Here we go again.

——
“I’m not what you’re looking for,” he said, and kissed her again. With the sum total of their indiscretion strewn about the floor, shirts, jeans and panties draped across furniture and bedpost, they appeared a picture-perfect version of American infidelity. Man and woman, neither committed but neither completely unavailable, talking, laughing, screwing in blissful nonchalance. She was born into a devout Catholic family. If only her father could see her in this cesspool of sin.

“How do you know what I’m looking for?” The passion of the moment was drained away by his comment, and she searched the room for her clothes, eager to return them to her body, as if by dressing she could also cover the reality of what she’d just done. He simply smiled and lay back on the bed, inflated by confidence and pretentious bravado. The antithesis to her shame.

“You don’t have to go,” he said slyly, the intonations of his speech dripping with perverse desire. He wanted her again, and he knew that she did not care to oblige. The coupling would remain a secret. At least he wouldn’t tell anyone; he had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t either. For him, it was another notch in his belt, an unwitting female duped by his bullshit charm and prey-on-the-weak mentality. For her, it was something altogether different. One of those regrettable moments she only hoped she could be forgiven for, by friends, by future lovers, by God. She could merely pray that karma would somehow find its way back to him, that the full weight of his actions would come crashing down on him in sweet justice. She would not hold her breath.

She finished pulling her shirt over her head and saw her backpack sitting in the chair beside the bed. The red wine stain from the night’s romp still stood out plainly on the bag’s white canvas exterior. She would not forget, lest she buy a new backpack. But even then, she knew she’d still remember. A stapled stack out of papers fell out of the bag and onto the floor. She bent to pick it up, this time careful to prevent the back of her shirt from rising. No more would she show skin. She retrieved the syllabus and returned it to its previous location.

Without so much as a goodbye or a nod or a wave, she turned and strode to the door, confident that his gaze was still on her. At the entryway, she paused briefly, long enough to say, “I’ll see you in class…professor.”

Here’s this week’s edition of my Faces of Austin column that I write for The Daily Texan. For a video, go here.

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Every morning, Spencer Scorcelletti wakes up at the Austin House of Guys, a self-described “fauxternity” that sits at the corner of MLK and Rio Grande Street. He gets out of the lofted bed he built and exits via a pole stretching from floor to ceiling – also built by him. He gets ready and exits the house, taking a deep breath before mounting the tandem bike he rides to school. He’s the free rides guy, the energetic guy riding around campus day and night offering rides to needy students. When he talks, it’s clear he’s capable of hitting it big, discovering the next big philanthropic project. And like all great initiatives, you have to start with a little freedom.

During the summer, all my roommates, they’re all smart and they went abroad, so I was the only person here. I was totally by myself, no one was in town, and I was just so bored.

One of my roommate’s brothers had a tandem bicycle, and he left it at the house. I got to thinking about how bored I was, and how fun it would be to fix up the bicycle, because it was broken, and just ride around town and ask people if they wanted a ride home, because it’s funny for one person to be on a tandem bicycle.

Once the school year started, I fixed it up for my friend’s brother, thinking he wanted it back. But, he never came and picked it up, and it just hit me: free rides. I got on there and rang that bell and said “free rides” and the whole sort of philosophy of free rides was made known to me.

The philosophy is freedom. Free rides. It’s totally pointless, it’s stupid, I know. I’ve given about 120 or so rides. That’s less than like a thousandth of a percent of campus. Who I’ve actually assisted, not too many people when you think about it. But everybody sees it, half of campus at least. And I can’t tell you how many people have come up to me and said, “You just made my day.” The philosophy is to spread this idea of freedom and break people out of their shells.

No tips accepted, no sexual favors, that’s disgusting. I’ve been offered both. I let my roommates tip me; I give them rides everywhere. I think if I ever did accept them, it wouldn’t be for myself, it would be, for example, to buy a helmet, but someone already donated one.

All my passengers have to wear the helmet. I care a lot about my passengers.

(more…)

There are plenty of reasons I love Muse. Thanks to a video making the rounds today, I’ve got another.

The band performed on an Italian television station, but were told they’d have to use a backing track (i.e. lipsync). Not to be forced into doing something they don’t want to, the band decided they’d allow the backing tracks, but neglected to tell the producers who plays what instrument, meaning vocalist Matthew Bellamy overexaggeratedly rocked the drums and normal drummer Dominic Howard showcased his vocal skills. Because of this, “vocalist Dominic” was even interviewed after the performance. Kids, this is how you stick it to the man. No lip-syncing!