In the past decade and a half since 9/11, New York has changed, and not necessarily for the better.

As we approach the fifteenth anniversary, my anger is rubbed raw. My emotions flow uncensored. I am vulnerable.

So allow me to breath, and now… release.

Fifteen years ago, when people leapt to their deaths from the Towers, do you think it mattered if they did so wearing Brooks Brothers. Did it matter when the planes hit the building what Class you were sitting in?

Of course it didn’t. Yet we live every single fucking day like it matters a whole deal. It doesn’t. It means jack shit.

That is what this city today has become. An endless competition of wealth; who has the biggest condo, who sold the biggest real estate pie, whose restaurant is the most exclusive.

For what? To brag about it? To put it on Facebook and Instagram? To pat yourself on the back because you had the experience? You act like that’s what you’ll be remembered for! It is fleeting!

A meal isn’t worth $65 if the company you eat it around is unbearable. A meal is worth far more than $65 when the company you keep makes up the ambiance, and not the imported napkins and model host too busy snorting cocaine up her deviated septum to care that your drink is empty.

What has become of this city? Perhaps much of this is due to the fact that so many engaging in this behavior weren’t even here on 9/12/01 to remember how we all came together. Nobody cared that Steve Buscemi was an actor on 9/12, on 9/12 he was a fireman again like all of his brothers. Nobody remembered those who died by the money they made in life, they remembered the life they gave.

Rich people today wall themselves off on Billionaires Row in second and third homes and have people deliver everything to their door. The poor door of course, because you’re not good enough to enter through the front. What in the fresh hell has this city become?

Sadly it extends beyond NY as well, to LA and other wealthy cities where the sum of your worth is determined by the material value you bring. Will you liven that Instagram or Variety article mention? Whether you get replied to or associated with is directly proportional to this material value.

Just remember that money doesn’t buy happiness. It doesn’t buy friends. It doesn’t buy freedom from problems like addiction or heartache. It buys you a BMW and a nice house — both of which you can’t take with you when you die. Both of which nobody will be thinking about when they lay you to rest.



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