MANIFESTO OF A MAD PROFESSOR WITH A TUBA AND A POINT
Welcome to my corner of the internet. I was told that every weirdo on the internet has to have a manifesto, so here is mine 🙂
I’m not here to change your mind. I’m here to pour you a drink, tell you a few ridiculous stories, and maybe make you laugh so hard you forget whose side you were supposed to be on. If you leave this page thinking, “Wait, that guy actually sounds like fun…” – then good. That means I’ve done my job.
Some folks have called me a walking contradiction, a caricature of myself, and a contrarian; usually when I say something unexpected that breaks someone’s mental flowchart. I promise I’m not doing it to be edgy or weird on purpose. It’s because most people don’t form their views from first principles. They outsource their thinking to experts, influencers, or pundits and treat any deviation as betrayal. Thinking takes work, so why not let someone else do it for you?
Me? I think thinking is the fun part. If I could outsource anything, it’d be the performative outrage and self-congratulatory hashtags.
People don’t know what to make of me. And honestly, I get it. I confuse myself sometimes.
They hear “Columbia professor” and expect someone boring, intellectually serious, self-important, and humorless; probably wearing a tweed jacket and using the word “intersectionality” in casual conversation.
Then they find out I play tuba professionally, once took Dennis Rodman to North Korea, and got detained at an airport with a suitcase full of fermented fish and brass mouthpieces. Suddenly they short-circuit.
“Libertarian”? Must be a Silicon Valley crypto-bro or an autistic incel living in his mom’s basement.
“Professional Musician”? I must wait tables and split the rent with three roommates in a two-bedroom apartment in the Bronx.
“Geneticist”? Clearly spent my youth doing math competitions and science fairs, not fur trapping, playing hockey, and entering competitive eating contests.
“Tuba major in college”? Clearly the class clown who flunked out of trombone school and now delivers pizza – not someone doing genetics or diplomacy.
“New York academic”? Must be a smug, Trump-hating progressive.
“North Korea”? Definitely an anti-American communist.
“Voted for Trump”? Must hate immigrants and science.
“Sang with the Moranbong Band in Pyongyang”? I give up…
What all these hot takes miss is one basic truth: the Libertarian Party likely has the lowest median income of any major political movement, even lower than Democratic Socialists of America, because we’re the only ones honest enough to say we’d like to be free to become billionaires without government interference, even though most of us are just broke idealists who want to be left alone. Case in point: I became a delegate to our national convention last year only because half the better-qualified people couldn’t afford the bus ticket to D.C.
None of these stereotypes work.
Even “contrarian” doesn’t fit. I’m not here to troll or play devil’s advocate. I just don’t bother writing articles that say “Yup, I think the same.” Who wants to read stuff that validates what you already believe? That’s just intellectually lazy…
If my views seem weird to you, it’s probably because you’re stuck playing team sports with your thinking, and neither team wants to associate with me!
I don’t see the world as left vs. right.
I see it as curiosity vs. conformity.
I moved to New York after music school, and went to grad school in science because it paid better than flipping burgers. There was no grand plan; just rent to pay and no patience for waiting tables between orchestra gigs. Somewhere along the way, I accidentally became curious in a dangerous way.
I questioned the Genome Project and Genome-Wide Association Studies not because I thought I knew more than the “experts,” but because I knew I didn’t. I didn’t study biology as an undergrad; I studied tuba. I didn’t know what everyone else “already knew,” which, it turns out, was my biggest advantage.
Because when I looked at what “everyone knew,” it didn’t pass the smell test. Not even close.
So I asked basic questions from first principles.
The ones nobody else asks because they’re too busy pretending they already understand.
And guess what?
Nobody had answers.
That’s when I realized most institutions, whether scientific, academic, or political, are just elaborate Jenga towers of jargon stacked on top of groupthink, wobbling on a base of unquestioned assumptions and insecure egos.
My ignorance was my secret weapon.
I didn’t know not to ask. So I asked.
And that’s why I don’t make sense to people who rely on categories.
Because categories are for filing cabinets, not for human beings.
I’m not a contradiction.
I’m just a consistent person living in a world that punishes independent thinking and rewards tribal loyalty.
And I have no intention of playing that game.
Let’s get one thing straight: I think so far outside the box that my colleagues say I don’t even know where the proverbial box is. Honestly, I’m not even sure I’d recognize it if you gift-wrapped it and dropped it on my welcome mat with a pizza. I’ve spent my whole life walking off the map, into jungles, dictatorships, and intellectual minefields. The most useful thing I’ve ever learned? Being wrong is the best way to get smarter. Lucky for me, I’ve been wrong about almost everything at least once, sometimes twice before lunch. Hell, I’m probably wrong about something right now.
I’m Joseph Terwilliger. Professor, tuba player, traveler, skeptic, diplomat, prankster, and expert-level bullshit detector; starting with my own. My life sounds like a bad novel ghostwritten by a conspiracy theorist with ADHD. Even I sometimes read my own résumé and wonder if I’m being punked.
I’ve gotten drunk with North Korean generals and played brass concerts in velvet vests. I’ve dined with diplomats and commiserated with doomsday preppers. I’ve judged powerlifting competitions and marched through Brčko on the brink of a European war. I’ve been everywhere, talked to everyone, and questioned everything. If I ever start making sense, someone should check for signs of stroke.
And I’m just getting started.
I speak my mind, not because I think I’m always right, but because I want to find out where I’m wrong. Arguments are not fights to win; they’re crash-test simulations for ideas; better a dented ego than a totaled worldview. You press on your own beliefs like you’d stress a steel beam. If it breaks, you don’t want to be under it when it collapses. So no, I won’t back down in a fight, but I’ll wake up a week later with a changed mind if you made the better case. I’ll resist like hell, but I’ll yield with grace in time if you take my legs out from under me. I may rant like a lunatic, but deep down I’m just trying to break my own ideas before the world does it for me.
I’ll go to the mat for my ideas, then throw them in the trash if they don’t pass inspection. This isn’t performance art or some self-important TED talk; I do it for me. If that helps you too, lucky you.
That’s why I roast my friends harder than my enemies – because they might still listen. You can’t fix the other guy, but you might still save your own team. If you call yourself my ally, expect scrutiny. If I think you’re full of it, I’ll say so; and I’ll expect you to say the same to me. That’s not betrayal. That’s respect. If you’re one of those fragile souls who can’t handle disagreement, go get yourself a therapy llama and stay off my lawn.
I’m not afraid to offend people, but I’m never trying to hurt them. I genuinely care about people. I want them to live better, freer, funnier lives. I want them to see the world and laugh at themselves as much as I laugh at myself. I’m always trying to understand them. If you tell me I’m wrong, I’ll argue. But I’ll also ask: why do you see it that way? What do you know that I don’t? Empathy isn’t weakness; it’s how you get smarter. The four most powerful words in the universe might be: “What if I’m wrong?” It’s how science works. It’s how you get new ideas, and constantly questioning yourself is the best way to avoid major disasters. Intellectual humility is the basis of every advancement. It’s how you get braver. It’s how you get better. If you’ve never been proven wrong in public, you’re either a coward or you whisper your bad ideas in your sleep.
I’ve lived in North Korea and Manhattan. I’ve studied Arctic genes and Balkan politics. I’ve worked in labs and warzones. I’ve spoken languages you’ve never heard of in places your government told you not to visit. I’ve fought for academic freedom while making fun of every pompous academic in the room, including myself. Especially myself. Because every professor is full of shit, and anyone who won’t admit that shouldn’t be teaching. And if you’ve got tenure and still don’t speak freely, congratulations on your new role as a very expensive decorative plant
I’m not here to “win”; I’m here to wander around the stadium, eat the weird snacks, and yell obscenities from the bleachers. I want every crazy experience, every weird conversation, every unlikely friendship. I want to learn what I wasn’t supposed to know, say what I’m not supposed to say, and go where I’m not supposed to go. Life isn’t about dominating the scoreboard. It’s about flipping the game board over and seeing what’s underneath. I don’t crave “stuff”; I seek knowledge, adventure, and experiences that change me and make me think differently. I learn unusual languages because you must think in a different way to express ideas. And in that comes new ideas, new insights, and new understandings. If you’re not confusing yourself on purpose, you’re probably stuck playing sudoku with the same four numbers over and over again and calling it enlightenment.
I am not impressed or distressed by who lives in the White House. If the occupant of the White House dictates your serotonin levels, you don’t need a new president – you need a therapist, a nap, or a puppy (either to pet or to eat, I don’t care which). Happiness has never come from government. If yours does, consult a professional. I’m happy because I love my friends, my family, and I am insatiably curious about the world. I’m happiest when I’m lost in a new place, asking questions I don’t yet understand, learning things my mother never knew to warn me about. I see opportunities in chaos. I find joy in contradiction. I laugh at the absurdity of it all. That’s my religion. That’s my therapy. That’s my self-help book, and spoiler alert: it doesn’t have an index.
I am not normal. And thank God for that. Although “thank God” is mostly a figure of speech – I’m not an atheist either, because they are just as evangelical as Christians; so convinced they’ve nailed down the Truth they wouldn’t recognize doubt if it bit them in the ass. I’m something far more dangerous – an unapologetic apatheist. I don’t care whether God exists or not. I don’t need the universe to make sense to find joy in it. I’m not arrogant enough to believe there’s no higher power, and not gullible enough to assume there must be. I just figure we’re here, we’re breathing, and we’ve got brains; so we might as well use them before the power grid goes out or the universities cancel us all for misgendering Schrödinger’s cat in Esperanto.
So if you came here for a clean brand, a party line, or a safe ideological label, leave now. I won’t give it to you. I’ve been called a leftist and a fascist in the same month. I’ve defended foreigners’ right to free speech and condemned Trump’s travel bans in the same breath I praised his Korea diplomacy. I’ve eaten over 40 species of mammals, survived terrorist bombings, and crashed academic conferences because I got the room number wrong and figured, why not give the keynote anyway? I once got a standing ovation in Tunisia for a talk on genetic diversity. I also once got questioned by police in Kyrgyzstan because I had a beard and no moustache, asking if I was a suicide bomber. If that makes me inconsistent, good. The world is inconsistent. At least I’m not pretending otherwise.
Everything I do is real. None of it is filtered. You want curated? Go to Instagram. You want safe? Call HR and request a therapy capybara. You want truth, grit, and the illusion of contradiction? Pull up a chair.
I am unapologetically me. I take risks. I speak my mind. I do things my way. Not out of ego – just out of curiosity and conviction. And I care. I want the world to be better, freer, funnier, and smarter. I believe one person can make a difference. Why else would I walk into Kim Jong Un’s house and try to build a relationship? Everyone laughed. Until I did it. And now they scoff, not because I failed, but because they never had the guts to try. You can laugh at me all you want. Trust me, I’ll laugh louder; and probably snort while doing it.
I know I may appear to be full of contradictions, biases, errors, and loud opinions. But I aim for logical consistency, avoidance of hypocrisy, and staying true to my principles, even when it goes against my own self-interest. That’s what makes me worth listening to. But as my dad used to say, an expert ain’t nothing but a country boy away from home.
And that’s what I am: a country boy in the global madhouse, trying to make sense of it all, and laughing while I do it. Because life’s too short to fake it, and too interesting not to poke it with a stick.
So pull up a chair. I’ve got weird stories, sharp opinions, and maybe an extra tuba mouthpiece if you’re brave. Let’s talk. Let’s argue. Let’s laugh. And if nothing else, let’s have that beer.
Welcome to my manifesto. Welcome to the mess. Welcome to the part where it stops being a joke and starts being a mirror.
Welcome to the deep end. There’s no map, but I’ve got stories, scars, and possibly whiskey.
Let’s see if you can swim!
