PC LOADLETTER

Installment #1: Welcome

Hello there! This is Josh. Thank you very much for visiting the official website of Josh Fix (otherwise know as Me)! If you've made it as far as this page, you are either extremely bored or thankfully quite curious. It is my hope for this website that besides being simply a vehicle for shameless struggling-artist self-promotion, it may in fact have something to offer at least SOMEONE in this very large, and ever -expanding universe. These are my ramblings, as well as my broad-based, and not so broad-based responses to questions that my family, friends and therapists are wont to ask me from time to time. (And it aint no diary, and DEFINITELY not a bloody BLOG! Although an interesting theoretical chemistry subject, I doubt if you really want to know what I ate today, or how many shots of tequila I did at breakfast time on Tuesday.) I may from time to time spout off on my street-fighting techniques (ALWAYS get butt naked before the first punch is thrown- trust me on this!); the many and sundry uses of Cayenne pepper in cooking and other avenues of life; and the advantages of high-impact- full-contact Yoga; but mainly we'll focus on music, playing, recording, and related topics. I will also include some submissions from friends, family, colleagues and people I admire- you know, when I run out of ideas which will probably happen frequently.

Given that for the most part, I seem to be such a retardoid in regular life, I'm routinely hassled with questions about how I actually get stuff done! That's the purpose of these Booty Thunder Academy 101 pages. Because this is my very first installment, you are going to have to allow me to ramble a bit. It's my frickin' website, ok?!
Here goes:

For some unknown reason the other day I felt re-imbued with a desire to get to know my musical technician self- and especially the guitar side of that- in a big way once again. I also started thinking about technique, and the various mental and physical states needed to develop it properly (the term "properly" is used in a VERY loose sense in my case). Obviously, everyone is different and unique in their own ways. As you might have figured out already, I'm kind of a wing-nut, so some of things I talk about might seem a little wacky. (Don't worry- I don't jump around in my grandma's underwear and cover myself in peanut butter, but now that I mention it…no!) As a self-taught player I've probably developed playing and writing idiosyncrasies that would get laughed out of actual music schools, or even pre-schools- but these little peccadilloes have also been the main factor in hopefully retaining some semblance of originality in what I do. More often than not, people routinely, and not too subtly marvel at the fact that I seemingly have the social skills and intelligence of a retarded goat, yet still manage to make music and play my various instruments in manners that would connote an air of accomplishment- I know, weird. But, I suppose, in at least a few small areas, I've managed to find ways to concentrate my energy and time in what could be construed as positive ways. I hope that through these next few collections of writings I'm able to share my thoughts and techniques with anyone who'll take the time to read this, and that you in turn can find some use for my long windedness in developing your own voice and style, and then one day kicking my ass and stealing my soul in a well-publicized guitar "head-cutting" duel, or Jello-wrestling match, your choice.

At any rate, I actually did have an entire lesson on scales and modes and a bunch of other boring bullshit planned, but I seem to have run out of space already, and this is my very first submission, so I don't want to blow my entire wad on the first go, you dig? I do hope to cover all kinds of different topics, from guitar playing, to recording, to picking out the perfect bottle of grain alcohol for Mother's Day. Remember: Music is a magical gift, and there's no right or wrong way to do it. As long as it comes from the heart and soul, it's all good, baby!

See y'all next time.
Peace!
-J

Installment #2: The Deuce, Deuce and a half...

Hello my dears!
Many apologies for my lackluster and non-existent attention to this page as of late!
Please wish us luck in New York.
To simulate what the band will be going through, at precisely 9:30pm on Wednesday night, show up uninvited at your parents, house, strip completely naked in the living room and begin singing an unaccompanied medley from Gilbert and Sullivan's classic operetta, "HMS Pinafore" Then, announce you will be back on Monday night for more of the same.
That should just about cover it.
Peace!
-J

Of Slim Jims and Shit Sandwiches...

Imagine my profound joy when, having just trudged through 3 and a half solid weeks of ice, snow, beer, snow and snow on the east coast, I get to return to California, the land of...cold, rainy slop. I'm not complaining. In fact I should be glad it's not SUMMER in San Francisco- then I'd really be freezing the old Cajones off. Anyway, visions of the Siege of Stalingrad aside, this most recent extended jaunt of the East Coast and New England was quite the enjoyable experience, I must say. The shows, as always were each events unto themselves (as per the usual), and my road-buddy and big toe, Jordan proved to be of amiable company. These happenings, though warmly and enthusiastically welcomed by myself, do not however encompass the true "character arc" [as they say in Bollywood] of the journey. Oh no, a much more profound road to understanding was actually underway. I shall explain: There WAS a time when eating 2 pounds of hamburger meat and a wheel of Brie cheese smothered in mayonnaise in one sitting would have been considered a little...EXCESSIVE(?) in polite circles. Not anymore, baby!! Thanks to Dr Atkins' wonderful research on the effects of lo-carb dieting on blood sugar levels, eating the local Brazilian BBQ out of business ("I'll have two more of the chicken-wrapped-in-bacon please!") is not only considered OK, it's GOOD for you! (well, that's mine and Jordan's interpretation of the whole thing, anyway.) So, with this knowledge firmly implanted in our alpha-male, dominant-monkey, meat-eater psyches, the road ahead was blissfully clear of conscience and full of spice. Holy shit, did we do it up right. From DC to Vermont, New York to Boston and Providence, Rhode Island. If there was a Neanderthal equivalent to the phrase "kid in a candy store" we embodied it. Although, as some of you may know, you can't actually eat candy on this Atkins diet. Or CAN you? If "Caramel Nut Brownie", or "Chocolate Decadence", or "Peanut Butter Chocolate Almond Bar" doesn't sound like candy, then I don't know what does. And these are just three of the many fabulous flavors that carb-free Atkins brand candy bars come in. We call them "Shit Sandwiches" now. But it doesn't matter how they taste anyway because now we're addicted. And they're fuckin' EVERYWHERE, man! It used to be you had to go to GNC, and only GNC for the "good shit." Now, you walk into Walgreen's and there's a WALL of Atkins Love just begging you to take it home with you- and you do, because you're a junkie. The Atkins bars were just the start of it. Jordan and I were like two little screaming crack whores who couldn't find their pipe as we fumbled in the dark, at 70 miles per hour, in the middle of a goddam blizzard in bumfizzled Maine (somewhere between Bangor and Augusta) for the cheese knife so that we could slice up some gourmet Salami and a pound of pungent imported English Stilton on the dashboard of the Subaru. And then the headaches started. And then the dizziness. Did we stop? No. We didn't even stray to far off the course when the smartass kitchen cook at the Holiday Inn of New London, CT (whom we've put a hit out on, by the way) insterted large amounts of tear gas chemicals into our Buffalo chicken wings sauce to the approving chortles and squeals of his fellow mental institution escapees who all seem to have found employment at the New London Holiday Inn kitchen. He really did that, and that was FUCKED UP, dude. Not cool! Still, pretty funny, though, I'll give you that. But now, now you have to die.