Imitation Of Life

[Peter McCoy]

Sunday, Day 0, 11:30pm...

As he climbed into bed, thoughts rushed through Peter's head at the speed of light. In less than a week he would be on a plane heading for New York, where he and Andrew were meeting up with several people off the boards for the first time. They had some amazing stuff planned. Then, a week of complete and total madness and fun, ending nicely with one helluva party to accompany the release of Attack of the Clones. But he had to contain himself within the week beforehand. And for that reason alone, this week was going to be a bitta nosh!

<HR>

Monday, Day 1, 10:23am...

From where he was standing outside the house, Andrew could easily hear the loud music emanating from the room at the top of the stairs. The door was closed, but that didn't do anything to decrease the amplitude in the slightest. Peter's mum stood at the bottom of the stairs and shouted up to him. "Peter! Andrew's here!" But there was no answer. instead, the music stopped momentarily before starting again. A drum beat began pulsating through all four speakers that were connected to the four corners of the bedroom ceiling...

"One...two...one, two, three, four..."

What followed was sixteen beats of a guitar strumming a clean A chord. It was a crisp and clear acoustic sound that charmed the ears nicely. It was a warm, golden yellow, laminated figured maple top, bowl-back design Tanglewood Odyssey TMO7NC Electro-acoustic guitar, plugged into a Marshall G30RCD 30 Watt Guitar Amplifier. Then, Peter began to sing...

"Travelin' through a tunnel under sea,
You never know if it cracks in half,
You're never ever gonna see me...

You can have it all if you like,
You can have it all if you like,
And you...can pay for it the rest of your life.
Life."

He breathed in quickly. Just because he could play the song quite good didn't mean he could sing it to the same standard. And Peter hadn't quite mastered the smokers voice that belonged to the lead singer of the Stereophonics, but he did it quite well, considering he didn't smoke. And comer to think of it, he wasn't even sure of the singer smoked!

"I wouldn't believe your wireless radio.
If I had myself a flying giraffe,
You'd have one in a box with a window.

You can have it all if you like,
You can have it all if you like,
And you...can pay for it the rest of your life.
Life."

Peter quickly turned up the treble ever so slightly in time to play the solo. It was fairly simple and spanned only six frets, so he didn't have to worry about missing a note or playing the wrong one. He let the final note, which was quite high as it was on the top E string and the twelfth fret, ring out for a few seconds before returning to the rythme chords.

"PETER!!!!!"

His mum was getting annoyed now. But still he didn't hear her. As the final chord rang out of the amplifier, the bedroom door swung open. Andrew stood in the doorway with a bemused look on his face. Peter flicked the black switch to turn the amplifier off whilst simultaneously pulling the jack out of his guitar, looked up at Andrew...

"What d'you want?"

He smiled as he placed his guitar back in its case. Picking up a wrapped-up jack lead that was lying on his bed, he threw it at Andrew, who caught it with an exclamation of "Uh!!!" as he usually did. They had made plans to go into town pick up a few things ready for next weekened. "Are you ready?", asked Andrew.

"Yup. Let's go."

<HR>

Monday, Day 1...roughly ten minutes later...

The front door exploded open with a loud bang as it collided with the wall, almost coming off it's hinges. Somebody ran upstairs into the bedroom The wallet was swiped from the bedside cabinet. Peter almost knocked his mum over as she stood by the living room door in amazement.

"Yeah, forgot me wallet, bye! See ya later!"

Andrew was standing by the gate in stitches, with a big cheesy grin on his face.

"Shut up you! C'mon, we're gonna miss the bus here!"

[SeanDMan]

Monday, 8:03 am

What the hell am I doing up at 8 am?
The question runs through my mind, but I know the answer. When you don't sleep, you end up awake at odd hours of the say. The only thing keeping me awake now is soda pop, and the realization that my spring break is over.
Time to go to school.
Well, in four hours. But I can't go back to sleep, or I won't wake up. I've done my rounds on the boards, and not suprisingly they have yet to pick up... all the action will happen when I hop to school for sure. I take a peak on AIM... Ben, Gue, Jenny, Gav, and Fett... all SWFans peeps I don't know so well, well, besides Jenny who I met at TGC. Bored, I flip on some System of a Down... Science to be specific. I have to turn down my headphones... headphone rather, one is broken... since the volume is full. Though I know only Itala Marzullo will be online, I hope against hope someone else will show up in short order and kick open MSN. Sure enough, theres trusty Julian... and Kane.
Kane decides he wants a word. He mentions Cannoli or something, and then blocks me when I have no idea what he's talking about. Well, thats the end of Science. I flip on some Matt Good... Future is X-Rated, and turn it up. I notice Hotmail sent me a new e-mail, so I kick open my inbox, and sure enough...

Hotmail Member Servi... Your account is too large...Upgrade now! Mar 25
Sarah Longval Fwd: Are you in Love......? Mar 25
Sarah Longval Ahahahaha Mar 25
Peter McCoy You are cordially invited Mar 24
Hotmail Member Servi... Your account is too large...Upgrade now! Mar 23
BYWF_Zone@yahoogroup... [BYWF] Poll results for BYWF_Zone Mar 23

Great, I think to myself, my account is over the size limit.
Damn porn.
Well, I take a look at what else is there before emptying out the junk mail again. Sarah, Sarah, Peter McCoy... Peter McCoy? I don't know any Peter McCoy. You are cordially invited... another piece of spam. I delete it, and empty out the junk mail. With nothing left to do, I flip open Photoshop to make a new custom signature, and wait for the dreaded school...

[Genie]

Monday, 10:56

I can't believe I actually fell asleep at the keyboard.

I suppose it's understandable if you look back at what would have caused it. For the first time in ages I couldn't sleep all night long - I wonder why - so spent the night listening to Linkin Parks 'My December' on repeat. Got up early, after mum had left the house of course, and headed straight for the good old mastermind chair in the computer room. Computer on already, not a suprise, no doubt someone had been on sifting through what I'd been doing the past day.

I wouldn't be on today though, and I wouldn't be on the net at all for sometime infact - shock, horror! Because I had been pulled into what my mother, and all of those terrible personal security adverts from http://www.thinkyouknow.com had warned me about - meeting up with people from 'Fans. Scary. Of course I had to weave an eloborate web of lies for me to actually be able to go to New York. You see for all my mother knew, I'd be off to stay with a friend for the week.

I would be seeing the friend, Karl namely, but he'd only be meeting up with me so that he could drop me off at the airport.

All my bags packed, everything ready. Karl would be here in oh ... 10 minutes or so, then within 3 hours I'd be off on a plane from Newcastle Airport to the good old U.S.A. Again, scary. Hopefully I'd be able to meet up with one of the other Brit posters somewhere along the journey, if not it'd just be me all alone in the big apple until I found the others.

Gulp.

[SeanDMan]

Monday, 10:20 am

"California?" I ask skeptically.
His nod only worries me more. "Don't worry man," he says, "just sit and wait. They won't even ask you your age."
I shook my head. "It's not that easy to cross our border anymore man." I inclined my head to Emily, who, as usual, passed.
"It is though. I've done it before. Look, all we need is twenty bucks. And we want you in on it." He looked at me, hoping I would agree as we stepped into line.
I still had my doubts... and the beginning of a song was creeping into my head, giving me an idea. "New York."
Not understanding, he shook his head and said "Excuse me?"
"New York. If we want to get into the States, the easiest place would be New York." I nodded at Bryce passing, who gave an inclination in return.
"How do you figure?" he asked, practical thinking of that analysis lost on him.
"Well, following the terrorist attacks in September, they would have jacked up security right?"
"Yeah..."
"And then that tight security would have been lowered, because it was at the highest and was impeding the operations."
"And..."
"And, I'm saying the three of us find three beyatches, a few friends, a bunch of booze and convoy across the country, and watch Episode Two in New York City."
I saw then, he got it. He thought, even, that it was a good idea. "Start making some calls. We want thiis party to kick ass... see how many people we can pick up between here and Quebec."
"Done." I smiled at him, and we went our seperate ways. "Southwest chicken... yes, white bread please..."

[Hyphenated]

Monday, Day 1, 8:01 am

beep........beep........beep.......

The sleeper stirs a tiny bit in her bed, unaffected by the alarm that is now going off.

beepbeep....beepbeep....beepbeep.....

Children are yelling down the hallway to each other, and one or more bang against the wall with a thump. The sleeper does not move or otherwise acknowledge the intrusion of noise into her subconscious. She turns over, still asleep.

beepbeepbeep...beepbeepbeep...beepbeepbeep...

You have to admire the alarm clock. It never gives up. A small boy creeps up to the side of the bed, and reaches for the annoying sound to switch it off. It may not be waking up the sleeper, but it sure as heck is heard by everyone else in the house.

His arm reaches across the lower bunk, snaking out towards the offending piece of electronics.

The sleeper's eyes open.

beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep

Jane-Holly grabs the alarm clock, startling the boy. He stands still at the edge of her bed as she shuts off the alarm and then slumps back into her pillow. She peers at the boy. "Adam?"

Adam grins his adorable missing-two-front-teeth grin. "Your alarm is going off."

"I know." She places the clock back on the shelf, and then turns over. He pokes her in the back.

"I need to vaccum, you need to get up! Jane-Hollllllly!" He pleads with her.

She mumbles something to the affect of: "Go ahead and vaccum."

He does.

After he vaccums, an even littler girl scampers to the side of the sleeper's bed. "Jane-Holly! What are you doing still in bed!? You need to get up!"

Jane-Holly turns over and smiles with her eyes shut at Hollie, her four year old niece. "I am up."

"No you're not!" Hollie pulls at the covers. "Get up! You're lazy!" She giggles uncontrollably as Jane-Holly's hands come out from under the covers and drag her onto the bed.

"Hollie...its sleepy time! Take a nap..." Hollie wriggles free and giggles again before scampering off.

Monday, 9:00 am

The sleeper gets out of bed, and stumbles into the shower to get ready for work. This is what I get for staying online so late at night. Curses! Its all Charley's fault. I could have slept longer if he hadn't of begged that last post off me.

[JungleCat]

Monday, Day 1, 6:30am PST

I stood in the bathroom looking at myself in the mirror. Not moments before, my alarm had gone off, and I had ignored it. Then the cat had started to walk all over me on the bed, and I had ignored that. Then my dad came in to wake me. *sigh* That, I could not ignore. For the record, I hate mornings.

I squinted at my image in the mirror, the light assaulting my eyes. Gawd, I looked like I'd been hit by the A-Teams van. After washing my face, I didn't look so hideous anymore, and began to dress when I heard a scratching noise at the door. I opened it a crack, and my cat came waltzing in, much too happy for this early in the morning. Did I mention I hate mornings?

I did the usual of breakfast and the like, finally getting read to depart the house for work. I said my godbyes to my dad and mom, and nearly triped over the cat going out the door (guess that would be my goodbye to him).

Soon I would be on the road, on the same, monotonous treck to work, vowing all the way I would get to bed by 10pm, and knowing it would never happen.

The one thing I had to look forward to was my T3 connection at work, and the much planning I had yet to do for when some of the net people would come down to visit us Cali Girls in May. Soon they would be honorary Cali Peeps. Just 47 more days.

[Charley]

Monday, 7:30 AM

I'd been awake for hours. Funny the way whiskey works on me. I palmed the pint from where it had lay the whole night at the foot of Chester's couch. Maker's Mark was some subliminal sign that I was in the no-man's land between collegiate scum and business-degree hoi-palloi. I'd killed it in stylish fashion the previous evening. All around the basement, bodies lay in twisted heaps like a Manson killing spree. The smell of Labat, lime juice, and Montezuma hung thick in the air like a tramp's perfume. The contacts in my eyes burned, screaming like two red babies born blind into a sunlit world. Aside from that, I was a million bucks stuffed into a gold wallet. I padded to the bathroom to wash my hair and grab eyedrops. As I slid my shoes on, I looked back at the war zone. A mirror was crashed beside a ping pong table, the sign of a game gone horribly wrong. A cigarette butt lay cold, a whispery trail of ashes lying atop a flea market coffee table, black line evident of its owner's sudden loss of conciousness. I pitied Chester, and the carnage he would have to explain to his wife when she woke up. It was the unwritten rule. Every once in a while, you were the one to host the party. And when you did, everybody made it that much worse for you, as payback for all the other times you broke their flowerpots, or peed in their ficas.

I headed out, cause I had places to go, and things to do...in the cliche sense of urban adventure. I hopped into the Thundertruck, firing up Johnny Cash as I peeled out.

Monday, 8:15 AM

Dr. Stephen's office was a picturesque little cottage nestled smack dab into the most toxic waste part of Birmingham imaginable. The smell of garbage, old tires, and steel mills was thick in the humid air as I pulled up. I'd given my teeth a cursory brush in the truck on the way over. It was the effect of sweeping under the rug. The metal hook has no sympathy. Its an excercise of Zen, sitting in that chair. The first intuitive prods are an awakening of annoying stimuli, and as the hook goes on, it becomes searing. Breathe in the nose, out the mouth. I am the Dalai Lama...I am the Dragon. My breathing regulated and my eyes closed. Tantric meditation has been known to control everything from libido release to endorphin control. The sound is nearly worse than the visceral serial killing of my fleshy red gums. I wait, like a Vietnam POW, knowing that they'll either kill me or I'll make it. I never break. The ferric tang of blood is tasted in a distant afterthought, until the dentist squirts water across the crime scene, sucking it up with her conspiratorial air wand. I count seconds like days. She teases me, asking about my professional career when I'm incapacitated to speak. Doesn't she realize that the phrase "Consulting and Solutions Providing" causes seven distinct puncture wounds? It doesn't matter. She'd just nod and smile blankly, like some lobotomized cartoon rabbit. Frelling peon. Clean my teeth and leave me in peace. I finished up, rescheduling for a date I knew I'd never keep. I left the cottage of Hell, returning once again to the solace of the Thundertruck, and once again...I was on the road.

My mind drifted between errands as I drove across the city. It helped keep me awake, helped keep me alive. I thought about the upcoming trip to Los Angeles...the inevitable orgy of badasstitude that was the Attack of the Clones party. It would mostly be a meeting we'd made before. But it was a good homecoming. But I wasn't in LA yet, and to go, I had to find a job.

Thus, I drive on...I am the traveling business mercenary.

[Mr. President]

Day 1

"You know what really sucks?" I said to myself as I began setting boxesitems from my dorm into my room, "Is I can't go to LA. Even if I do have that internship in DC...I want to be there."

It'd been almost two months since my father had put his foot down and said, "It was foolish" for me to go to LA, if I was moving from Dallas to Washington DC the day after I was planning to return.

"Still be nice to be there."

"You talking to yourself again?" my youngest sister, Marion, quipped from my doorway, "I thought you stopped doing that after you got the internship?"

She walked through the room, dodging the large boxes my mom had set during her 'Spring Cleaning'. It was annoying how the boxes took up most of the space of the white wall room. Even if I didn't live in the house, it was still annoying. Real annoying.

I snorted, "Nah, you know me sis. You need me to get your tickets?"

"Yeah," Marion let out a long drawn out answer as she picked up her cat, Oinch, "Ashley and I're gonna go mid-afternoon. Still wish you were goin' t'LA?"

I walked out of the room, heading towards my car, "What do you think?" I smiled as I exitted my house and headed towards the Post Office.

Hope this package gets to LA in time.

[RoseLynne]

Monday 7:00am

*A knock on the door makes me crack an eye open. Arrrrghhhh!!!! Morning! Sun! GO AWAY! I pull the covers over my head even though I have to be at work in an hour and go back to sleep.*


Monday 8:00 am

*Another knock at the door and a voice telling me Im already late for work makes me roll out of bed.*

"I hate mornings! I hate mondays! I hate the sun!!!!!"

*I look over at my calendar and realize that soon I'll be watching the new star wars movie with a bunch of my net friends. Cali is to host the best sw gathering ever! Suddenly the day doesnt seem so bad. My costume is all layed out and ready to go, lightsaber and alll.*


9:30am

*I drag my poor tired body into work and plop down into the chair. Peace and quiet till I get online. AIM windows pop up all over the screen with people asking when others are arriving and if we're ready. After wading through the instant message mess I make it to the board where I see all the leaving posts. People are heading out.

LV's at work and we're both pulling our hair out together to get ready. Getting people into hotels and picking them up at airports is going to drive us nuts but we know its all gonna be worth it when we're in line out side the famed Manns Chinese theatre.*

[Marcus Telcontar]

Somewhere in LA, 7 am Monday

Damn it, Jet lag was a killer. For him, this body clock was having a nasty time adjusting. Helen was a bit more of a traveller and could sleep anywhere at any time, but he sure couldn't. The plane was bad enough. 14 hours in one of those things was ugly. He had got some snooze on the plane after the batteries on his laptop had finally run out, but still, it had been a mind blowingly boring experience. There was only so many of hours of darkness you could stare out of.

He stared out the windows at the rising sun, totally unfamiliar and also weird. The sea was on the wrong side, the sun was at the wrong angles, even the tiniest of things like the taste of the water, each breath of air told him he was in a place foriegn to him. Absolutly nothing was working the way he was used to, languages, people.... tips....

Now what the hell was this rot? Tipping? Why?

"Whole bloody place is insane"

Yesterday as Helen and him had gone to a restrauant to dine, their speech drew some odd looks. Mark knew he had a very heavy Australian accent, but still, you would think the locals had seen an Aussie before? Even the staff here seemed to want to here him say "G'day Mate". And the waiter must have wondered why he got the laughter when he asked if the Aussies wanted a Fosters.

Yep, different place alright. And fascinating. Pity the pollution was giving him a headache, he was used to clean country air.

Now what day was it again.....?

[SeanDMan]

Tuesday, 2:15 pm

"Just leatuce please... and the ceaser sauce please. Thank you."
I grab my sub sandwhich and stand by the machine, trying to decide what kind of fountain pop I feel like. I eventually decide on orange crush, and go up to pay. It's 5 dollars and 29 cents... rip off, I know, but I fork over the money anyway. I go to sit down...
And find my school has taken away our tables.
A short search reveals that the Administration is sick of the mess our, the last, block leaves and has decided to pack them up an hour early. Bull,a nd I tell them so, but unlike a fight I recently won, this one leads nowhere. So the tables stay... and I look around for the S man.
Long story about the S man, but his real name is Johnathen Roberts Stewart, so I call him Jar. He calls himself Skinu... so I call him the S man. Much like my other friend, the K man, only for different reasons we'll explain later. Anyway...
"Hey, S man."
"Comrade. (Another one we'll explain later) They took our tables man."
"I know," I say, and shake my head for emphasis of my dissapointment.
"Complain again, you saw what happened last time."
Well, it all started when we found a poster for a religious club set up at our school... some kind of Christian breakfast roundtable. Now, I wasn't going to say anything till I found this poster... but our laws allow us unpressured freedom of religion. Being against organized religion, for many resons, myself, the S man and a friend of his, went to our schools administration and debated the posters place on that wall. Said poster soon dissapeared, and though I can not say directly I had it forced down, the S man does, and I suppose considers me a champion for the little guys. I'd do it here, and had, but failed.
So I turn to the S man and shake my head. "Sorry S, I tried. Hey, are you still on for California?"
"Damn skippy," he replies, and I smile at him.
"We're going to New York instead."
"What?"

[Charley]

Monday: 1:21 PM. Tuscaloosa

Apathy is the complete devoidance of care in a situation that requires vested interest. As I barreled down I-59 towards T-town, apathy began to creep into my skull, soothed by the swanky sounds of the Bloodhound Gang. I'd nailed most of my exams earlier in the week, and had 295 left on the dockett.

295. Dr. Smith. The quintessential paragon of ball-busting capitalistic omnipotence. At the beginning of the semester, I feared him, like a man would fear Jaws, or Jason, or maybe something in between, like an Orca in a hockey mask. But I didn't fear Smith. I feared the curriculum...the most different, high-risk thing I'd ever attempted in my life. In Dr. Smith's world, answering all the questions right meant getting a C. And since I usually got apathetic with a B's effort, I knew it was time to raise the bar. This meant wedging myself into the Corporate Paradigm. I changed. I changed my hawaiian shirts for banana republic button-ups. My frayed shorts for dockers. Maybe I was a sellout. No maybe about it. I was definitely a sellout. Nobody lives their lives as a starry-eyed kid and says "Daddy, I want to be a Professional Bastard when I grow up." I wanted to draw, write, or teach history. Unfortunately, Tijuana prostitutes are higher on the salary chain than all three combined. So yes, I sold out. And what a sellout. Professional Bastards, or Consultants as people with Public Relations degrees call them, define the parameters for systems to solve business problems, making them more profitable. This can be done by using cutting-edge technology to devise a new program, or by recommending layoffs, or both. Nobody likes Consultants. Consultants sell change. People fear change. We wear hawaiian ties to casual fridays and smile politely as we ram pink slips in peoples asses. Did I mention that we pass the buck?

I digress, this time to the sound of Moby. At any rate, I'd quickly found my niche, and excelled in Smith's class. All that was left was his final. Unfortunately, it was scheduled for Saturday. I knew that if my apathy continued to grow, I would be in no shape to take the exam, since I was already ready to head out west. Thats where the plan came into effect. You see, Dr. Smith is
somewhat of a Monty Hall. He's always ready to make a deal. I had a proposal for him...the kind that came in liters. Smirnoff Blue Label wasn't the best, but it wasn't Aristocrat. All vodka tastes of rubbing alcohol to me anyways, so I take people's word for it. At any rate, the plan was.....

....."So you see, Dr. Smith...if I can take this exam...um...in the next few minutes...I have a bottle of blue label with your name on it"

He rubs his greying beard, which is contrasted by his bald head.

"Charley, whats going to stop you from giving the answers away?"

Good point. I mean, if I were so inclined, I could make alot of money on this. Dr. Smith knew that I, like all MIS majors, are greedy mercenaries.

"Well, you could give the questions in a different order. Also, I could intentionally publish incorrect answers on my student webspace."

Smith narrowed his eyes.

"Thats evil."

I shrugged.

"Thats the plan. Do you think I care if these people do bad? That only makes me look better. We're done with our projects, so its every man for themselves. If they wanna cheat, why not burn em for it."

Smith laughed, pouring a hefty helping into a dixie cup.

"Alright Charley, you have 90 minutes and 80 questions."

I took the exam, sitting down at a table. He downed the vodka, and kept the time.

"Why the rush, anyways?" He asked.

I smiled. He wore an Armani fleece over a Christian Dior button-up. I don't think the term "vacation" was one he understood."

"Summer business ventures on the west coast." I replied, and continued bubbling in answers.

An hour and a half later, I was a free man. Dr. Smith and I sang "Margaritaville" in the abandoned lecture hall.