NotSoAveragJoe

Life is about drowning, but having fun while doing it.

[asahikuns]

listen to CHIKA aka the next rap royalty

[moonflower-69]

YYYYAAAASSSSSS 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

[tylorioussex-deactivated2024062]

My biggest personal takeaway from the Project Power movie was hearing her for the first time 😫🙌🏾

[vvnnie]

Enjoying the temporary shade on this hike // Instagram / Website

[elierlick]

Your annual reminder to not donate to Salvation Army!

[devincastro]

[tguzz]

I will always reblog this

[zachlironis-blog]

Always and forever

[love]

A couple months ago, someone taught me newlyweds used to plant sycamore trees on both sides of a walkway leading to their house, then join them together to symbolize two becoming one. Today I saw it for the first time. (by frique)

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

quotespile:

“Lonely people tend to be lonely because they decline to bear the psychic costs of being around other humans. They are allergic to people. People affect them too strongly.”

— David Foster Wallace, from A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again (Abacus, 2010)

[notsoaveragjoe]

Cereal and Self-Love

This post is brought to you by caffeine and Meijer’s Its not-even-fall-yet-halloween-themed Boo-Berry Cereal.

Hey, real talk for a second. I...

Wait, I don’t need to apologize, its my blog.

(Good Mojo, love your emotions for who you are)

I was going to apologize for not posting more regularly. When I started this blog, I tried to do the ‘post every week’ sort of deal, but one thing leads to another and its becomes over a month. I realized that I didn’t promise the void Im typing into anything. Since life is fun and busy and wild, I’ll  just promise that whenever I have things worth saying, but am unsure who to say it to, I’ll put it up here in the hopes that someone who appreciates my crazy comes along.

It is currently 2 am on a crisp early September evening in northwest Ohio’s 2nd fake falls of the year. Twas hanging out with one of my housemates after the others went to bed the other day (ie tonight) and we were having a night jamming on the keyboard and having fun with its pre-recorded tracks. I quickly realized that I had not had that much fun in a long time. Being my unadulterated self was a really liberating experience. To be fair, I do take myself a bit too serious most of the time.

Well, school has kicked into full swing and I have big hopes for this coming semester before the spring semester on par to freshman year of college (a bad year--I promise you). Right now, I am taking a good number of ensembles (like 5) and my quartet is looking to do a big competition in the world of classical saxophone. With my new library job, the podcast in the works, and only 3 academic classes, I am excited to see what all I can do when I have time to both focus on my work and have a social life.

Which reminds me; boys. Ugh BOYS!

(I digress)

An article that my school wrote about me that I actually wrote myself about myself and my summer was just posted, and got some cool feedback from my friends, which is cool. I also applied for other grant funding to do more research (which reminds me, I need to do the IRB thing), which I am still waiting for, but if done, then I will have a project that I can work under for literal YEARS into the beginning of my career. This makes me hopeful that this project gets approved so that I can get started on the work that I hope to do with folk music communities. I am also trying to stay connected to the scene now that I am back in the midwest, as I miss being surrounded by people who are also interested in folk music. There are ideas floating in my mind about my musical future after college and how to make it align with my academic future that are much easier to see when not drowning in conservatory life.. Scary stuff y’all.

I helped multiple underclassmen sort out their schedules and lives in order to maintain their physical and mental healths while staying on track to graduate. This just made my heart so happy because I have seen a noticeable difference in the way they interact with one another and they seem to be more relaxed in daily activities. Also,I was able to reach out to two different friends to teach them about meditation and how to take care of your mind. I am grateful forever to the few upperclassmen who took me under their wings my first (ish) year(s) here at school and helped me figure my life out. I hope that their lives are better for it. (woah, just had a flashback to a few moments with a friend who everyone thought was weird, but I did not see it. I now realize the types of stressors he was under at this point in his last year and how amazing it is that he was willing to reach out to me like that. Damn, I wish we hadn’t lost contact when he graduated. What a good friend. Now he runs a big band program in Texas. If you see this, thanks The Dolehammer).

I am working at the library now and managed to leave the admissions office and this has also been a wise decision. Though I had originally thought I may want to become a music librarian, I now know that I do not. Though it is unlikely that this will become my vocation, it is still a great job for me at the moment. Though it is tiring and has its own cultural issues within the job that I do not have the urge to decipher yet, it is a very. very. very. calm and low-stress environment. exactly what I need. In this way, it is So. Refreshing. to be able to shut my mind off for a few hours a week to just sing the alphabet song a lot and decipher numbers instead of reading sheet music, practicing, performing, and rehearsing all of the music I am currently working on. The most refreshing part is that I get to do it surrounded by stacks and stacks of sheet music, cd’s, and LP’s.

So, everything is cool for now, I guess.

Oh the CEREAL!

Basically, when I was eating cereal this evening, I realized why getting sugary cereal for myself was such a great moment of impulsive self-love as a grand gesture from myself to myself to let me know I care about myself. (Awe shucks, Mojo (Blush).

In Other Words: I’M THRIVING

-♥️ Mojo

[notsoaveragjoe]

If you haven't heard of these ladies, Our Native Daughters is one of the most important musical projects going on right now. Consisting of Rhiannon Giddens, Amythyst Kiah, Leyla McCalla, and Allison Russel bring the whole weight of history into their music. I had the opportunity to see them the other night at the National Museum for African American History and Culture and I am still in awe of what we performed on stage. That black girl banjo magic is real y'all and you should check out their new album on Spotify!

[notsoaveragjoe]

#2 Bad Hair and Purple Tie-Dye Sweaters

Hello, Cruel World. Welcome to another late night from the mind of Joe. I feel as though I should start with an apology for not making my second post more than a week after my first. Then again, I promised you nothing. (MUHAHAHA) 

But seriously, it is my goal to try to get into a regular schedule posting on here in order to experience the freedom to write just for the love of it. As a musicology student currently working on the beginnings of a large research project looking on toward a graduate degree, I have done and plan to do a heck ton more academic writing. Just looking at the last semester alone I wrote hundreds (with an s) of pages of lit reviews, document-based research projects, conference papers, and much more. For the last three months I have not written much more than “2 Chicken & waffles-1 no sugar, Hot brown, + kids omelet” on my server pad in scribbled and illegible shorthand. Actually, who am I kidding, I know the menu well enough at my serving job back home that I haven’t written an order down in years. (Go check them out here. Great food, wonderful staff).

I digress..

Setting the Stage: Currently sitting in a dimly lit corner of my apartment, sipping a cup of tea and whiskey-- a bold choice. In the process of trying to not hear the passionate clamor of my roommate and his main girl during “euphemisms”.

During my homeward commute this afternoon, I was in a mood and took a detour to the supermarket where I subsequently purchased the following items:

Hair Texturizer

Dental floss

Bananas (Thanks Gwen)

Purple Tie-Dye Sweater.

Who You Are, Mannequin Pussy

As a black person, my whole life has been plagued by a complex relationship with my hair. Though of a complicated racial background and identity, one definable feature and large conundrum in my personal identity has been figuring out the best way to ‘keep’ my hair, maintain it, and style it in a way that is authentically me. Whoever the hell that is. Regardless, my hair has been a struggle to understand for as long as I can remember understanding things. Over the last year, I have began the process of growing my hair out. Though I have never had long hair before (or big hair... I guess?) I figured that the best way for me to understand what I want is to go from a large chunk of something, and then wittle it away until I find the “sculpture within”, sort of like this. 

After about the first six months, I realized that I was constantly irritated the coarse texture of my hair as it became increasingly difficult to wash, comb out, and style on a day to day basis. I did know that I would not be happy with a fully relaxed hairstyle, but I hope that my hair would be more manageable with texturizer treatments to slightly loosen the curls. Applying the treatment every few months to the new growth, as recommended by numerous hairstylists, I had begin to develop a slightly softer, but still curly hair texture.  

Between moving twice and adjusting to a new city while doing lots of new and exciting things, I had not had the time nor the patience to do one of these treatments on my hair for quite some time. That was, until tonight. This evening, I began the process as I usually do: I apply the texturizer to the most course parts of my hear, near the roots, and begin to go on to less coarse points of new growth. Once I had finished applying the stuff, one corner of my head began to BURN like none other. Though I had experienced this pain before, it had never been to this extreme extent. As I quickly applied the neutralizer and rinsed my hair as thoroughly as humanely possible, moaning in discomfort to match my the euphemism going on across the hall. Though my skin is a little tender, I now realize that the air in this city had non only been drying out my face, but my scalp was also as dry as a chip and beginning to crack. Upon this realization, I began to long to speak to someone about my experience, but on a greater level, it reminded me about how difficult my struggle with my hair has been.

Growing up, the culture to which I was accustomed incorporated going to a barber shop across town from my home to get my hair cut by a man named Sid or his son-in-law Rodney. Though it was a cool place, the only thing I learned there was to always get my hair cut really short, oil it occasionally, and comb it every day. Nearly every black man in my community kept their hair like this, so I thought it was the norm. I had always been raised to believe that guys with afros were either novelties or punks, and any other hairstyle was either dirty or unnatural for a man to have. On the other hand, my mother and sister either had their hair relaxed, or it was in a complex braid style that took them entire weekends to get put in. In any case, it wasn’t something that I was taught. 

Now, this is not a knock on my parents, who did their best to raise me with many privileges that they did not have. With them both working full-time careers my whole life, I am not angry with them for not taking the time to teach me about hair when they spent so many countless hours teaching me to read, write, and appreciate music. Still, it is wild to me that in order for me to get questions answered about my hair, I have always turned toward online forums and hair magazines to educate myself. It is also more astounding to me the sheer volume of hair care products, advice, and advertisements that are marketed toward white people. Even though there are black people literally everywhere, it is sad to see the inaccurate representation of people of color in this medium, as well as insufficient selections of hair-care products in most beauty supply aisles. 

Vegabond, Beirut 

As I feel a chill from the ceiling fan, I draw my hands into my newest oversized sweater. Then I remember I need to type.

In addition to the scalp burning hair texturizer, I also purchased dental floss (for obvious reasons) and four bananas (for the potassium... of course). Practicality aside, I now believe that the real reason my wayfaring soul drew me into the store was this sweater in particular. 

You see, for years I have lived in a world of toxic masculinity where it had been frowned upon to like anything ‘girly’ or ‘feminine’. Much of the dark parts of my life had previously been blocked out of my memory. Since beginning therapy, I have slowly began to have repressed memories return to me at the strangest of times, like a certain group rudely interrupted my internet browsing the other day. Upon seeing this purple tie-dye sweater in the store, my initial thought was “Thats pretty, but not my style”. Though a ‘correct’ statement, I remember how a drag queen had read me a few weeks ago, calling me a ‘heteroconforming, midwestern, plain-jane’. I can’t lie, she got me there. The majority of my wardrobe consists of dark earth-tones, some varieties of the color blue, and the occasional floral shirt for when I want to be ‘extra’. Oh, and black. Lots.Of.Concert.Black.

This dominoed into a number of thoughts reminding me of a statement one of my friends made, “For someone who LOVES the color purple, you don’t seem to ever express that love very much”, in response to a discussion about a mutual friend who loves the color green and rarely has the color too far away. 

Hello, this is therapy talking. OTHER PEOPLE’S OPINIONS OF YOU SHOULD NOT VALIDATE/INVALIDATE YOUR SELF WORTH. We’ll work on that next week...

When wandering the store, all of these thoughts went swirling around my head, much like the storm brewing outside. Upon further internal inquiries, I circled back to the mens clothing aisle to surprisingly see it was on sale, since it is July after all. The only sizes available were larger than my petite Sm-M that I usually wear, but I managed to find a medium size that fits as comfortably as an oversized sweater. Im sitting in bed right now swimming, but not drowning in thousands of threads of purple and white cotton. As I have always thought of myself as best in earth tones, wearing the color makes me both feel bright an happier, but also makes me look more pleasant in the mirror than I have in the past. Instead of hiding from the stereotypes of gay men, I think this is a better gateway into a life of being content liking what I like without further reasoning past I Just Like It. This impulse buy was likely one of the best purchasing decisions Ive made in a long while.

Fuck Toxic Masculinity,

~Mojo

[notsoaveragjoe]

Sneaky Sneaky

[postleftposts]

“For Foucault, power can no longer be confined within the institution of the state, or indeed in any institution. Power is a polyvalent force that runs through multiple sites throughout the social network. It is dispersed, decenter power, diffused throughout society: it may run through the prison or the mental asylum, or through various knowledges and discourses such as psychiatry or sexuality. As Foucault says: ‘power is everywhere because it comes from everywhere.’ While power can be colonized by the state, it should not be seen as belonging to or deriving from the state as the anarchists believed. Power, for Foucault, is not a function of the institution; rather the institution is a function, or an effect, of power. Power flows through institutions, it does not emanate from them. Indeed, the institution is merely an assemblage of various power relations. It is, moreover, an unstable assemblage because power relations themselves are unstable, and can just as easily turn against the institution which ‘controls’ them. Flows of power can sometimes be blocked and congealed, and this is when relations of power become relations of domination. These relations of domination form the basis of institutions such as the state.”

— Saul Newman, Foucault and the Genealogy of Power, From Bakunin to Lacan: Anti-Authoritarianism and the Dislocation of Power

[notsoaveragjoe]

Wandering in Freer Gallery of Art

L'art imite la vie

In a country plagued with a dark history and difficult present, it is weird to celebrate the nation today. The America I know is not great and never has been, but we should celebrate our diversity and steadfast commitment to positive change. The United States are better than this, or at least they should be.

[notsoaveragjoe]

#1 Hello World

Hello, cruel world. It is the middle of the night and I have made the decision to take the leap into what will hopefully be the continuation of the personal journey of a boy who has been lost for too many seasons. As I near the end of my BA in Music Performance and World Music, I stand before a critical crossroad between my world in small-town Ohio and the beginning of the rest of my life. It is WILD to me that in less than a year, I will have a bachelors degree, no job prospects, lots of debt, and an even stronger, more intimate connection to the sonic world than I ever imagined possible. By the way, my name is Joe and this late night post is sponsored by Lana Del Ray, Sesame Chicken, and Tanqueray and Raspberry LaCroix.

Setting the Stage:  Tonight, I find myself 400 miles from home in the middle of a sort of internship/ sort of research fellowship... situation? -- Let me explain.

Before I get to that, I find it worth mentioning that the inspiration of starting this blog came from a dear friend of mine from high school, Keni. Though we are not very close anymore, she has always been a young woman who I have looked up to and admired for her strength and effervescent personality. So, go follow her blog, or don’t. I’m not your mother.

This spring, I was awarded a prestigious fellowship through my school which is giving me the opportunity to study a new style of music: Appalachian Old-Time (new to me, at least). As part of my proposal, I desired to learn how to play the banjo, connect with old-time musicians, and research the forgotten experience of the African Americans from whom the tradition was (partially) appropriated from. I traveled North for my first interactions with the community with my new instrument and to meet some of the people who would become my mentors. Now, I am in Washington D.C., doing an internship that is turning out not to be what I had hoped. I am also conducting individual research at various libraries and museums and am drowning in data. I am also trying to keep up with my saxpohone-ing, and attempting to implement a self-care regimen that I will be able to keep up when I enter my last 2 semesters of college.

Earlier today, I was doing some research in the Library of Congress’s main reading room. Though I had been there many times, I am still constantly astounded at the sheer beauty and size of the hall. Though I have spent most of my research time in other rooms, the smaller reading rooms that I frequent are sadly closed on the weekends. After my journey through tourist traps, 3 levels of security, and a few strange looks from other, much older library patrons, my anxiety finally settled itself as I began my descent into the state blissful ecstasy that only comes from room full of old books.

Just kidding. The truly old books are kept underground in a storage facility, and I was mostly scanning articles for later use, but you get my point. During my moments of clarity between books, articles, and whenever someone sneezed, I would occasionally glance up for inspiration as my jaw would drop to the floor in awe of where I actually was.

God am I such a lucky boy to be where I am today.

Then I remind myself of the sleepless nights, anxiety attacks, and hundreds of pages of reading and writing that got me where I was.

God am I such a lucky hardworking boy to be where I am today.

I was truly proud of myself because even though I am still figuring out how to use the collections, I was able to confidently navigate my way from my apartment in Maryland all the way to the main reading room without the help of a map of any kind. I even gave a few tourists directions to with total confidence- A truly astounding accomplishment for my anxious self. This is especially astounding because I heard a woman say “I don’t think we should go over there because everyone has an ID badge that way”, which made me chuckle a bit. However, it also started a snowball of thoughts:

“Why do I wear my intern id from a different government org when navigating the halls?

What possessed me to think that it was a good idea to wear long sleeves, khakis, and leather oxfords on a humid Saturday in Washington D.C. in JULY?!?!

Why did I stop wearing the bright colors that bring my joy?

How dare I feel knowledgable enough of the maze that is the Library of Congress tunnels and tourists' needs to interrupt them and offer directions to a room that I only found for the first time literally yesterday?

What the hell am I doing at 21 years old with a fellowship, when I actually have no clue what I’m doing?

Why do I not feel deserving of the opportunities that I have earned?

“It is crushing to realize that I have lived in the academic bubble these last 3 years where I am *mostly* not being judged by my skin color or sexual orientation only to be thrust into a city where these issues are not only very real, but personally hurtful. I myself have even caught myself glaring at other people of various demographics while taking part in this judgmental culture. Being a midwestern, queer, man of color, I realized that I have subconsciously made these changes to my behavior, dress, and language in order to pass as a non-threatening, older-than-I-look, more-put-together-than-I-actually-am academic. I flaunt the little knowledge that I do have to others to prove to myself that I am doing alright, even though I am only a few-hours-of-wandering-around more familiar with the building than they. Hopefully I helped them out and did not come across as condescending. This is something that I need to work on as I continue.”

Immediately following these thoughts, I then remind myself, “It’s okay to be happy and confident with where you are today, even if you only just got here today.”

Breathe, Joe. Your brain is just mean sometimes

I am proud of how far I have come in order to have this dialogue within myself without loosing my cool. I am proud that I have found something that I genuinely enjoy and am able to guide my independent learning experience in a productive direction. I want to be happy that I was willing to helped a confused family as much as I could. I hope that I arrive to a place where I do not feel the need to change my appearance and actions to ‘prove’ to myself and others that I am well adjusted to my current environment.

After a cup of iced coffee at one of my favorite coffee shops in town, a brief walk around Columbia Heights, and evening plans with friends falling through, I began my long journey home which eventually brought me to this lovely moment in time.

I could write for ages about my current projects, internship, and city experiences, but that will have to wait for my next big post.

Now, lets start the fade-out with a song from a new album which I thoroughly enjoy, In Love Again- Mannequin Pussy

If you made it this far, Thank You for taking the time to read the words that decided to leave my brain. As this blog continues to develop, I will try to use my musical knowledge to curate a soundscape that will hopefully add another layer of understanding my special brand of crazy on any given day. The first song linked in the title paragraph was Lana Del Ray’s Cruel World followed by Wilkommen, from my favorite musical (at the moment), Cabaret. This blog in no way will accurately represent my whole existence, nor should it. Here in my little corner of the internet, I hope to plant a garden of pure and unadulterated personal expression. Even if this blog showcases the confused person that I actually am, it is my hope that this will become a log of the stages of my thoughts on music, life, and all of the anxiety and fear that comes from the level up to real ‘adult’ status.

Peace and Love,

MoJo JoJo