Welcome Flexible Sphygmomanometers

Get In, Get Under, Get Over Greetings to you, Making Flippy Floppy newcomers. There must be a few of you visiting for the first time after seeing the web address printed next to my big scary face in the morning paper (and in color even - yikes!) Relax, have a look around. Cup of tea? Don't be afraid to leave a comment or two. I'm a little frightened to think of the various family members, ex-teachers, co-workers and otherwise respectable citizens who might be discovering my blog for the first time and the raw perversity that lies within. Hopefully there's nothing TOO incriminating lurking in the archives. I try to be as PG-13 as possible. I thought about doing a separate blog to be called "Get Out" - same as the printed column - but I think at this point I'll just keep both my feet in one shoe. Or something like that. Anyway, if you haven't seen it, go buy some copies of the Spokesman Review and check it out - it's a nice little layout although they used file photos instead of the pics I took. No big whoop - writing is apparently my forte, not photography. Anyway, if anyone has any story suggestions (nightlife, local arts and music events, food finds) or anything to add to the events calendar, please let me know at getoutnorthidaho@gmail.com
Positivity: Ain't It Great? I always like to give people my cheap dimestore advice, and one thing I'm always yammering about is the power of a positive approach to things. You know, be pro-active instead of re-active and life runs much smoother. Here's a great example of how that can work. Some of you may know that I run a little internet mp3 record label called Flexible Records - I have no intention of taking over the music industry, but it's a fun hobby. I thought of the name Flexible Records a few years ago and after a Google search turned up nothing by that name in existence, I stuck with it. It actually started as a final project for a web design class back at NIC. Anyhoo, way across the pond in jolly England, a chap named DJ Reflex decided to name his independent, homespun drum-and-bass label guess what? That's right - Flexible Records. I've been aware of it for year or so, but since we are located so far apart and have basically different types of music, I didn't care. Then, yesterday I get this email:
From:"Dj Reflex"
Subject: u label is shit....lol
Date: Fri, 02 Mar 2007 00:38:27 +0000
U r a disgrace to the name "FLEXIBLE" records.....free music.....u
need to give it away.......its poorly produced....shit, american
CRAP..........i hope u close your website very soon..........
your sincerely
Well, then. Who pissed in his porridge? It was tempting to write him back with something equally as nasty and juvenile. I thought about it and decided to take the high road. I found his site, fully checked it out, looked up his real name and responded thusly:

From: Patrick/Flexible Records To: Dj Reflex Subject: Re: u label is shit....lol Date: Fri, 2 Mar 2007 12:52:07 -0800 (PST)

Nick, I have no intention of closing anything down. I do appreciate your opinion, however, and find the music on your "Flexible Records" to be pretty good! Too bad you can't find any music you like at our site - there's quite a diversity. I really see no reason for nastiness and insults, however. We are in completely different parts of the world, and I have a hard time thinking anyone will mix us up. However, I have held copyright to the name since 2000 and would not like to hassle with legal issues. It would be much nicer to get along and be positive, eh? The most important thing is the music.

Best of luck, Patrick, Flexible Records

So then I got this today:
HI PATRICK..............i am really very sorry about my rant........... it is good to meet you....and again i am sorry for being an idiot lol....... it would be much better to be freinds....and not enemies.... good luck stay in touch
Now, isn't that nice? We can all live happy ever after. I want to think it was my overwhelming kindness that generated such a response, and not the legal threat. Like our homeboy JT says on his latest record, "What goes around, goes around, goes around, comes all the way back around." Yeah, it's a big cliche but it still holds truth. Force positive vibrations out into the world and they will come back like a boomerang. Same thing happens with negativity, and then those people wonder why they're miserable and can't get ahead. To me, the formula is simple.
Kootenai Medical Center and Molasses Factory
Here's a thing I'll never understand. Why is the fairly simple process of visiting the KMC emergency room always, ALWAYS slow as shit? I figured that at 5:30 AM today when I finally decided, in tears, that I couldn't hack the lower back pain any longer and showed up to a totally vacant ER that it would be pretty quick. It's like the workers there live in their world with it's own odd time schedule where yakking with co-workers and lurking aimlessly is mandatory and must take up a certain large percentage of each hour. After the receptionist took my info she said it would be "just a minute" and then continued manicuring her tragic claws, gradually finding the necessary motivation to let the doctor know I was waiting there in severe pain. I absently pored through nearly an entire issue of Country Living (it was either that or Bowhunter) before a rather fetching young man finally called me back. I waddled in like a hunchbacked old crone and was greeted by a nurse too young and gorgeous to be wearing that frumpy floral scrub top. It seems like in the past I've dealt with nothing but bitter, middle-aged divorcees here at the KMC ER, but these two were young and charming - real movie star types. I wanted to hang out awhile, order a drink and chat. After they took my vitals they declared I had a wee bit of fever and sent me into the lav to pee in a cup so they could test for a urinary tract infection. Well, I had just peed before I went there, so I was dry, but the nurse told me to "give it the old school college try" so I did, but I was in so much pain and was trying to contort and hold that cup just so and squeeze out a few precious drops. I emerged with a dry cup and told the male nurse he was going to have to hold "it" for me if they wanted to see any results. Sadly, he rejected my tragic come-on and told me I could try later if necessary. Fortunately, it wasn't. "The doctor will be right in" they said and sat me in the most uncomfortable chair ever in the history of the world, especially for someone with killer lower back pain. I shifted uncomfortably and began listening to the loud conversation going on at the nurse's station outside my room. Work gossip and not very good work gossip at that. Just endless blah blah, an older male voice and younger female voices.
"Well, you know, that Sandy, where does she get off telling me how to lubricate my rubber gloves?" "Yeah, she's a real bitch. You know she does it with totally dry rubber gloves, totally dry. Powdery." "Oh, can you imagine all those poor people who have to suffer through one of her rectal exams?" "I know, and did you hear about what Debbie did with the Sphygmomanometer guy last week?"
Okay, the conversation was nowhere near as interesting as that, but as ten minutes turned into twenty and then thirty, I remained motionless, having finally found a way to sit that was semi-tolerable. If I moved one smidge, the pain returned. Suddenly it was quiet and moments later the doctor came in. When he spoke, I realized he was the owner of the voice I had just been listening to making hot lung wind for the last half hour. He popped into my range of vision just long enough to decide I needed some good drugs and I'd be okay (could've told him that much), then *poof* he was gone before I could even ask him WHY HE MADE ME WAIT IN PAIN ALL THAT TIME WHILE HE GOSSIPED IDLY WITH THE NURSES. Alone again, just me and the ugly fish wallpaper, I decided to explore since I knew it would be another eternity before the nurse returned with my prescription. All the drawers and cabinets were locked, except one which had nothing but wet-naps. I pocketed a handful, realizing that I was obviously not the first bored and bitter patient to turn suddenly klepto. The nurse returned with my golden ticket, imprinted with the magic words "Lortab" and "Robaxin." I practically snatched it out of her hand and groaned in pain as I rose and gimped off into the sunrise.

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Do you remember "Mr. Pullins" the (in retrospect) quite gat music teacher at Harding Elementary who taught us "you gotta ACCentuate the positive, eLIMinate the negative, and don't mess with Mr. In-between!"? You don't have to answer that. Anyway I do try to live by those wise words and keep Mr. In-between at arms-length. Good luck with your back & your pill-popping habit! I suggest yoga and hydration.
I can't tell you how many dicks I've disarmed by complimenting them and turning their aggression into Creamed Wheat. Good job.
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