Our story so far: Neal Pollack's son Elijah and Josh Stein's son Mordecai have enrolled at N.Y.U., where they have begun learning about poor people. It is the year 2025.

I don't know about you but when I search Facebook for "Neal Pollack," I get two Neal Pollacks, neither of whom are the Neal Pollack that I want to find. (I'm looking for the Alternadad writer and blogger Neal Pollack who writes about his son so much!) But when I search from my friend's account, I get three Neal Pollacks, the last of whom is the Neal Pollack I want to find. How could we tell? Though we couldn't view his profile, we could view his friends. They include Timedouche columnist Joel Stein and his lovely wife, Cassandra Barry; Biblically-living author AJ Jacobs; Defamer editor Mark Lisanti; Gawker's once-upon-a-time editor Elizabeth Spiers; and Sloane Crosley, the indefatigable publicist. Come on, Neal! We want to poke you so hard!

Elijah and I decided to room together at the Dov Charney Washington Square Studiodrome, the new N.Y.U. dorm built where there used to be a park or something. No one understands me like him or him like me. Also, we get a discount on housing costs because the construction is crazy, which is a good thing since we need all the help we can get. My dad Josh and Uncle Neal say that since they became empty-nesters, the writing assignments have slowed to a trickle. And so I must contend with the clamor of jackhammers and the conversations of the rough-necked construction workers. Elijah counsels that one must needs be patient with the proletariat. Though they lack taste, he says, they do have souls. But frankly I find their patois poisonous. How am I to read Baudelaire's divine verse against a background of coarse and vulgar words?

It was a Tuesday morning and as I sat down to the computer, a mug of kombucha tea steaming at my elbow. I had made a breakfast ragout of autumnal vegetables (squash, pumpkin). The wife had taken our incredibly self-satisfied dog Leslie out for a walk and my four-year-old son Mordecai was in the other room, reading the Wall Street Journal "Puh-pah," he said, "when I'm in ur gardenz, prunin' teh plants, am I a hedge fund manager?" Smart kid!

Is new Williamsburg-Greenpoint condo iKon trying to become hell on earth—or is it just doing so inadvertently? After using a fake Lenny Kravitz to hawk the opening, they've moved on to punk rock pre-tweens to sell the open house. Meet the iKon Kid, possibly the most annoying looking 7-year-old in the world since that chubby white kid who sits on the benches on 3rd Street and 5th Avenue in Park Slope playing sitar barefoot at like 8 in the morning. Full ad after the jump.