KD^3C^3 - 20241125 and I went on a journey
I don’t know when other people don’t know something
I am trapped in my own brain. Trapped by my own perceptions of the universe. All I have is the input I receive though my senses and how I interpret those sensations. Cogito ergo sum
But I know (have chosen to know?) that other people exist. And I try to live my life in such a way that respects that existence in ways both small and large.
In Terry Pratchett’s novel The Truth, which follows the creation of the first newspaper on his fantasy planet of Discworld (a giant flat disk resting on the back of four giant elephants, who are in turn on the back of a giant-er turtle flying through space.) I’ve probably read The Truth three times, the most recent of which was while we were without power in the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Helene.
I don’t re-read a lot of books, but Pratchett is an author I feel like I can always come back to and be satisfied. Some of this is because I find new jokes I had forgotten, but often it feels like I’m seeing the book in a new light. The book hasn’t changed, but I have.
Something I noticed on this, my third read through, is how limited the main character’s point of view is. Not limited in the sense of not knowing what is going on (they’re a reporter uncovering a mystery, so there’s some missing information) but in the sense of not quite understanding how they are perceived by others.
William de Worde is a man who comes from wealth and privilege. Due to reasons, he has tried to push away from his background and forge his own path. Due to his new profession, he finds himself interacting with new populations, people like dwarves, trolls, vampires, the unhoused and even women. There’s a moment towards the end of the novel where he makes a point of saying how he doesn’t treat anyone differently, and the vampire character notes how hard de Worde is working at not treating anyone differently. It’s not the first, but it is the most obvious example of the way we the reader see the character (through his eyes) doesn’t quite line up with how the rest of the world sees him.
It’s not quite a situation of an unreliable narrator, nothing the reader sees is incorrect, but rather we now see things in a new light. The facts are the same, but context changes.
Sometimes I find myself explaining ideas or concepts that seem straightforward or obvious to me, only to realize that the person I’m talking to doesn’t have any of the same context I do. It isn’t that I’m necessarily more informed (although sometimes I am) but rather I see the situation differently and bring that perspective to the conversation.
Sometimes this can be valuable, my job offers lots of opportunities for creative problem solving and my particular blend of insights can come to play. And I write this newsletter, which hopefully brings joy or at least new insights to my readers. But because I’m trapped in my own head, I sometimes have trouble distinguishing the obvious from the interesting (to others.)
A very specific example is from an episode of the comedy lecture series Smartypants (available exclusively on Dropout.) Frequent Dropout contributor Jess Ross is giving her presentation which has the very simple thesis: Professional Wrestling is Drag. The way this is presented in theory show, and the reaction of the cast showed me that this was meant to be a revelation, with significant worldwide implications. But my response was more one of “yeah, so?”
Jess Ross continued to lay out all the evidence for the thesis, and I continued to be surprised at how surprising everyone found it. But I thought the premise was obvious on its face. Of course wrestling is drag. Drag performance is all about identifying and heightening specific aspects of the inherently performative act of gender. In the popular consciousness, (I.e. RuPaul’s Drag Race) drag is more limited to heightened performance of womanhood by (typically) gay men, but the historical practice has a much broader scope. And the hypermasculine characters and performances in professional wrestling are clearly in that same ballpark.
I’m not trying to say I’m a genius for noticing this, but rather I was so stuck in my own context that it hadn’t occurred to me that everyone else didn’t know this already. But my context came from the collected experience that makes up my entire life. Things like being a student of theater and performance for so long that I got multiple degrees in it, watching Paris is Burning a long time ago (everyone should watch Paris is Burning. I should watch it again,) and being curious enough to try to figure out why pro wrestling is so popular. These various threads wove together a tapestry of meaning so unobtrusively that I didn’t realize it hadn’t always been hanging there or that other people didn’t have one I their home. That metaphor got a little tortured. Sorry.
I can’t believe I’m going to do this, but I’m going to bring up Donald Trump. Trump has a lot of behavioral patterns, but the one I personally fixate on more than the others, is when he says “a lot of people don’t know this” on any given topic. Every time he says this, it’s covering up the fact that it is something he just learned. Trump is a man who is constitutionally incapable of admitting growth, because in his eyes, to grow is to imply weakness in one’s past, and Trump cannot admit to weakness at any point, even through hindsight. But Trump will learn something new (to him) and then present the information to anyone who will listen, or the nearest microphone, as if it was a stunning new insight or secret about the world that didn’t exist an hour ago. When he says “a lot of people don’t know this” what he is actually saying is that *he* didn’t know it until recently.
But not knowing things is the default state of everyone. There should be no shame in it. We all start from a place of ignorance, and even a lifetime of study cannot meaningfully close the gap. That’s what civilization and society and collaboration and specialization are for. I know almost nothing about rocket science but I can still cheer for humanity going to the moon. Most people don’t think about structural dramaturgy nearly as much as I do, but they can still enjoy the latest Benoit Blanc murder mystery.
We are learning all the time, and there is always more to learn. Any time two people meet or share information there’s a possibility both of them can learn something from each other. I see that as a good thing, even if what I learn is that most people don’t really care about fictional sports as much as I do.
Which could be the thesis of this whole newsletter. Not just this issue but the entire history of it. This space is me talking about the things I know, and providing the context I have for how I know those things. My context is different and hopefully it’s interesting enough that you’re willing the keep reading it and learning from everyone around you.
I am trapped in my own brain. Trapped by my own perceptions of the universe. All I have is the input I receive though my senses and how I interpret those sensations. Cogito ergo sum
But I know (have chosen to know?) that other people exist. And I try to live my life in such a way that respects that existence in ways both small and large.
In Terry Pratchett’s novel The Truth, which follows the creation of the first newspaper on his fantasy planet of Discworld (a giant flat disk resting on the back of four giant elephants, who are in turn on the back of a giant-er turtle flying through space.) I’ve probably read The Truth three times, the most recent of which was while we were without power in the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Helene.
I don’t re-read a lot of books, but Pratchett is an author I feel like I can always come back to and be satisfied. Some of this is because I find new jokes I had forgotten, but often it feels like I’m seeing the book in a new light. The book hasn’t changed, but I have.
Something I noticed on this, my third read through, is how limited the main character’s point of view is. Not limited in the sense of not knowing what is going on (they’re a reporter uncovering a mystery, so there’s some missing information) but in the sense of not quite understanding how they are perceived by others.
William de Worde is a man who comes from wealth and privilege. Due to reasons, he has tried to push away from his background and forge his own path. Due to his new profession, he finds himself interacting with new populations, people like dwarves, trolls, vampires, the unhoused and even women. There’s a moment towards the end of the novel where he makes a point of saying how he doesn’t treat anyone differently, and the vampire character notes how hard de Worde is working at not treating anyone differently. It’s not the first, but it is the most obvious example of the way we the reader see the character (through his eyes) doesn’t quite line up with how the rest of the world sees him.
It’s not quite a situation of an unreliable narrator, nothing the reader sees is incorrect, but rather we now see things in a new light. The facts are the same, but context changes.
Sometimes I find myself explaining ideas or concepts that seem straightforward or obvious to me, only to realize that the person I’m talking to doesn’t have any of the same context I do. It isn’t that I’m necessarily more informed (although sometimes I am) but rather I see the situation differently and bring that perspective to the conversation.
Sometimes this can be valuable, my job offers lots of opportunities for creative problem solving and my particular blend of insights can come to play. And I write this newsletter, which hopefully brings joy or at least new insights to my readers. But because I’m trapped in my own head, I sometimes have trouble distinguishing the obvious from the interesting (to others.)
A very specific example is from an episode of the comedy lecture series Smartypants (available exclusively on Dropout.) Frequent Dropout contributor Jess Ross is giving her presentation which has the very simple thesis: Professional Wrestling is Drag. The way this is presented in theory show, and the reaction of the cast showed me that this was meant to be a revelation, with significant worldwide implications. But my response was more one of “yeah, so?”
Jess Ross continued to lay out all the evidence for the thesis, and I continued to be surprised at how surprising everyone found it. But I thought the premise was obvious on its face. Of course wrestling is drag. Drag performance is all about identifying and heightening specific aspects of the inherently performative act of gender. In the popular consciousness, (I.e. RuPaul’s Drag Race) drag is more limited to heightened performance of womanhood by (typically) gay men, but the historical practice has a much broader scope. And the hypermasculine characters and performances in professional wrestling are clearly in that same ballpark.
I’m not trying to say I’m a genius for noticing this, but rather I was so stuck in my own context that it hadn’t occurred to me that everyone else didn’t know this already. But my context came from the collected experience that makes up my entire life. Things like being a student of theater and performance for so long that I got multiple degrees in it, watching Paris is Burning a long time ago (everyone should watch Paris is Burning. I should watch it again,) and being curious enough to try to figure out why pro wrestling is so popular. These various threads wove together a tapestry of meaning so unobtrusively that I didn’t realize it hadn’t always been hanging there or that other people didn’t have one I their home. That metaphor got a little tortured. Sorry.
I can’t believe I’m going to do this, but I’m going to bring up Donald Trump. Trump has a lot of behavioral patterns, but the one I personally fixate on more than the others, is when he says “a lot of people don’t know this” on any given topic. Every time he says this, it’s covering up the fact that it is something he just learned. Trump is a man who is constitutionally incapable of admitting growth, because in his eyes, to grow is to imply weakness in one’s past, and Trump cannot admit to weakness at any point, even through hindsight. But Trump will learn something new (to him) and then present the information to anyone who will listen, or the nearest microphone, as if it was a stunning new insight or secret about the world that didn’t exist an hour ago. When he says “a lot of people don’t know this” what he is actually saying is that *he* didn’t know it until recently.
But not knowing things is the default state of everyone. There should be no shame in it. We all start from a place of ignorance, and even a lifetime of study cannot meaningfully close the gap. That’s what civilization and society and collaboration and specialization are for. I know almost nothing about rocket science but I can still cheer for humanity going to the moon. Most people don’t think about structural dramaturgy nearly as much as I do, but they can still enjoy the latest Benoit Blanc murder mystery.
We are learning all the time, and there is always more to learn. Any time two people meet or share information there’s a possibility both of them can learn something from each other. I see that as a good thing, even if what I learn is that most people don’t really care about fictional sports as much as I do.
Which could be the thesis of this whole newsletter. Not just this issue but the entire history of it. This space is me talking about the things I know, and providing the context I have for how I know those things. My context is different and hopefully it’s interesting enough that you’re willing the keep reading it and learning from everyone around you.