Steel Kaleidoscopes

The Continuing Saga of Dave

In the waning, weak October sunlight, Dave Tomlinson squinted at the approaching plane under his white tchotchke visor.

"On time," he said softly. "On time again."

In his horizontal world of toothaches and migraines, Dave found solace in trespassing onto Logan's Terminal E runway, observing departure and arrival times of major airline international flights.

In a few short weeks, Dave would have enough savings to purchase the high-end binoculars advertised in The Sharper Image.

This could give Dave a better visual of the pilot, providing insight into a secondary research project that investigates gender differences in the airline industry.

A cup of dark, black coffee sounded like a good idea as Dave lowered his visor even further to accommodate the setting sun.

The Continuing Saga of Dave

Dave Tomlinson observed the tattered silver-tinged row housing and considered the variables of condominium occupancy and rent control.

In a ceremonial toast, Dave had projected optimal revenue opportunities from minimum real estate competencies.

Was it hysterical blindness or an emotional rescue when his business plan had been accepted?

Dave turned his thoughts toward the evening ahead and held high hopes that "Jeopardy" would feature the Potpourri category.

The Continuing Saga of Dave

Dave Tomlinson woke up with a black licorice stomach ache.

He had indulged in a stash of two-year-old Halloween candy that he found in his basement and liberally snacked through "Jeopardy" and into prime time programming.

Grimacing, he reached for the wooden bannister and thought he might purchase some wooden Santas to inspire a holiday spirit.

Perhaps the Black Jack gum wasn't stale.

Dave went to have a look.

The Continuing Saga of Dave

It was nearing 11, and Dave Tomlinson doubted he would make Letterman.

The musical guest was Siouxie without the Banshees and Dave was curious whether or not synthetic pop had any staying power.

He was open to suggestions on how to stay awake, but caffeine seemed out of vogue at this hour.

Controversy had been following Dave lately, and his comments on the Alex Trebek message board had fueled some of the anger directed his way.

Succumbing to a craving for a Fluffernutter sandwich and a medium-size glass of chocolate milk, Dave made his way into the kitchen.

The Continuing Saga of Dave

It had been nearly seven years since Dave Tomlinson's last root canal.

He remembered the uncomfortable feeling of having his mouth open for an unusual amount of time, the cold dental silverware like brittle ice between numbing, vertical incisions.

Dave vowed to cut back on Porterhouse steak and cheese/broccoli baked potatoes. Instead, his indulgence would be simple Dove bars while watching Alex Trebek sigh "no" during a dramatic moment during "Jeopardy."

Dave pondered the usefulness of dental floss and debated the merits of Aquafresh vs. Colgate.

It would turn out to be an uneventful visit although the dental assistant spoke in even tones about recent local brush fires.

The Continuing Saga of Dave

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches kept Dave Tomlinson mildly interested in a turntable's propensity to spin.

Dave, despite reservations, decided to dress up for his Tuesday meeting with black shoes and argyle black socks.

Then he chose black leather pants, a black T-shirt and a black leather vest.

If he was going to feel like Iggy Pop, he may as well dress like him.

The Continuing Saga of Dave

Gillian had gone to the Fleetwood Mac show and didn't tell Dave Tomlinson.

Dave was annoyed because he had his own Fleetwood Mac experiences he wanted to share. Dave remembered seeing the band in '79 on the "Rumours" tour with their classic lineup, which included Stevie Nicks and Christine McVie.

When Gillian loaded her photos onto Flickr, Dave sulkingly noticed the gleam in Mick Fleetwood's eyes as he banged home the introduction to "Tusk."

Didn't matter, mused Dave.

Dave had tickets to Spyro Gyra next week, and made a promise to himself that he would rather read the entire Bobbsey Twins catalog than share his plans with Gillian.

The Continuing Saga of Dave

Dave Tomlinson pondered the various options of how to polish veneer furniture.

In the pre-Barney Rubble era, saxophones were mere pipe dreams of the conglomerate stone-tapping bearded swordsmen.

Music would have a future, mused Dave, if only bartenders would consider their careers equally important to Betty Rubble hairdressing standards.

In the end it was Dave who decided vanilla-based polish could be overkill to the cherry wood.

Dave stepped outside for a smoke, considered counting sheep a poor solution for sleeplessness, and purchased a jump rope at KB Toys.

The Continuing Saga of Dave

Dave Tomlinson took a deep breath of salty ocean air, the glistening flounder lying flat beneath his hands on the silky sea grass.

It would be a good dinner after a tiring yet mundane day, most of which was spent standing in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles.

If it hadn't been for the leathernecks yelling obscenities from the metallic orange Camaro on his drive to the beach, it would have been a non-descript day, the kind you file away but are powerless to recall.

Dave thought little necks would be the perfect complement to the flounder, but was nervous about an extended flossing session before bedtime.

Dave sighed deeply, then poured a glass of Conundrum before changing the batteries in the TV remote.

The Continuing Saga of Dave

Rottweilers could incite fear into the tiniest of robots.

Dave Tomlinson related to the mammal-computer mismatch, and found comfort in the fact that when zeppelins scraped the sky, it meant that transportation options weren't limited to traditional means.

Historical documents had revealed lucid, not lurid, facts related to the Spanish Inquisition, and Dave would be damned if he felt pressured to rewrite the epic.

If Army Majors were considered zealots, nuns were indeed practitioners of plebeianism.

It was not the moral ground upon Dave was used to standing.

In the end he agreed screams were annoying, but somehow essential.