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. Only after I ve had a few217 nërd girl rocks paradise citycups of coffee and a shower am I able to rid my heart of itshatred for all things human.Someone apparently didn t getthe memo, though, because my phone is ringing. Hello? I am ready nay, eager to cuss someone out.I hope it s an ex-boyfriend, or maybe a telemarketer.Sadly,if it s one, the odds are decent that it s the other as well.Itturns out to be neither. Hi, Anne, this is Greg Donovan. I start fast-forward-ing files in my brain to remember at which dive I gave mynumber to a Greg Donovan when he adds, From the MFAprogram at VCU. Ohhhhhh, yeah.Hi. How s it going? Um, you know.rioty. Q: By using rioty in the opening line of your first-ever conver-sation with the chair of the creative writing program to whichyou ve applied, were you shooting fora) an incredible show of linguistic chutzpah and creativityby coining a whole new word on the spot like it was noth-ing specialb) the same kind of crap you pulled when you tried to throwyour entrance interview at William and Mary? Remember,it didn t work there, eitherorc) did you simply, in all good faith, think that was a suit-able answer?A: The correct answer is c).It was early.Language eludes mebefore noon.I honestly thought it was a word.218 last callGreg Donovan takes rioty in stride.He is, after all, a manof letters. Oh, yeah, that s right! You guys have that riotthing happening out there now.Hey, look straight to thepoint.I m calling to let you know that we got your applica-tion, and it was one of about a hundred applications for thecreative writing program this year.Our program is verysmall.We only have eleven slots to fill. I figure this is going to be the part where he tells methey re looking for more literary writers, writers whowrite poems about good-hearted homeless people, andessays full of thinky thoughts on Joyce and Woolf.I mready to tell him it s no skin off my nose, that I know I mnot MFA material, and he ll thank me for playing and I cango make some coffee.I consider cutting in and telling him Ialready know and that he doesn t have to sugarcoat it anymore, when he comes out of left field with this: So, be proud.One of those slots is yours if you wantit.Congratulations. Dude, I say, because that s all I can say while I let thissink in. You re kidding. Dude, says the chair of the Creative Writing Depart-ment, I m not. So, I m in? I figure there s something here I m notunderstanding.There has to be. If you want in, you re in.I do have some bad news,though, he begins, and I figure this is where they tell methat I am going to be in the remedial MFA classes, and thatI have to make all their bunks and type their papers orsomething, because there is no way this is true otherwise. You didn t get a graduate teaching assistantship. 219 nërd girl rocks paradise city That s too bad, I say insincerely, because if there isanything I totally can t imagine myself doing more thanbeing in graduate school, it s teaching.Imagine, a grubbylittle lowbrow punk like me, standing up in front of a classfull of students like I have something to teach them.Indeed! I m still trying to figure out if I actually applied fora graduate teaching assistantship or if I just checked a ran-dom box without realizing it when a hail of gunfire whizzespast the window by my head. Hey, I have to get out of the window now, I sayapologetically, crouching as close to the ground as thephone cord will let me. I understand, Greg says. Call me when things calmdown. I hang up the phone and combat low-crawl on my bellyto the bathtub, which I figure is the safest place in the apart-ment.I drag a pillow and a blanket off the bed as I slitherby.I hurl the pillow and blanket over the side of the tub andclimb in after them.Lying in the tub as National Guard heli-copters circle overhead through the billowing smoke, I stareat the ceiling and ask myself now what? I guess it s over.Q: You don t sound exactly thrilled to have gotten into graduateschool.Did you ever consider saying no?A: I guess I kind of looked at getting into an MFA program like onewould look at being chosen as a sacrificial virgin or being called toa religious order.I was so dumbfounded that they picked me that itnever occurred to me that I could say no.I just kept expecting thateventually they d realize they d made a clerical error or something220 last calland they d call me and apologize, and I d find another day job andstay in Hollywood.Some days I still think they might call. I say we go for it.The police are busy with the big stuff. Tommy and I are at the Blacklite against the advice ofeveryone in our building and our own better judgment.We re still under the dusk-to-dawn curfew, but a phone callconfirmed that the Blacklite was open until dusk, any-way.Two doors down from the bar, a mob of looters isusing a station wagon and a chain to pull the metal gates offthe front of a jewelry store.People are walking, not evenrunning, down Sunset Boulevard carrying televisions,VCRs, and cases of beer.On the way here, we passed theSam Goody store with its entire front window bashed out,everybody and their mother literally climbing out witharmloads of CDs.(Don t think I didn t consider acquiringthe whole Rolling Stones catalog on CD right then; I haterebuying the CDs of albums I already bought once on vinyl.Catholic guilt kept me from partaking; with all of my othertransgressions, somehow I ve never been able to steal.Tommy is trying to convince me that I m being ridiculous.) Look at the other nine commandments.You ve bro-ken all of them. I never killed anybody, I correct him. Still.We ll only do stores run by huge corporations,like Sam Goody and Vons.We won t touch the mom-and-pop stores. Tommy is dying to participate in the rioting,which he calls a holiday for the disenfranchised. I remind221 nërd girl rocks paradise cityhim that as a white male with blond hair and blue eyes, hisdisenfranchised cred is sketchy at best. I m an unemployed drug addict, he says, trying tolook pitiful. You re unemployed because you re a drug addict, Iremind him, and besides, your argument is about as con-vincing as those idiots with purple dreadlocks and a millionpiercings who complain about being judged by their looks.You did this to yourself. You don t love me, Tommy pouts. I love you, Aunt Titty offers, and he blows her a kiss. Come on, Anne.There s a Sav-On a block from here. A Sav-On? I laugh and shake my head. What, so wecan steal toilet paper? Preparation H? Come on. I chuckleto myself at the thought of looting a drugstore.Indeed.Ilook up and Tommy and Aunt Titty are looking at me likeI m the dumbest thing they ve seen. OK, who was just complaining this morning that shehas to buy pills on the street now that her connection lefttown? I do not buy them on the street, I say haughtily. I buythem at Boardner s. From a Mexican guy named Hector.Inthe men s room.But not on the street. Whatever, little Miss White Gloves.The point is, wheredo you think those pills come from? It ain t the Easter Bunny. Duh.I hadn t even thought about drugstores as drug-stores.Still, the thought of going into a store through abroken window and climbing out with stuff I didn t pay foris too much for me.Not that I m scared of getting caught,or hurt, or even getting killed.Consequences aren t my222 last callmotivation.I don t even know for sure what is.I just can tshake the no stealing thing.Call it the last taboo.Next tothe last, at least.God knows I ve been running low ontaboos these last few months
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