Making Flippy Floppy

I'm really not a regular pill popper, I swear. But I have something to confess: I love Hydrocodone. Love it, love it, love it. I've had a toothache creeping on lately and it finally broke through my pain threshold earlier this week. OMFG. Is there any pain as exquisite and unique as the pain caused by an ice cold beverage sloshing against raw, open dental nerves? I think not. Wednesday morning, after a sleepless night of bleary infomercials and warm salt water rinses I decided something must be done before the ache caused me to turn into a pain-grizzled gnome. The endless Tylenol doses were having about as much pain-relieving effect as Mike and Ikes, only crunchier and more bitter. I needed to cry on the shoulder of my good old friend Hydro. Hydro Codone. A visit to Mom's pharmacy only provided a temporary fix: I could only manage to finagle two out of her, but hey, at least they were 10's. Sweet relief began to descend and I decided I should probably look toward a more long-term solution to my toothache. Being that I'm poor and uninsured, my first thought was to call the Dirne clinic. The receptionist told me to bring in my last two pay stubs, tax info from last year, a current utility bill, a photo ID, a recipe for seven-layer dip, a copy of US Weekly from 1997, and the college transcripts of my second cousin, twice removed. Oh, and also $25, which was going to be my total cost if I "qualified for assistance." They make you pay this before you even get an appointment, which is a completely backwards way of doing business, I think. I gathered the necessary paperwork and drove like a stoned granny up to the clinic. When I arrived I was told I was a "Group 2", which meant that I was apparently poor enough to be seen. "Let's see," bubbled the receptionist in a California girl accent, "We have an opening, like, a two weeks from next Tuesday..." I mentally prepared myself to throw down a drama about how I'd simply die a death of pain by then, but she continued "...or right now." They'd had a cancellation and I happened to show up at the right moment. As soon as I laid down in that oddly relaxing dental chair I realized that I'd been in such a hurry to visit Mom's Pharmacy earlier in the morn that I'd totally forgotten to brush my teeth. How embarrassing, to have a dentist mucking around in my filthy dirty maw, still ripe with last night's garlicky chicken and rice and blended with a subtle note of morning breath. I felt even worse since the dentist turned out to be an attractive and classy young lady who surely didn't deserve exposure to anything less than a perfectly minty mouth. Ah well, I have to think that at the Dirne Clinic for poor people, she's seen hairier tongues than mine. She fed me one of those white x-ray squares that you bite down on while they point a UFO at your face. While she waited for the image to develop, she turned me nearly upside down in the chair and started poking around. I wiggled in pain when she tapped the guilty tooth with the back of her little mirror tool. "Mnnnn...A-ha..." she mumbled, "that must be the one." "Ummmm..... yeah," I agreed, a little amazed that she had caused enough pain to cut through my Hydrocodone haze. We examined the X-ray together. "Not good, not good at all" she sighed and pointed out the huge crevasse which was indeed a cavity. I'd been attacked by the Cavity Creeps - does anyone else remember that commercial? Anyways, she told me I could either have a root canal done on it or have it yanked. Unfortunately, the Dirne Clinic doesn't do root canals and if I wanted her to yank it, I'd have to come back two weeks from next Tuesday. She told me about some ghetto outfit in Plummer of all places that would do the root canal for significantly less than the usual $700-1200 they normally cost these days. Later, when I mentioned this to Colleen, she went pale: "No, no, no. Don't - I repeat - DO NOT go to the ghetto dental clinic in Plummer," and proceeded to tell me a horror story about her one trip there involving not enough anesthesia and being stuck in a K-hole or something like that. Yikes. The Dirne clinic couldn't really do anything for me, but they were nice enough to send me on my way with a copy of my $25 X-ray, which I now have displayed proudly on my fridge. I had hoped to avoid it, but my next stop was the fabulous KMC Emergency Room. I am here to tell you that miracles can happen. I was in and out of there in approximately 20 minutes, narcotic and antibiotic prescriptions in hand. I sat for maybe 30 seconds in the waiting room before they called my name, told my sad story to the nurse, the doctor came in with my scripts ready to go and I was outta there. Honestly, I was a little dazed since I'd never seen or heard of anyone getting in and out of that place in less than 2 hours for any reason. At Walgreens, it took longer to fill my prescriptions than it actually took for me to do the ER thing. Wild. So I still haven't decided if I'm going to beg Dr. Thompson (my regular dentist since I was 3 years old) to let me make payments on a root canal job or if I'm going to return to the Dirne and have it yanked on the cheap. Everyone says I should just have it pulled, since it's an obscure tooth that wouldn't be missed visually, but I kind of like it there. I'd miss it. Meanwhile, I've had the best couple of days floating around pain-free on my synthetic-opiate induced cloudy-cloud-cloud. Yesterday was my day off, and I decided to do a cleaning and reorganizing shwap on my house. Never have I enjoyed housework so much. I got tingles of joy just hoovering the carpets. A visit to St. Vincent de Paul was transcendent and sublime, all that dusty crap was full of magic and possibility. My day at work today has been fantastic - I'm chatty and helpful instead of burnt-out and cantankerous. People are delightful and engaging and my mundane work duties are suddenly fun challenges. But alas, I've only a few of the little gems left and after that I'm forcing myself to tough it out. As much as I enjoy the freedom from pain and oh so pleasant side effects, I really don't have the time or money for a cute little drug addiction. If I had tons of spending cash, an Elvis doctor, and a liver of steel, I might be more inclined to really go for it. No wonder pill-popping celebrities like Matthew Perry and Nicole Richie end up with their junkie asses in rehab. Hydrocodone just takes the crappy edge of life and makes everything all sunshine and orange marmalade. Wheeeeee! What toothache?

Labels: Addictions, Cleaning, Strange Happenings

You'll Never Walk A Scone If you haven't popped in to check out the new Bakery-by-the-Lake in the former insty-prints on 3rd St. in Cd'A, you just gotsta do it. I've been in twice just to grab some goodies to go, and the goodies were great. A good scone is a wonderful thing and they have many varieties to choose from. So far, I've tried the pumpkin scone and the orange-cranberry scone and they were huge and delicious. With a fresh cup of coffee it's filling enough to be breakfast and for a buck and half, the price is quite right. Also, I had a chocolate cookie that was exactly the same as mom's and that's pretty friggin' good. I also sampled a piece of fresh baked sourdough bread and *wow* - it was moist and perfect, as good as the best San Fran could offer. One suggestion: the seating area could use a bit of cozying up - all they have is a handful of cold square tables and stiff chairs in a room devoid of personality. Some plants and a bookshelf would do the trick. I Love Watery TV Death I typically only watch TV late in the evening in bed for an hour a two before I drift off to slumber. I get caught in certain things and they develop into a craze: "America's Next Top Model", "Top Design", "What Not To Wear", "I Love New York", anything brainless competition style reality show involving glamour girls and/or bitchy fags and I'm rapt. For some odd reason lately, I am so caught up in something totally different: "The Deadliest Catch" on the Discovery Channel. (No, not "The Deadliest Snatch".) It's a gritty documentary series about commercial crab fishing boats in Alaska. For some reason, it's so fascinating to me that these people risk their lives and work 20-hour shifts in the worst possible environment imaginable, all to earn a meager living and bring a little crab to my dinner plate. Nearly every episode, someone dies a grizzly death, pulled suddenly to a watery death by catching a limb in the loop of a rope, or being sucked in by a wave and lost forever into the night sea. One episode I watched, the entire fishing boat sank and only one guy survived. Like any close-knit group of people, they have a ton of in-dramas and personal issues. they have fights and breakdowns, situations often brought on from lack of sleep and being overworked. It's quite entertaining. I've said before I think I must have died a watery death in the deep ocean in a past life, because I've always had a morbid fascination with deep and wide bodies of water. It's not a phobia per se, and it may be partly due to seeing the movie "Jaws" when I was too young, but I'm very uncomfortable near deep water and huge ships and cargo boats turn me into a nervous wreck, even standing next to them. You won't catch me ever playing shuffleboard on the deck of a Carnival cruise... There Are Times When I Would Scream Til I Was Blue Erasure's 40th (!) single "I Could Fall In Love With You", like each and every one of their many hits, is an earworm from listen number one. It's a hi-energy, high camp technicolor stomper and their best new single in years. The last few studio albums have been a little on the introspective, mellow side, but the new single and the rest of the new album Light At The End Of The World sees Vince and Andy getting back to business, making fun and bubbly synth pop of the finest caliber. Andy pulls his usual witty songwriting trick - on the surface it's a straight-up love song, but the lyrics are oblique and witty enough to be interesting and open to interpretation. Erasure has stuck to the same musical recipe since their earliest beginnings in 1985. In fact, to the casual listener, it's nearly impossible to date a particular song. Any given Erasure song could have been released in 1987, 1997, or 2007 with little discernible difference. It seems like Vince Clarke will never run out of catchy pop melodies for Andy Bell to warble diva-liciously atop. Having seen them live back in the heyday of the Wild! Tour, I will always picture Vince as a mad scientist frowning from behind an assortment of vintage synths and Andy as a naughty little boy in green-sequined lycra and riding across the stage on a huge mechanical swan. It was nice to hear their songs taken out of the electronic context and performed with a full band in country and western style on last year's Acoustic Tour as documented on the brilliant live CD/DVD On The Road To Nashville. They were able to prove that their songs were strong on their own, without the whoosh and whir of production and gizmos. Trends come and go, but Erasure remain stoically the same, they are like a rock, a true old friend you can always count on to be there. Cheers to Erasure for sheer longevity and for cooking up another classic and addictive new record!

Labels: Addictions, Erasure, Restaurant Reviews, Scones, TV, Watery Death

Labels: Addictions, Food, IGA, Random Photos

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

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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"
To:	flexiblerecords@yahoo.com
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
would
need to give it away.......its poorly produced....shit, american
CRAP..........i hope u close your website very soon..........
your sincerely

 Reflex - FLEXIBLE RECORDS

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
     Reflex

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.

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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.

Labels: Addictions, Flexible Records, Random Thoughts, Spokesman-Review

Target's Sweet Exotica and Freaky Treacle I could probably come up with a whole new blog just about trying new kinds of candy. I was depressed for months when the Penny Candy store in downtown CDA sold it's last buttery mint and shut down last summer. On gorgeous sunny days like today, I would walk downtown for some fresh air and exercise and stop into the Ramblin' Rose for some Nag Champa incense, browse the towering shelves at George Nolan books, and always the Penny Candy store. Of course, the candy there was never actually sold for a penny, and a trip through the variety of baskets with even a small bag would set you back at least five bucks. They had candy there from all over the globe, and there was always something new to try. Since then, I've been looking for a place with a reasonable selection of oddball and foreign candies and chocolate, and it was under my nose the whole time - Target. It's nowhere near as quaint, and they don't carry the small, individually wrapped candies, but they do have quite an intriguing selection of yummy things. For Valentine's Day, I treated myself to a trip through the Target candy department and came home with these exotic products: Green & Black's Organic Ginger Chocolate, Frey Citron & Poivre (Lemon and Black Pepper) Dark Chocolate, and Australian Soft-Eating Real Red Liquorice, which actually lists "treacle" as an ingredient. That's just the tip of the iceberg, sugar junkies. I also pondered purchasing Brazillian chocolate with cayenne pepper, authentic homemade saltwater taffy, carrot cake candy bites, and peanut-butter yogurt covered graham crackers. Target seems to be one step of the curve when it comes to the mainstream candies as well - I'd never before seen a "Snickers Extreme" (all nuts, no nougat) or a peanut butter stuffed Hershey Bar. It's the only place I've ever, ever seen the coveted Buttered Popcorn Mike-n-Ikes. Oh, the pure decadance! Target even has it's own in-house line of candies sold under the name "Choxie", which is not the most appetizing name, is it? Choxie is way pricey, however, and it has ugly, 70's-nouveau packaging, but my auntie Bonnie Jo swears by the stuff. Insaniquarium Addiction: I Need Help. It's so ridiculous for someone my age to be addicted to a video game, isn't it? I was never really that into them - X-Box 360s and Wiis do nothing for me, I was one of few kids not to own an Atari, and I'd rather stick a quarter ina newspaper machine than a video game. Granted, I did get sucked into the original Sonic the Hedgehog years ago when I lived above Miss Hannah in Spokane. She'd leave her back door unlocked so I could sneak in and play Sonic when she was at work. Eventually, I did finish the game and felt like I'd really accomplished something major. Then, about four years ago it was The Sims that had me glassy-eyed in front of the computer at 4:45AM, pale sun coming up in the window, soda cans and full ashtrays covering the desk. Fun game, but after awhile I got tired of those little buggers yelling at me in their annoying little language, shaking their fist at me, begging for me to clean their house and do their dishes. Sometimes I let them starve to death on purpose. Now, it's hundreds of buggery little fish that have me abusing my mouse and coming away with sore wrists and fingers after hour after lost hour of clicking action. Who new this game had so many levels, they just go on and on in the form of "bonus worlds" and I have an obsessive need to reach some kind of end. Insaniquarium Deluxe is very simple, really. You have a virtual fish tank and you start each round with two guppies and you feed them and they grow and shit coins and other objects that you collect for points so you can afford to buy more food, more fish, and stronger weapons to fight off the "aliens" that periodically invade your tank. You get some creature friends that have odd talents and help you in different ways, and after many levels you fight "the big boss" alien and then (to my surprise and slight chagrin) the whole thing starts over again in the form of "bonus worlds" and you can keep earning points and new creatures for ever and ever and ever, it seems. I find myself using it as a reward - "OK, if I slam though this pile of work in two hours, that'll leave me with three hours to play the game" I'm getting ready for a fix as soon as I post this, in fact - bad, bad, bad. Playlist: New Wave Instrumentals Since I bought my Sansa MP3 Player, I've fully been sucked in to the world of digital-only music and I'm saving a fortune on CD's. I've had a free trial of Rhapsody for several months and I'm keeping it, for sure. For 15 bucks per month, the cost of one CD, I have full access to literally hundreds of thousands of albums, pretty much anything currently in print and including new releases each Tuesday. I can store them on my hard drive and on my mp3 player, or just play them off the site itself. They have "channels" which are 6-8 hours worth of a particular genre of music (My fave:"Computer World") that I can download to my player, as well as Playlists that have about 12-20 tracks and are created by other users and even celebrities. It's kinda like an all-digital mix CD. To some of you, this is probably old hat, but I'm new to the concept and loving it. Anyway, my first Playlist that I contributed is all about swooshing synths and shadowy European moods. (I don't know if there's a way to actually share the music with you via Rhapsody, but you can probably do something similar with iTunes, SoulSeek, or whatever you got...) 01 Simple Minds - Theme From Great Cities 02 Human League - Dance Vision 03 Duran Duran - Tel Aviv 04 David Bowie - Speed Of Life 05 OMD - Architecture and Morality 06 Throbbing Gristle - Walkabout 07 A Flock of Seagulls - DNA 08 Gary Numan - Airlane 09 Depeche Mode - Nothing to Fear 10 Japan - Canton 11 The Cure - A Reflection 12 Brian Eno - Somber Reptiles 13 Tones On Tail - You, the Night and the Music 14 Public Image Ltd - Radio 4 Anyone else think of any other moody instrumentals from the robot hair sex era? I want to add to this playlist. Let me know.

Labels: Addictions, Candy, New Wave, Product Reviews, Retro Fun