My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie Lauren and I had never been to Plebes Valley before. We knew it was prime wine country - most of the vineyards there boasted of reds and whites that rivaled the stuff you got from as far as Cru or Asti. The two of us had always been curious about trying one specific place's Pinot Noir, so we packed a weekend bag each, and I got a neighbor to take care of Lawrence, the restless old tabby who still liked to hang around my place. We planned to stay in a quaint little bed and breakfast on the edge of downtown. Not a bad choice of room, in my opinion: The beds were comfortable, and the floral curtains and wallpaper certainly reminded me of the guest room I got to be in whenever I visited my grandmother as a kid. Lauren immediately started gushing over the pillows, which had frilly pink slips and lacy doilies placed on top of them. "It's just precious," she cooed. "That's what I want to do when I'm in my sixties: Run a little bed and bre...

"Beg pardon, ma'am," intoned the older gentleman wearing a top hat and carrying a silver-topped cane. "But have you happened to glance a rogue cellular device around here?" The nineteen-year-old college student wrinkled her nose at the odd display. She had been settling down at her table with a large latte and a crumbly scone, and now some guy with an Edwardian era hard-on was asking her about a misplaced phone.

It feels really, really good to meet a yearbook deadline. Don't get me wrong: There are five more to go, and they don't get any easier. But it feels good to meet the first one, and to get the pages done, and to submit them without much hassle. I have some amazing students and colleagues to thank for that. My first episode of Deadline Week was a doozy, but I learned so much - not just about design and photography placement, but also about writing in a journalistic way that fits a small amount of space on a spread. In the meantime, I got to see a beautiful dance show and play around with my wife's camera a bit more. Y'all know the saying, but maybe not in full: "A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one." I think I'm okay with being a poor man's Renaissance...er...person? Individual? Eh, Renaissance man works, too. This weekend will, luckily, be a time for relaxation due to hard work and dedication. I'...

Just For You by Belinda Roddie Your little universe is delightfully cozy and isolated, isn't it?

The math teacher couldn't get the projector to work, so he asked the head IT worker to check on it. Of course, when she arrived, he scoffed. "I wanted the head IT worker," he growled, "and not some pretty little intern." The IT lead smiled. "Well, then," she replied. "You can just take your projector and stick it where the sun don't shine, then." The students oohed at her sass.

How Many More by Belinda Roddie How many more of these stupid mistakes can I make before it all goes to rot? It's not enough to have all the heartbreaks - they have to linger like a searing hot welt across my chest. I wish I could stop attempting to control the things that I am only meant to manage. Am I not capable of stepping back. Can't I try to trust those who create the things I teach? I thought I'd be better at this by now, and yet, the line I want to walk in breached by my own careless. While I know how to fix my habits, that's only the start; actually doing it's the hardest part.

What can a poor nerd do when she falls in love with a cheerleader? No, scratch that – the cheerleader captain?  She’s of course dating the star quarterback; otherwise, she wouldn’t be fitting the cliché like she should. No, the dork has to stare plaintively at the beautiful blonde in a short skirt, waving pom poms, while she sits in the corner, hugging a book against her knees.