Like "cool," "hipster" is a multivalent word with no set definition but many different meanings. But from a real estate developers' perspective, if you live in Brooklyn, have read a Jonathan Lethem book or have gone to Studio B, you qualify. Sorry! Even so, no real hipster admits to being one. That's worse than saying you want to be cool. Which makes Home Buying For Hipsters — a monthly real estate advising meet-up with ties to the Corcoran Group — so perplexing. What tool would show up to their event tonight, which is aimed at a demographic no one would acknowledge being a part of?

A tipster sent in the following sighting: "MCA of the Beastie Boys was skateboarding along Carmine Street last night (seen at intersection of Bedford)." We realize that MCA has long been a skateboarder and snowboarder, but we also know that MCA is 42 years old, and somehow this sighting made us think of all those grups we know who are, like, 45 and wear hoodies and Pumas and talk about how amazing that Cold War Kids show at Union Hall was.

From Salon comes this very alarming piece of news about Annie's Mac and Cheese, the grup parents' comfortable alternative to the radioactive-looking Kraft version:

In this Gothamist interview with the perpetually self-consumed writer, we learn much we never knew, but probably could've guessed, about Neal Pollack: "I modeled myself back then on Alex P. Keaton from Family Ties, but I wasn't a Republican. I was academically nerdy. In terms of the kind of person I was, I got beat up a lot. It's not like I didn't have any friends, I just had a big mouth and the jocks didn't take kindly to me." Yeah, that sounds about right. What disturbs us more is the news that his upcoming book Alternadad—about the (gag us) foibles of being a "hipster dad"—has been optioned and he's turning it into a movie. We knew the grups were taking over, but now it's apparent that this is a trend that simply will not die. A generation of self-consumed male hipsters have suddenly discovered parenthood, and we'll be forced to listen to them for years on end. Really, it's enough to make you want to just crawl into a little ball and never read New York magazine again.

Profound — and, granted, profoundly inconsequential — sociomediacultural thought of the day: