The Persistence of (Negative) Memory

The fireflies over the last few days have been really dramatic.  Letting the dogs out for the final time in the evening gives a brief glimpse into that free light show.  I get up early so they are often just finishing their lighted dance in the morning.
Like lots of other kids, I used to love to catch fireflies and keep them in a jar.  Many of them died overnight; watching them, even briefly, is a little more gratifying.

My neighbors had a party of sorts a few nights ago.  As people were showing up, one person in a Jeep showed up and parked askew on their lawn.  My mind jumped to living in the previous house several years ago, 20 feet away from 18 and 21 year old brothers.

A few years after we bought our previous house, Les moved out to move into his mother's house after partially renovating it.  He sold our neighboring house to two guys; 18 and 21 year old brothers who had recently received a sizable inheritance from their grandparents.
There were brief delusions that the two were mature; that 18 and 21 year old brothers won't act like 18 and 21 year olds.  That idea was shattered on the first weekend when the older brother (Old-T) had a party.  It went into the wee hours of the morning and was raucous enough that people down the street asked me the next day whether it was as bad as it sounded.
Hoping it was a one-time thing was misguided.  The next day Young-T was overheard on the phone calling friends for a party.  As it turned out, it was one of the quietest parties Yong-T ever had and that weekend was one of the few parties Old-T had.

Being below the legal drinking age, Young-T and his friends congregated at the house most weekends and often through the week.  Nobody ever wins neighbor wars, so I tried to be tolerant, but it was extremely difficult.  When they first moved in, Young-T had a red car with lots of cheap ground effects and a monster sub-woofer.  There is not enough insulation in the world to separate the noise it made while people were hootin' and hollerin' out in the yard.  I laughed a little as the ground effects were torn off the car in steep section of the driveway - I could only hope the sub-woofer would suffer a similar fate.
To be fair, when I would politely remind them that we lived within a few tens of feet from them, Young-T would make an attempt to quiet things down.
"You guys, we have to be as quiet as a mouse," Young-T would run around saying.
But, with copious amounts of alcohol, only so much could be done before inebriation took over.  The base was turned up, the screaming restarted, and who knows what else was going on.  The only hope was that sleep could be achieved before the cacophony really got going.

At the time and in retrospect, living next to them was pretty awful.  Old-T had a girlfriend and was almost never there, leaving the much less mature Young-T to exceed in degeneration.  The parties continued nearly year round.  Looking out the window at 2:00 AM and seeing a group of guys peeing in my back yard was never fun.  The occasional fights, junk strewn about, driving through my yard, all constant annoyance.  I think the noise actually bothered the neighbors across the street more as they called the cops often and even tried to get the township officials involved.

In time, the red car with the cheap plastic ground effects gave way to a black jeep.  Even after Young-T turned 21, the parties at home continued.  I think by this time, the juvenile behavior affected finances to the point the drinking in bars with regularity might have been prohibitive.  Degeneracy is hard to keep up as a full-time occupation.

Some time later, the Jeep was destroyed; I can only assume it was in a drunken accident.  We heard third hand that Young-T had moved back in with his parents, who had subsequently moved to Colorado - I can only assume what a life shock that must have been.  Later, I found a letter that had blown into my yard detailing the remaining (significant) cost of the Jeep that must be reimbursed to the finance company.  It was easy not to feel too bad for him; there was almost some poetic justice there.

It is approaching five years now that we've moved from that house.  Yet, when the Jeep appeared on the neighbor's lawn a few nights ago, I shuddered a bit- the persistent memory of the two boys.  After nearly five years living in this house, I knew the shudder was misplaced, but the memory is persistent.  Not only is this new house separated by orders of magnitude more space, but I've never heard a late night peep from any of the neighbors.

Some time after Young-T moved out, Old-T spent considerable effort cleaning up the house and sold it (for surprising amount more money).  Becky was a very quiet neighbor, but that is another story altogether.  The house is currently on the market again, but this time for less than the cost of Young-T's Jeep; sometimes life has sad outcomes.

The fireflies were out again last night, hopefully creating new persistent memories.  After letting the dogs out, I stood by the fence and watched the winking light all over the yard.  The broken clouds created brief glimpses of stars that mimicked the fireflies and the air was unbelievably still and calm.  Even the beagles seemed to try to be quiet.
It is likely that with more time, reflection will make living next to 18 and 21 year old brothers seem better or worse than it really was.  All memories are grossly flawed.
With the help of quiet nights and winking fireflies, the persistence can be destroyed to be replaced by a new set of memories.

The Esther Lederer Rule; Why I Can't Mind Vacuuming

Yesterday was day one of a 3-day weekend brought on by the Memorial Day Holiday.  I had originally planned to get some maintenance parts for my Honda ATV as I've owned it now for about five years and haven't done much maintenance on it.  Granted, it only gets used for snow plowing a few times each winter, brush hogging a couple times in the summer, and the rare buzzing around the back acreage.  Still, it is probably over due for some fluid changes and a good once over.

That original plan was changed when the day woke up bright with cool temperatures and low humidity.  It was time to paint the trim on the house.

The "new" house really isn't so new anymore.  At 16ish years old, it is still younger than the median age of a house in the area and definitely younger than any other house I've ever lived in.  But, the trim on the house was beginning to weather and there were several places where it had already been repainted or spot repainted.  This was done by the former owners, often somewhat carelessly or with color matches that were only close.  Thankfully, with a brick exterior and good build, the trim that needs painting is just around a few doors, and a porch area.  The horror standing on the tall ladder, repainting gutters on the old, very tall Victorian house is over.
I had scraped off a chip of paint to match and after getting several color squares of paint at Ace Hardware, we chose "Adobe Hut" or N-C3/N35.  This was the overall closest match to the variations of paint and fading on the existing trim.

Determined to do it right, my SO and I scraped all the old loose paint.  I scrubbed all areas to be painted with trisodim phosphate dissolved in warm water.  Prep work makes all the difference, I learned on the aforementioned Victorian.  The TSP nearly dissolved my washing rag which demonstrates the power of that inorganic material as a potent cleaner.  While not as ubiquitous as it once was in household products which degrease, it is still easy to buy in the hardware stores.
Just the cleaning made much of the trim look significantly better.  Once painted, the difference was nearly transformative.  Some areas previously painted white were repainted Adobe Hut, which also made the house look uniformly better.

It is amazing how much better paint has gotten even in my lifetime.  I've had good luck with Ace brand paint over the years.  Ace's branded paint is now Clark+Kensington.  While the name change is a bit of a marketing gimmick, the paint plus primer in one was fantastic and, given that we were covering over similar colors in most spots, worked exceedingly well.  Painting in my first house too many years ago was an exercise in multiple coats and lots of hope.  That may also have something to do with shopping by price alone (any man's fool).
I kept saying, "Adobe Hut" as I painted, only because it sounds better than "N-C3" and also makes it seem like I live in New Mexico, not the Midwest.

My mom had an unnatural tendency to post Ann Landers' advice columns around the house.  I'm not sure why it was always Ann Landers, and not Dear Abby, or any of the lesser-known female advice columnists.  There also seemed to be a lot of Family Circus which in retrospect is about as funny as a wet rock.
Advice columns are entertainment and I can't help but wonder if the letters coming in are real, or if both the letters and responses are made up to create an unnatural interest to questions that are answerable in a few words.  I'm not quite sure why so many advice columns are written under pseudonyms either.  This further questions the reality of them.

Real or not, the somewhat simplistic advice is often heedable.
A friend was recently complaining about the way his wife vacuumed (in deference to advice columns and to protect my innocence, the names here are pseudonyms).  Jack said June's banging the vacuum cleaner into things caused the very old appliance to break.  June's response was that it is impossible to vacuum without running into things.  Jack showed her it wasn't - which I found exceedingly condescending.  This brought to mind one of the Ann Landers' columns which espoused the view that if you don't like the way your significant other does something, then one of the few appropriate responses is to do it yourself; if Jack didn't like the way June vacuumed, he should have stepped up to take responsibility for vacuuming the house.
He didn't.  Perhaps unrelated, but Jack tried to fix the vacuum, rather than replace.  While potentially environmentally conscious, repairing would leave them with the same old vacuum, which according to Jack can be broken by running into the sofa.

My Dad once bought a vacuum from a door-to-door salesman.  It was too long ago to know the specifics, but I recall that being one source (of many) of friction in the house.

I'm not sure if purchasing vacuums falls under the Ann Landers' rule or not?

Door-to-door salesman seem to be a relic of the past as I don't remember the last time someone has rang my doorbell to sell me something.  Or, perhaps the last remaining dodos stay in the more populated areas, rather than try to ply their wares to people who live in an Adobe Hut.

It was a nearly perfect day for painting.  It got warm but not hot, and the low humidity made the paint dry quickly.
The painting of the trim on the house continued for the better part of a day.  We finished by painting together on the final garage door surround, followed by a joint reevaluation of all the painted surfaces and a few spots of minor touch-up.
Thanks Esther Lederer for the advice, real or not.  Tomorrow, I may even vacuum.

10,000 Mile Review of the Triumph Trophy SE

I hit 10,000 miles on my blue Triumph Trophy SE a few days ago on the way home from work.  I've had the bike a little over a year at this point and it is time for a real-life review.

The Triumph replaced my ST1300 and while I sometimes miss the Honda, there is no question I like the Trophy more.  It is faster, lighter, more nimble and gets better fuel mileage (not really a critical need for me with motorcycles).  The power of the bike is more usable as well, as even in the upper reaches of the tachometer, the bike gets only very faintly buzzy compared to any other bike I have ridden and owned.  For most day-to-day riding, the 3-cylinder engine is surprisingly smooth and docile.

Since a review after 10,000 track miles would be different than a review after one 10,000-mile trip, I need a disclaimer on how the bike is used.  The bike is used for near-daily transportation in three seasons.  I commute on the bike most of the spring, summer and fall.  I do some recreational riding, but that type of riding is usually coupled with another reason; a quick trip to the store to buy some Easter Peeps candy might end up taking an hour.  I have done only three trips (defined as at least one overnight and hundreds of miles) on the bike.  Since the Goldwing is used for most of my longer distance and 2-up touring, the Trophy has only been in seven states.  I like to ride in the twisty stuff when possible, but since so much of my riding is commuting or interstate riding, the center portion of my tires has worn out much more than the edges.  On that note, tire wear is one of the things I am very happy with.  I had never previously had Pirelli tires on a bike before, but at just over 10,000 miles, I am due for both a front and rear tire at the same time.  I do suspect I'll retread with Angel GT's (maybe).

I have done very little to change the bike over the miles.  I added the hardware and electrics for the Garmin Zumo 660.  On my first trip with the bike, the floppy antenna wagging all over for hours on end was unbelievably maddening.  I tried a few shorty-stout antennas before settling on my home made "bullet" antenna.  And when I say "bullet," I do mean bullet!

The fact that I have done so little to change the bike is because I am really happy with it.  From the factory, it is well laid out and has just about everything I need in a commuter and medium-distance sport tourer.  I have done some really long days in the saddle so I have every reason to believe that it would perform admirably on the long distance as well.
My initial frustration with the cruise control rolling off with the throttle after the first trip has evaporated.  There wasn't any conscious change to make this happen, it was likely more due to become more familiar and comfortable with the bike.

There are a few things I don't like about the bike.  The audio system is a never ending series of glitches.  I rarely use the audio system since I don't have a blue-tooth helmet and the wind noise with the windscreen in the lowest position means it is hard to hear with a full-face helmet.  But, sometimes the audio system doesn't want to come on.  Often, it can't seem to find my USB memory stick with my MP3s on it.  Very often after starting, the warning "Low Voltage, Audio Off" displays for a few seconds after starting (this doesn't have any effect once the bike runs for a few seconds).  I've read these issues are all cured by an upgrade to the audio system firmware which I have yet to have the dealer do.  The Trophy comes equipped with Sirius Satellite radio and I never got this to work during the initial trial period.  I didn't try to hard since the cost model for Sirius is very moronically dumb.  Now Sirius continues to send me notifications and offers by snail mail.  For a while, they were calling me very, very often, which was very, very annoying.  Luckily, they do not have any way to electronically communicate with me.
There have been no other real issues with the bike, but there have been issues that I think happened once or twice, but I can't be sure.  For example, there was one time I glanced down and thought my speedometer was not working.  After checking the road again, followed by down at the speedometer, it was clearly working and I can't be sure whether it really wasn't working previously, or if my mind was playing tricks on me (this happened on a long tiring day on the bike in unfriendly weather).
Other examples of things that I think happened, but can't be sure include:  odd shifting of the transmission - especially when being less than positive with the left foot?  unusual battery draw for a short time when on the trickle charger?  I'm not sure any of these things actually happened, more just sensing something seemed unusual at the time.
Other annoyances:  Oil filter removal can be a bit of a trick, but once figured out it isn't too hard; I'm convinced that one can not have too many oil filter wrenches.  Getting the bike on the center stand is not as easy as with some bikes, but is by no means as difficult as I've seen some complain about.  There is a front "clunk" when stopping which I believe is actually the glovebox door lock mechanism - I barely even notice this anymore so I must have gotten used to it.  I still think the bike sounds a little bit tractory at idle.  At-speed full throttle, however, is a lyric growl!

While the above text details some minor issues and annoyances, my overall impression is that this has been one of the most enjoyable sport-tourer motorcycles I've ridden.  I love the linear power delivery and at-speed acceleration is predictable and quick.  I'm not sure if the moveable saddlebags are a gimmick or real, but the handling of the bike is phenomenal given its weight.  Braking performance is above average for a touring bike; I've only had the ABS come on once so it is very unintrusive.  I only know of traction control coming once as well on a very slippery tar road snake.
Fuel mileage has been good relative to other touring bikes I have owned, ranging from the low to mid 50s MPG.  Comfort level is far above average.  The Trophy is probably not quite as comfortable as the Goldwing, but I have done back-to-back 11-hour days and felt like I could have easily done more, or gotten back on the next day without issues.  I actually prefer the riding position of the Trophy over the more sedate Goldwing.
Aesthetics are subjective, but the bike looks fast when it is standing still.  The blue color looks great in the sun or the shade.  Since I had most of the fairing removed to install the GPS hardware, I was pleasantly surprised at how beefy the hardware was the holds the bike together.  Much of it is actually fastened with real screws and bolts instead of clips, that while functional and do work but do not inspire confidence.
It is also nice to ride a sport-touring bike that is not yet another BMW R1200RT...

So, with 10,000 miles on the clock, I'm more than happy with my Triumph Trophy SE.  Time and miles will tell if a tripling or a sextuplet of these miles will bring out any issues with the beast or if it will increase the enjoyment.  I strongly suspect the latter.

Yes, just to see this...

"You came all this way just to see this?" 
That question was posed by a tall blonde woman who had a bit of a blue tongue and too much foundation when we were chatting briefly in Centralia, Pennsylvania.  It seemed incomprehensible that I had just ridden my motorcycle 11 hours for "this."  Although, she had talked a friend into going four hours for the same purpose and I can only imagine that they were headed home that same day.

2014 finally ends with my last of that year's vacation consumed.
"but what can you expect these days? ... Company policy." - Mugwump

It is amazing how much clarity comes form several days of not working.  I supposed I get used to five days in, two out, but the last 8 days have been like mental floss; cleaning the detritus that can't get cleared by the typical weekend.

"Your're missin' the whole point, Ed." - Lewis
The day in, day out, year in, year out creates a numbness, too easy to get caught up in the eddy currents.  Things seem like they are moving at a rapid pace, but in reality not much is going anywhere.  My time at work has a cost; they pay me to be there and I try to do the right thing while I'm there.  My time outside of work has no cost since it would cost too much - there is nothing more valuable than my time that is really mine.
Tomorrow I'll be back at work for one day, before restarting a full week a few days later.
"There's no end to it." - Bobby

I ended my time off with a bang, by going target shooting for a while.  It was another amazing late spring morning and surprisingly, I had the range to myself.  It just doesn't get much better than that, especially when the targets all seemed to be in the right place.
My eight days allowed me time to do everything I was hoping to and then some.  Sometimes, life smiles and things can work out.
Now, desparately fighting the natural neural tendencies to think ahead to what is coming...
"But the race is over." - Hotelier
"Not for me it isn't!" - Raoul Duke

I think I told her I was looking for an excuse to go to Pennsylvania coal country, but I should have proudly told the woman standing on a destroyed section of PA-61 covered in graffiti, "Yes, I came all this way just for this."  But, that would not have been entirely true.  The destination wasn't nearly as important as the act getting there.  The clarity of a few days out of work, riding a motorcycle hundreds of miles through cold temperatures, rain, warm temperatures and sun make the destination one that everyone should go to.  Because it is there and because more of life should look squalid to the outside world.

"Actual Happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the overcompensations for misery." - Aldous Huxley

April Vacation

In the day in, day out, year in, year out that is life, the end of April 2015 brings the requirement to use the final days of my 2014 vacation.  Six days of vacation and 8 out of the office with no agenda.  Well, maybe more accurately an evolving agenda.
I started the vacation's first morning by reading American Hunter, the NRA magazine.  Then I finished listening to the book Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls by David Sedaris.  This is an almost incomprehensible pairing.  While the NRA is, in theory, a single-issue non-partisan organization, the positions of the two major US political parties means that the NRA is somewhat right leaning.  Anybody who has read anything by David Sedaris knows that he leans somewhat left.  But, the magazine was there and I had started to listen to Diabetes on the way home from Michigan two weeks ago and didn't finish it before I got home.  I've also, on occasion, listened to NPR while on the way to the range to target shoot, so the dichotomy is nothing new.
I've read just about every book David Sedaris has written and have enjoyed them.  This book did take a more decidedly political slant which I found a little sad.  Between that and the bizarre fictional-story end of the book, it almost seemed like his material was running thin.  I read When You Are Engulfed in Flames last year and thought it was great so I'll hold out any long-term judgement for now.

Later in the day, I got a tattoo.  This was a tattoo that was almost five years in the making, so was actually kind of momentous, but there will be plenty of time to talk about that later - maybe after it heals.

I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with my time off.  I have some ideas, but I probably need a day or two to decompress from work.  Sitting around sounded depressingly fine initially, but the urge to travel grows with each hour.  A plan is forming; I need to convince the weather and timing to cooperate.
It would be nice to think that weather this time of year is averagely warm and dry, but average in April really means highly variable.

In a lot of ways, waiting until the witching hour to take my vacation is not smart.  Yet, the "forced" time off this time of year is a both a good respite and good mental preparation that spring will lead to summer with more to come...

In Defense of the Speling Mistake

Hank:  So you see you can’t rewrite because to rewrite is to deceive and lie and to betray your own thoughts. To rethink a flow of the rhythm, a tumbling out of the words is a betrayal, and it is a sin, Martin.
Martin:  I don’t accept your catholic interpretation of my compulsive necessity to rewrite every word at least 1000 times.  Guilt is the key, not sin, guilt.  Re not writing the best that I can.  Re not considering everything from every possible angle, balancing everything.
Hank:  Well how about guilt, censoring your best thoughts.  Your most honest primitive real thoughts.  Because that is what your laborious rewriting amounts to.
Martin:  Is rewriting really censorship, Bill?  Because I’m completely fucked if it is.
Bill:  Exterminate rational thought.  That is the conclusion I have come to.  
Martin:  What is the man talking about, I’m being serious.
Hank:  So is he.

From Naked Lunch (the movie)

I was reading an online review of a self-published book recently.  It was on WordPress or something that allowed commentary not usually seen on Amazon.  Most of the reviews were very positive, but one from a purulent looking woman was caustic.  She did not complain about the story, but attacked what sounded like a relatively few grammar and punctuation inconsistencies.  She, frankly, sounded like my college English professor who stated within the first few classes that she wanted to help change the way commas are used in written English.  The author responded to the review, asking for specifics.  Two were given, one which as written seemed to follow The Chicago Manual of Style - not that I believe Chicaugou is definitively the ultimate authority of all linguists.

Contrast that review with a written eulogy in a magazine I read a couple years ago.  I do not remember the magazine, editor, or writer, but the editor wrote that on taking the editor position, he was initially frustrated by the now-deceased outdoor writer's poor use of grammar and especially punctuation.  But, after working at the magazine for some time, he found the writers stories so compelling, that correcting the grammar became more of a calling, not a frustration.  The writer, apparently, would occasionally end his written text with a series of punctuation marks; initially confused by this, the editor eventually decided this was an admonition by the writer that his writing wasn't always perfect, and it was the editors job to find the place for the trailing punctuation.

Some spelling, grammar, and syntax errors are a bit hard to understand as software like Microsoft Word and Google Chrome love to put squiggly lines under algorithmically identified errors.  I'm not sure that these actions along with auto-correct are not partially to blame for any apparent deterioration in spelling; the mechanization of intellect.
This is not to say that there are not places for purulent grammarists.  Our textbooks should be nearly perfect; my own experience is that they are often not.  It is wise for the New York Times to have well-paid and capable copy editors.
This can be taken too far.  At the risk of being overly cliche, the syntaxinista too often ignores the forest for the trees while ignoring the trees for the leaves.

The grammarist is too quick to send the classic car to the crusher due to a faulty window winding mechanism, rather than take a step back and enjoy the beauty of the car and the thrill of driving it on a perfect April day.  The spelling police will self-righteously chortle at a misuse of bear when bare is meant (but is the spelling police sure?).  The syntaxinista will quickly kill the newborn calf since the spots on the calf are not symmetrical between her left and right side, rather than enjoy the milk for years.

Tell me a story and keep me interested from the first word to the last.  Write a book which is so filled with non sequiturs that I can't tell what is going on, but refuse to put it down.  Make me late for work while I finish listening to a compelling story in parking lot.  I'll accept the flaws in the writing.  I'll ignore a tumbling of the words or the odd spelling mistake.
The human brain has the unbelievable ability to take a slightly garbled sentence and turn it into a completely comprehensible thought.  We should embrace that ability when called on.  I'll accept the sin of poor vocabulary if what is being said demands it.

Rather than anger or resentment, I feel pity for the purulent, caustic woman who was compelled to give a negative review on a book for a few spelling mistakes.  In addition to her perfect use of punctuation, I hope she has something worth saying.

80's Music and Coffee

I had a dental appointment recently.  For many years, I avoided the dentist - and I do mean many years.  Those years caught up with the reality of getting older so a couple years ago I went and have been faithfully going ever since. Eventually I'll have to succumb to the same pain in going to the doctor for an annual check-up .. maybe.  There is no shortage of articles questioning the necessity of an annual doctor visit.  I'm suspect that a few minutes with an overly-hurried doctor will actually do much that my boring lifestyle won't do.  About the only reason I can see to do an annual physical is to avoid a scramble to find a doctor when something does appear to be wrong.  That, however, is more of an indictment of the current state of the current medical system.

I like my dental hygienist and she is somewhat good-looking; she splits the line appropriately between talking while simultaneously prodding inside my mouth.  She is also a sadist.  I cringe when the ultrasonic screamer comes out to clean my teeth, and I feel like I need a bullet to bite on - I guess that would defeat the purpose of the dental visit in more ways than one.  The most recent visit was completed using a scraper, which sounds terrible and takes longer but is still preferable to the ultrasonic screamer.

Despite a fairly rigorous personal dental hygiene routine, the time my teeth-cleaning takes at my semi-annual dental visit is painfully long.  I'm sure my daily coffee is partly responsible for this, but I refuse to give up my morning pot of coffee.  When I say pot, I'm talking a small dorm-room size auto-drip pot that is almost antique in age.
I've moved on from the cheapest coffee to something slightly better that doesn't taste like drinking a grass hut.  For a while, I was trying coffees that were were quite expensive, but the reality is that, above a certain quality level, the returns on the increase in taste of coffee diminish very, very quickly with increasing price.  This is despite what the jack-wad coffee snobs expound.  There are no shortage of experts to tell us why were wrong, dumb or wasting our lives on ordinary bottled water.

I'm currently drinking Kroger's Private Selection Guatemalan Antiguan.

It is pretty good, and a lighter contrast to my usual Sumatran Mandheling, which is a much darker roast.

A few bags ago I bought the slightly more expensive Westrock Rwanda coffee.  I'm not sure if I believe Africa (or the world) will be saved by fair trade coffee, but I suppose it can't hurt.  The coffee ... tasted like coffee.

The current trend continues to be the single cup Keurig "pods" that now take up a fantastic amount of wall space at my local Kroger.  Not only are these amazingly expensive when making decent coffee is already fairly quick and easy, but the disposed plastic per cup seems heinously wasteful, aside from the added expense.  Even the Inventor of the K-cup regrets the idea and doesn't even own one.  Newer Keurig brewers are reported to "block" other pods or reusable baskets - an idea that shows the moronity of the entire pod concept.

The music playing at the dentist's office at my recent visit seemed to be some kind of mix from the 80's.  My hygienist said it was due to the office recently getting satellite radio as the broadcast radio was too repetitive.  I have a satellite radio on my Triumph Trophy motorcycle, but never got it to work.  I also never tried too hard.  I guess satellite radio might make sense in a dentist's office, but the cost model seems undefendable - $15 per month per radio - the K-Cup of music; it might be worth it if I could pay for it once but then use it on multiple radios, instead of just on the motorcycle.
Near the end of my dental visit, REO Speedwagon came over the satellite radio and I almost made a joke about junior high school make-out music before realizing how utterly creepy that could sound when someone is working in my mouth.  Had I not caught myself, I would have deserved the ultrasonic screamer.