At a birthday celebration for Lara, a friend of Paul's, a guy in a sort of cowboy hat, whose CD Paul might be producing, tells me he is a tutor at some of the fancier private schools in NYC. He asks where my daughter goes. He says that at the really fancy ones — Dalton, Brearly, etc. — the kids are "out of control," that they're on all kinds of drugs, most often crack; apparently, doing crack proves how bad-ass they are. He said they're high almost all the time and basically expect the tutors like him to just do their homework for them.
These are most likely our future CEOs and politicians. They are certainly in line to be handed the plum positions. Or will these spoiled brats eventually waste themselves away spending daddy and mommy's cash in nightclubs and discos and never be heard of again, except in the obituary columns?
