MY MIND IS RUNNING: A COLLECTION OF FICTION AND NON-FICTION WORKS _________________ A University Thesis Presented to the Faculty of California State University, East Bay _________________ In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Master of Arts in English _________________ By Matthew Biundo May 2020 Copyright © 2019 by Matthew Biundo ii MY MIND IS RUNNING: A COLLECTION OF FICTION AND NON-FICTION WORKS By Matthew Biundo Approved: Date: ProfessorStephen D. Gutierrez 111 Acknowledgments This thesis could not have been possible without the ongoing support of my parents, Laurie and John Biundo, who from an early age provided me with the opportunity to read a seemingly endless supply of books, and the encouragement to keep exploring my own creativity. Several friends have read drafts of these works and helped to shape them to the forms in which they are finally presented here. They are Blaine Counter, Brendan Cleak, Caryn Sandoval, Jordan Rodriguez, and Emily Warner. I’d be remiss if I did not acknowledge the invaluable support from the English Department faculty at California State University, East Bay. Professors Stephen Gutierrez, Jacqueline Doyle, and Susan Gubernat not only provided me the classroom opportunities, but the personal encouragement to give me confidence. I also owe a special debt of gratitude to Professor Eileen Barrett, who first encouraged me to consider graduate school in the first place. iv Table of Contents Acknowledgments Fiction ........................................................................................................................1 Under the Moon .........................................................................................................2 Headache ....................................................................................................................20 Undignified ................................................................................................................23 Snapshots ...................................................................................................................27 Terse (100 Words) .....................................................................................................43 If It Leads, It Bleeds...................................................................................................44 Swimming in a Fish Bowl..........................................................................................48 Shocked ......................................................................................................................60 A Slow Fracture .........................................................................................................61 Creative Nonfiction ....................................................................................................64 Decisions in 35mm ....................................................................................................65 Highway Robbery ......................................................................................................72 Missing the Cure ........................................................................................................74 My Mind is Running ..................................................................................................87 These Rights to Bear ..................................................................................................90 Stuff in the Morning...................................................................................................101 v 1 Fiction 2 Under the Moon “On in 30.” Great. The day has barely started, and it’s already ruined. How many times do I have to tell these dipshits not to mess with the settings in my booth? It’s not that fucking hard. “15 seconds.” This rundown is shit, too. Who cares what some dopey movie star has to say about god damn climate change. What a joke. I close my eyes, take a breath, and wait. “Five seconds. And four, three, two…” I open my eyes back up, and my producer, Brian, points at me from across the studio, just as the red “On Air” light turns on. “Hello, Seattle! You’re listening to Under the Moon, I’m your host, Scott Moon, glad you’re with us.” (I know. The pep in my voice surprises me, too.) “Today on the show, we’ll talk about last night’s ‘Hawks game, because… Sports!. We’ll also talk with the one and only Jason Sharp, star of the new movie Dear Earth, which hits theaters this Friday. And of course, all you Hog Heads out there, don’t worry. The Hog is still alive. His fatness made it in to work today, somehow.” Brian clicks play on the audio file with The Hog’s signature sound bit—an obnoxious squealing pig, whose four-second clip is three seconds too long. On cue, Paul “The Hog” Cerdo leans into the microphone for his introduction. He puts on his normal huff-and-puff routine, acting out of breath. “Yeah, I’m here, Moon,” he says. Then between his faux heavy breathing, “The Hog is ready to eat.” 3 Begrudgingly, I plough forward. “But first, a word from the companies who haven’t yet figured out that marketing on our show may actually be bad for their business. You’re listening to Under the Moon. Back, after this.” The red light goes out, and Brian tells us 60-seconds back. Not enough time for a smoke or a piss break, so I just raise my coffee mug up to signal to an intern that I need a refill. Kind of reminds me of when I got my start in radio, more than 25 years ago. Harvey was a legend, and I sure learned a lot from him, but boy was he a prick to us kids those first few months. I still remember that first day as wet behind the ears intern, mere months after graduating college, and still naïve to the disheartening future of radio. Even then, Harvey was my idol. When he needed his coffee, but nobody told me how he liked it—and like hell I was going to ask the Harvey Branson himself—I was scared shitless I might fuck it up and not be invited back for a second day of work. Luckily, I guessed right—lots of cream, lots of sugar—and he joked, Hey kid, maybe you have a future in radio after all. “Alright, Scott, 15 seconds back.” Note to self: change the god damn locks in here. What’s the point of having my own private booth if anyone can have access? The next time an intern or cleaning crew member messes with my settings again, someone’s losing their head. Brian points, and the red light switches back on. “Alright, welcome back to Under the Moon. Hey Hog, how’s it goin’?” “Oh you know, the usual. I’m still one hungry hog,” Paul says back. “Well that’s no surprise. What’ve you got today?” 4 “Well Moon, I’ve got something really tasty today, I think even you might enjoy it.” “I doubt it.” “Moon, let me ask you. Do you like pizza?” “Of course I do, Hog.” “Now, have you ever wondered, ‘how can I make pizza even better?’” “No, Hog, can’t say that I have.” “Well I have, Moon.” “No surprise there.” Brian gives a thumbs up, happy with how the segment is beginning. He plays a quick sound bit of pigs eating slop, and signals for us to continue. “Moon, one of our faithful listeners reached out to me last week, and let me tell you, this man knows what The Hog likes. He asked me if I’d ever tried something called Pizzabetes. Of course the named intrigued me, and I was almost embarrassed to say no.” “Pizza…betes?” “That’s right, Moon. It’s like a pizza-based diabetes. I guess it’s a popular challenge on the internet right now.” “I’m afraid to ask what it is, but I already know you’re going to tell us anyway.” “I’m glad you asked, Moon. Pizzabetes is similar to pizza, but instead of regular old pizza dough, the base layer is a chocolate-chip Belgian waffle.” “Oh boy.” 5 “That’s just the start, Moon. It gets its usual ingredients—lots of cheese, plenty of meat. NO vegetables.” “Of course not.” “Then—well, let’s see if you can guess what comes next, Moon.” “Do I have to?” “Moon, what’s the one thing that makes any food taste better?” “Oh, no. Don’t say it…” “That’s right, Moon. You deep fry it!” Right on cue, Brian plays another sound effect, this time of oil sizzling. I’m not sure if the mic just caught my groan or not. Paul continues. “So yesterday, I met with my new favorite listener, Sean, and we went ahead and made our own pizzabetes. Take a listen.” Brian hits play, and the pre-recorded segment takes over. According to this rundown—if it’s even accurate—this tape will play for another five-minutes, fifteen- seconds, and then it immediately follows with a three-and-a-half-minute commercial break before we start our B-segment. Just enough time for a private, uninterrupted cigarette break. Pizzabetes. Give me a break… Standing on the 12th-floor balcony, I exhale a sweet cloud of American Spirit smoke, and watch the pigeons around me. I can’t help but envy their independence—their ability to fly off this rooftop with no consequences. And of course, their freedom to shit on everything below them. 6 After producing cheap segments for a few months at KTIL, Harvey took me under his wing. He liked that I laughed at his jokes—even, or especially, the crude and unfunny ones—and I liked that he gave it to me straight. Harvey pulled no punches; he let you know when your work sucked, and he was never shy about telling us newbies that producing radio was hard work and little glory. But I paid attention, and soon found myself earning Harvey’s trust, and taking on more responsibility. The squeaky metal door opens, and a meek 20-year-old intern walks out. “Uh, Mr. Moon? They’re asking for you back in the studio.” I look at my