The New Yorker festival culminated in a rockin' dance party. (Our publisher offered us his spare tickets, which we sniffily rejected. "The New Yorker dance party?" snorted a friend.) IvyGate went, though, and they were scared for their future social life. "This could be you in eleven years," warned the headline. "It was mostly professionals in their late 20s to early 30s talking and grinding." Oh, no, not that! Yep, that's how us post-collegiate Olds party. And then we stumbled home, drifting off to sleep imagining what type of hit our Roth IRA took with the latest crash. [IvyGate]

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