International affairs. Spy stories. Worldwide conspiracies and intrigues. James Bond. And occasionally, Carmen Sandiego. Everyone loves those sexy tales of multi-national machinations (and women in red fedoras ... sexy).

Whether you're in a hostel in Kiev or a farm in Carolina, you can't deny the lure of kicking some Commie ass -- or at the very least, speaking with a British accent and wearing designer tuxes.

The idea of someone from a farm in Carolina arriving at a hostel in Kiev in a tux and red fedora while speaking with a British accent is a particularly appealing one. Kudos goes to Daniel Pike for coming up with that sentence and ironically fitting all the criteria.

You can play a whole lot of games ("Golden Eye" and "Carmen Sandiego") and watch a whole lot of movies ("Golden Eye" and "The Lady in Red") to get close to that euphoric sense of worldly importance, but many know a better way. I am, of course, referring to Model U.N.

Just this past weekend, around 600 high schoolers descended on U.Va. with binders of U.N. statistics, lunch money for the Pav, more pubescent hormones than the complete "Babysitters Club" anthology and several red fedoras. I'm sure all of you were simultaneously fascinated and pissed off by the long lines of Larisas, Tricias and Zeldas outside your favorite Corner restaurant this weekend. Who are these people? Why are they so excited to be discussing foreign diplomacy? Does it smell like hormones in here? What's with all these damn fedoras?

Perhaps I can answer your questions. You see, I have been a Model U.N. "aficionado" (Italian for nerd) for many years and am quite used to being an object of envy, fascination and general bullyragging. Much of these students' motivation comes from a genuine wish to change the world in a positive way, which is adorably depressing; in a few years they will learn how the world does not allow for positive change. On the happier side of things, part of their motivation is about dressing up all nice and pretty, and the world of fashion never ceases to change for the better. Especially hats -- of the fedora variety.

So what's it like during these weekends of fake diplomacy and veiled competition? On account of being both a college staffer and participant in high school Model U.N., I can offer you both perspectives in a day-by-day account, which I like to call "That's MUN-ey Baby." Yeah, Swingers. Money baby.

High Schooler's thoughts: Oh boy, this Old Cabell Hall is really impressive. Golly gee willikers, I sure hope I did enough research; representing the Republic of Korea can be tricky. Oh, here comes the opening speaker -- I better listen attentively.

High Schooler: Okay, so let's see, we have a couple guys in the back; if I act cool enough I can get them to sign my resolutions and get a bunch of free votes. My only competition seems to be Fiji, and they don't even have a bloc position. All I have to do is make sure the U.S. continues to blunder through committee, and I should get first.

College Staffer: Damn this headache. Why won't that kid representing Korea shut up? Oh, someone passed up another note. Let's see ... "You're cute, want to cross my borders? –Djibouti." Jesus, I need to get out more.

High Schooler: OMG ... I had this resolution locked! How could it have failed? I'm going to bury f&*#ing Fiji, they're a worthless piece-of-s&#% country! Screw the U.N., this is war!

College Staffer: This was totally worth it. There's nothing in the world like observing the tragedy of a high school dance. Oh oh, there's the one high schooler who can break dance! He'll be a star for a day. Good for him.

The last day of the conference is never taken seriously, as all of the awards are tallied the day before, so you start to see nations do some crazy things. Things like unilaterally invading other countries and declaring that their fellow delegates should be "wiped off the map." Thank goodness that never happens.

In any event, these high school Model U.N. conferences provide a fun, safe and awkward place for high school students to live out their greatest diplomatic fantasies within a modeled bureaucracy specifically designed to dissuade kids from ever believing the international system can work. And I wouldn't trade it for a weekend of Halloween parties; watching them dance is hilarious.

This is cache, read story here