteau’s soon, hungry for more.

Barack Obama: The Audacity of Hope: 1994 Democratic Party Convention

Posts Tagged Barack Obama Barack Obama gave this speech in 2004 when he was a candidate for the Senate in Illinois, four years before he entered the White House as president.

The transcript can be found at the AmericanRhetoric.com website.

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Thank you so much. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you so much. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Dick Durbin. You make us all proud.

On behalf of the great state of Illinois, crossroads of a nation, Land of Lincoln, let me express my deepest gratitude for the privilege of addressing this convention.

Tonight is a particular honor for me because, let’s face it, my presence on this stage is pretty unlikely. My father was a foreign student, born and raised in a small village in Kenya. He grew up herding goats, went to school in a tin-roof shack. His father — my grandfather — was a cook, a domestic servant to the British.

But my grandfather had larger dreams for his son. Through hard work and perseverance my father got a scholarship to study in a magical place, America, that shone as a beacon of freedom and opportunity to so many who had come before.

While studying here, my father met my mother. She was born in a town on the other side of the world, in Kansas. Her father worked on oil rigs and farms through most of the Depression. The day after Pearl Harbor my grandfather signed up for duty; joined Patton’s army, marched across Europe. Back home, my grandmother raised a baby and went to work on a bomber assembly line. After the war, they studied on the G.I. Bill, bought a house through F.H.A., and later moved west all the way to Hawaii in search of opportunity.

And they, too, had big dreams for their daughter. A common dream, born of two continents.

My parents shared not only an improbable love, they shared an abiding faith in the possibilities of this nation. They would give me an African name, Barack, or ”blessed,” believing that in a tolerant America your name is no barrier to success. They imagined — They imagined me going to the best schools in the land, even though they weren’t rich, because in a generous America you don’t have to be rich to achieve your potential.

They’re both passed away now. And yet, I know that on this night they look down on me with great pride.

They stand here — And I stand here today, grateful for the diversity of my heritage, aware that my parents’ dreams live on in my two precious daughters. I stand here knowing that my story is part of the larger American story, that I owe a debt to all of those who came before me, and that, in no other country on earth, is my story even possible.

Tonight, we gather to affirm the greatness of our Nation — not because of the height of our skyscrapers, or the power of our military, or the size of our economy. Our pride is based on a very simple premise, summed up in a declaration made over two hundred years ago:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

That is the true genius of America, a faith — a faith in simple dreams, an insistence on small miracles; that we can tuck in our children at night and know that they are fed and clothed and safe from harm; that we can say what we think, write what we think, without hearing a sudden knock on the door; that we can have an idea and start our own business without paying a bribe; that we can participate in the political process without fear of retribution, and that our votes will be counted — at least most of the time.

This year, in this election we are called to reaffirm our values and our commitments, to hold them against a hard reality and see how we’re measuring up to the legacy of our forbearers and the promise of future generations.

And fellow Americans, Democrats, Republicans, Independents, I say to you tonight: We have more work to do — more work to do for the workers I met in Galesburg, Illinois, who are losing their union jobs at the Maytag plant that’s moving to Mexico, and now are having to compete with their own children for jobs that pay seven bucks an hour; more to do for the father that I met who was losing his job and choking back the tears, wondering how he would pay 4500 dollars a month for the drugs his son needs without the health benefits that he counted on; more to do for the young woman in East St. Louis, and thousands more like her, who has the grades, has the drive, has the will, but doesn’t have the money to go to college.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The people I meet — in small towns and big cities, in diners and office parks — they don’t expect government to solve all their problems. They know they have to work hard to get ahead, and they want to. Go into the collar counties around Chicago, and people will tell you they don’t want their tax money wasted, by a welfare agency or by the Pentagon. Go in — Go into any inner city neighborhood, and folks will tell you that government alone can’t teach our kids to learn; they know that parents have to teach, that children can’t achieve unless we raise their expectations and turn off the television sets and eradicate the slander that says a black youth with a book is acting white. They know those things.

People don’t expect — People don’t expect government to solve all their problems. But they sense, deep in their bones, that with just a slight change in priorities, we can make sure that every child in America has a decent shot at life, and that the doors of opportunity remain open to all.

They know we can do better. And they want that choice.

In this election, we offer that choice. Our Party has chosen a man to lead us who embodies the best this country has to offer. And that man is John Kerry.

John Kerry understands the ideals of community, faith, and service because they’ve defined his life. From his heroic service to Vietnam, to his years as a prosecutor and lieutenant governor, through two decades in the United States Senate, he’s devoted himself to this country. Again and again, we’ve seen him make tough choices when easier ones were available.

His values and his record affirm what is best in us. John Kerry believes in an America where hard work is rewarded; so instead of offering tax breaks to companies shipping jobs overseas, he offers them to companies creating jobs here at home.

John Kerry believes in an America where all Americans can afford the same health coverage our politicians in Washington have for themselves.

John Kerry believes in energy independence, so we aren’t held hostage to the profits of oil companies, or the sabotage of foreign oil fields.

John Kerry believes in the Constitutional freedoms that have made our country the envy of the world, and he will never sacrifice our basic liberties, nor use faith as a wedge to divide us.

And John Kerry believes that in a dangerous world war must be an option sometimes, but it should never be the first option.

You know, a while back — awhile back I met a young man named Shamus in a V.F.W. Hall in East Moline, Illinois. He was a good-looking kid — six two, six three, clear eyed, with an easy smile. He told me he’d joined the Marines and was heading to Iraq the following week. And as I listened to him explain why he’d enlisted, the absolute faith he had in our country and its leaders, his devotion to duty and service, I thought this young man was all that any of us might ever hope for in a child.

But then I asked myself, “Are we serving Shamus as well as he is serving us?”

I thought of the 900 men and women — sons and daughters, husbands and wives, friends and neighbors, who won’t be returning to their own hometowns. I thought of the families I’ve met who were struggling to get by without a loved one’s full income, or whose loved ones had returned with a limb missing or nerves shattered, but still lacked long-term health benefits because they were Reservists.

When we send our young men and women into harm’s way, we have a solemn obligation not to fudge the numbers or shade the truth about why they’re going, to care for their families while they’re gone, to tend to the soldiers upon their return, and to never ever go to war without enough troops to win the war, secure the peace, and earn the respect of the world.

Now — Now let me be clear. Let me be clear. We have real enemies in the world. These enemies must be found. They must be pursued. And they must be defeated. John Kerry knows this. And just as Lieutenant Kerry did not hesitate to risk his life to protect the men who served with him in Vietnam, President Kerry will not hesitate one moment to use our military might to keep America safe and secure.

John Kerry believes in America. And he knows that it’s not enough for just some of us to prosper — for alongside our famous individualism, there’s another ingredient in the American saga, a belief that we’re all connected as one people. If there is a child on the south side of Chicago who can’t read, that matters to me, even if it’s not my child. If there is a senior citizen somewhere who can’t pay for their prescription drugs, and having to choose between medicine and the rent, that makes my life poorer, even if it’s not my grandparent. If there’s an Arab American family being rounded up without benefit of an attorney or due process, that threatens my civil liberties.

It is that fundamental belief — It is that fundamental belief: I am my brother’s keeper. I am my sister’s keeper that makes this country work. It’s what allows us to pursue our individual dreams and yet still come together as one American family.

E pluribus unum: “Out of many, one.”

Now even as we speak, there are those who are preparing to divide us — the spin masters, the negative ad peddlers who embrace the politics of “anything goes.” Well, I say to them tonight, there is not a liberal America and a conservative America — there is the United States of America. There is not a Black America and a White America and Latino America and Asian America — there’s the United States of America.

The pundits, the pundits like to slice-and-dice our country into Red States and Blue States; Red States for Republicans, Blue States for Democrats. But I’ve got news for them, too. We worship an “awesome God” in the Blue States, and we don’t like federal agents poking around in our libraries in the Red States. We coach Little League in the Blue States and yes, we’ve got some gay friends in the Red States. There are patriots who opposed the war in Iraq and there are patriots who supported the war in Iraq. We are one people, all of us pledging allegiance to the stars and stripes, all of us defending the United States of America.

In the end — In the end — In the end, that’s what this election is about. Do we participate in a politics of cynicism or do we participate in a politics of hope?

John Kerry calls on us to hope. John Edwards calls on us to hope.

I’m not talking about blind optimism here — the almost willful ignorance that thinks unemployment will go away if we just don’t think about it, or the health care crisis will solve itself if we just ignore it. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about something more substantial. It’s the hope of slaves sitting around a fire singing freedom songs; the hope of immigrants setting out for distant shores; the hope of a young naval lieutenant bravely patrolling the Mekong Delta; the hope of a millworker’s son who dares to defy the odds; the hope of a skinny kid with a funny name who believes that America has a place for him, too.

Hope — Hope in the face of difficulty. Hope in the face of uncertainty. The audacity of hope!

In the end, that is God’s greatest gift to us, the bedrock of this nation. A belief in things not seen. A belief that there are better days ahead.

I believe that we can give our middle class relief and provide working families with a road to opportunity.

I believe we can provide jobs to the jobless, homes to the homeless, and reclaim young people in cities across America from violence and despair.

I believe that we have a righteous wind at our backs and that as we stand on the crossroads of history, we can make the right choices, and meet the challenges that face us.

America! Tonight, if you feel the same energy that I do, if you feel the same urgency that I do, if you feel the same passion that I do, if you feel the same hopefulness that I do — if we do what we must do, then I have no doubt that all across the country, from Florida to Oregon, from Washington to Maine, the people will rise up in November, and John Kerry will be sworn in as President, and John Edwards will be sworn in as Vice President, and this country will reclaim its promise, and out of this long political darkness a brighter day will come.

Thank you very much everybody. God bless you. Thank you.

Julia Roberts: ‘Erin Brockovitch’ – A Lame-Ass Offer

Julia Roberts as Erin Brockovitch, a woman who, despite having no legal background, investigates cases of cancers and illnesses in a poor community caused by contaminated water from a Pacific Gas and Electric plant in Hinkley, California. She went on to win one of the largest settlements in US history agains the plant.

You can read the script at Script-O-Rama. The movie is based on a true story.

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ED (Albert Finney): Counselors –

SANCHEZ (Gina Gallego): Counselors.

SANCHEZ:…Let’s be honest here. Twenty million dollars is more money than these people have ever dreamed of.

ERIN (Julia Roberts): Oh, see, now that pisses me off. First of all — since the demur, we now have more than four hundred plaintiffs…and “let’s be honest”, we all know there are more out there.

Now, they may not be the most sophisticated people, but they do know how to divide, and twenty million dollars isn’t shit when you split it between them.

ED: Erin —

ERIN: And second of all — these people don’t dream about being rich. They dream about being able to watch their kids swim in a pool without worrying they’ll have to have a hysterectomy at the age of 20, like Rosa Diaz — a client of ours — or have their spine deteriorate like Stan Bloom. Another client of ours.

So before you come back here with another lame-ass offer, I want you to think real hard about what your spine is worth, Mr. Walker – or what you’d expect someone to pay you for your uterus, Miss Sanchez — then you take out your calculator and multiply that number by a hundred. Anything less than that is a waste of our time.

By the way, we had that water brought in special for you folks.

Came from a well in Hinkley.

SANCHEZ: I think this meeting is over.

ED: Damn right it is.

Kelly McDonald: ‘The Girl in the Café’, 2005

From the British film The Girl in the Café (2005): Kelly McDonald plays Gina, a girl who falls in love with Lawrence (Bill Nighy) a top civil servant. At a dinner of the G8 leaders she speaks out against poverty. Read the complete film transcript here at Script-O-Rama.com.

Note: ‘indent’ means to make a dent or impression, a small change or effect, and that’s the word given in the transcript. But I think the Prime Minister says “end debt,” although this doesn’t make sense in the sentence. If you would like to see the movie and work out for yourself, get a copy of the DVD here.

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Prime Minister of the United Kingdom (Corin Redgrave): Five years ago, the world made a series of the most magnificent promises. And we have determined to use this conference seriously to indent the most extreme curses of poverty in the world today. We shall not let them out of our sights, even if we may not yet have the power to fulfill them all.

Gina: That’s not true. That’s not true…

Prime Minister: Aah, I’m sorry Madam, but heckling isn’t really a tradition at these gatherings.

Gina: What are the traditions, then? Well-crafted compromise and just sort of ignoring the poor?

Prime Minister: Perhaps we can talk about this later?

Gina: I doubt it. I imagine I’ll be thrown out later so it’s probably got to be now. I don’t know how much the rest of you ladies know about what’s going on, but my friend here tells me that while we are eating, a hundred million children are nearly starving. There’s just millions of kids who’d kill for the amount of food that fat old me left on the side of my plate – children who are then so weak they’ll die if a mosquito bites them. And so, they do die, one every three seconds.

There they go. And another one.

Anyone who has kids knows that every mother and father in Africa must love their children as much as they do. And to watch your kids die, to watch them die and then to die yourself in trying to protect them – that’s not right. And tomorrow, eight of the men sitting ’round this table actually have the ability to sort this out by making a few great decisions. And if they don’t, someday, someone else will, and they’ll look back on us lot and say: ‘People were actually dying in their millions unnecessarily, in front of you, on your TV screens. What were you thinking? You knew what to do to stop it happening and you didn’t do those things. Shame on you.’

So that’s what you have to do tomorrow. Be great, instead of being ashamed. It can’t be impossible. It must be possible..

Prime Minister: As I was saying before I was so cogently interrupted…

(End of transcript)