BRATS

Brats. The city is full of them - trust fund brats to be exact. You know what I mean, rich 20-something kids with no talent or skills who think they own the city. Sure the city always had brats, but since Giuliani cleaned things up, it is now overrun with them.

These brats run around with pink Razor cell phones attached to their ears taking up space and adding nothing to the cultural landscape that is NYC. With rich mommies and daddies paying their rents, entire buildings on the lower east side are becoming “brat buildings.”

It makes me wish for the days when there were muggers and druggers on every corner and it took balls - not bills – to live in the city.

Last week my only talented - yes, there are a handful - trust fund brat/friend and I were having lunch at Whole Paycheck aka Whole Foods on Union Square. As I complained about the audacity of paying $12 for a plastic tray of salad bar food, we bumped into an old school chum of hers. A Brad Johns dyed blonde with a size 14 ass and a size 2 personality, Miss big ass proceeded to tell us with a smug smile that her parents bought her an apartment and she was traveling and doing freelance graphic work. My unemployed trust fund friend was shamed into telling her that she had a fabulous job and things were going great.

As I pondered why a girl with such a huge ass would have so much attitude, I realized that even in the world of trust fund brats, there is a class system.