Since I'm "nearly 30," I worry that I might be out of touch with what Manhattan's youth culture is all about these days. To ensure that I'm, like, down with it, I've asked our long-suffering intern Lindsay to file regular reports about her weekends. Here's her first report:

"Dude, everything I did this weekend was illegal and everyone I did it with would kill me if I used their names! What the kids are:
Wearing: Black sweaters over button-ups with a dusting of white powder down the front.
Bragging about: Having the new Strokes cd first because they have a friend at RCA. (and not having to download the mp3s like a commoner.)
Asking: "Who has a number that delivers to Brooklyn this late?"
Realizing: Mr. Punk Rock went to bed at midnight.
Debating: The Minor Fall the Major Lift guy: snobby, or just ugly?
Saying at the end of the night: "I'm linking to you tomorrow!"