There have already been several fights in the cafeteria. For the usual reasons. Someone's cousin said something nasty to someone else --something about his pregnant girlfriend and each had to protect his pride by duking it out. Both were suspended. The girl, once an honor roll student, is due shortly and will now, most likely not finish high school despite being a mere two semesters away. Sigh.

As my students this year are tenth graders, I must remind myself that they think paper balls are funny. They find them endlessly entertaining as they are tossed from corner to corner making my efforts at cleanliness futile. It was downright hilarious to them when I'd forgotten to turn off my cell phone and it rang as we were conjugating verbs in the present tense. Yes, tenth grade. They find sexual innendos in places I'd not even venture to look. They think it's unreasonable when I ask them to read 15 pages a night for homework. They complain in tones that illicit faulty starters.

Several boys have already begun to cut my class. One particularly wounded young lady brought in an older sister who is now claiming guardian status to discuss said child's anger problem. The older sister had flame-dye red hair and could have been mistaken as the troubled-ones twin. I felt only slightly ashamed that the entire conference struck me as a waste of time.

To practice notetaking while moving them forward on the research project, I've pulled out all stops. We're watching a really wild animals video narrated by Dudley Moore as an animated planet with the moniker spin. The video is filled to the brim with cheesy music songs (which I enjoy singing outloud as a means of mortifying the students more) and bad jokes. A quiz follows to test their notetaking abilities. They are poor. I will have fun this year.

My boss took me into the book basement belly and let me have at it for my advanced placement class. While doing so, he waxed poetic about his various Yale experiences and memorized passages of great Hispanic writers. His arrogance in full tact, I remembered why I liked to keep out interactions virtual and curt. It's not that he isn't a good guy. He is. At times, even masterful but those are his public moments when as an astute politician he knows the merit of humility. Off stage he is all bravado and brimming. This somehow disappoints me.

My AP students turned in their first five page papers. I can't bring myself to read them and it's Sunday night. I know how horrible they will be and I'm tired of digging deep to find my sense of patience, good will, and empathy. I'm teeming with dismissive incredulity. Intolerance.

The Mickey Mouse Club went out Friday night for drinks. These are the members of the inner circle of first year teachers so deeply loved by the boss that it's destructive for the rest of us and surely for the school itself. Various other members are aloud at brief intervals to enter the Mickey Mouse Club but not without serious sacrifice. I am outraged. Particularly because the female members reduce me to a snivelling high school snot rag not making it to the step team. This is made even more outrageous when in fact, I do opt in to one of their activities and find myself bored snotless. All the aforementioned references to bodily fluid must say something. They listen to cooler music, they wear cooler clothes, they went to more impressive unversities, or so it appears to me that this is the message I am to absorb when around them. Instead, I feel a mild nausea and a desire to eat pancakes.

A guidance counselor sent a pleading email for a trashcan. It appears that someone decided to steal hers. Does it get lower than that?

The students have already taken to removing their uniforms in the hallway. The battle is lost and won. No just lost. The hurly burly will bever be done. In class, they jack the shirts halfway over their torsos insisting that they are in compliance as they are still "wearing them". It's an exhausting battle signifying nothing. Our Dean calls this look the flashdance look. Although I've seen students in his advisory in their street clothes. He confuses me. He is sensitive and doesn't take criticism well yet I suspect he dishes it out with aplomb.

The highlight of the week was meeting the new librarian for all of the small schools who appears to have a functioning cortex. This makes her somewhat of an anomaly in the history of Bushwick librarians. She even set aside books for my students visit next week. I'm giddy. Oh yeah, and the tech guy, Brad, set up the printer in the teacher's lounge. May he be blessed and fruitful.

Many have noted a change in attitude from our Assistant Principal. Several speculate this change is a reaction to the fact that our boss seems to be pruning a fellow co-teacher to become the next AP of our school. Jealousy? Will a cat fight ensue? All I know is that apparently there have been several unhappy exchanges and the woman does look exhausted. Hell, I'll be happy for her when she runs her own school as ours will surely make her looney. I like her. The girl-in-training is sleeping with my least favorite staff member. He is an ego on wheels. He passed students last year who never showed their faces in his classroom. The administration was of course, delighted. He coordinates the internship program and is the butt of numerous jokes. This is because he walks down the hallway with a cell phone attached to his mouth as though he worked in the White House. It's that serious. He appears to have been born with a silver spoon up his ass and hasn't done a lick of work since. He is rude to other staff members and wouldn't know how to apologize if someone were to carve the letters into his forehead. I avoid him at all costs if for no other reason than his b.o. is that of pearl onions mixed with patchouli. He should be the spokesman for Berkenstock. I'm looking for the good in him. I am. He runs a biodiesel club where the kids create corn fuel, I guess that's something. More odors. He used my refridgerator last year and was outraged that I didn't want him interrupting my room to remove his tofu pops. Although I'll admit that I don't mind when anyone else comes in.

I went running on Saturday and logged 13 or so miles. I call it the "sweat out" Bushwick model and it does seem to work remarkably well. Saturday evening I went for a cheap massage and Andrew and I had dinner at Sette in Park Slope. We agree that the lighting is the best part about the place and that there is an abundance of salt, but that somehow it feels worthwhile.

I need to buy a sponge to wash my board with but I can't be bothered.

I put stickers on good homeworks and one boy howled with joy upon receiving his homework. He followed by dancing around the room singing "I feel good." It was adorable.

A student who transferred to another state called me over the weekend and that scared me. She is a psycho and I found it challenging to feign enthusiasm. I made a poor excuse and hung up. I could hear the disgust in her tone as she said goodbye. I fear she will be back soon enough. She made my life hell last year.

Although it will be an easy week, I have my typical Sunday night dreads. They don't seem to diminish no matter what I do. I simply prefer not working to working in Bushwick. I cannot tell a lie.