Two long years ago, while still a green and youthful college junior, I decided it would be a good idea to enlist myself in that glorious spectacle that Nick has likened to cattle droppings. 'McMUN', the annual McGill Model UN conference was a much hyped and anticipated event in the lives of many an IR major and the odd outsider like myself.

The lead-up to the three days of theatrics consisted of several 'committee meetings'. As a veteran of MUN from high school, I knew fully well that they had a sole purpose: To offer the committee leaders an opportunity to bolster their egos with a silly sense of self-importance. They waxed eloquent about the worthiness of the Economist Intelligence Unit yet lacked even the most rudimentary knowledge of the issue at hand: Post-Soviet Nuclear Power Infrastructure. It was amusing.

To the contrary, the conference itself was a 72-hour immersion in every aspect of a hypothetical present-day Chernobyl. Corrupt finance ministers, KGB interrogations, nuclear fallout and mutated hamsters were just a few of the highlights. With the exception of the few waking hours of the evening that were spent by participants in drunken or otherwise compromising states, it was a learning experience second to none.

Now, as every transcultural wanderer knows, the firsthand overseas experience is so formative that most of us have difficulty even associating with the rest of the world because of it. But those are no grounds to dismiss MUN. Apart from being far more educative than 'study abroad' programs often spent in small and insular groups, it's also way more fun.

Lastly, Nick makes one jarring error in his argument. Model UN conferences don't attempt, by any means, to model themselves after the real thing. Rather, the idea has always been to create a model that reality itself should attempt to emulate.

Now, whether or not life imitates art is an entirely different question.

While making my weekend jaunt around my neighbourhood, I encountered a herd of well-dressed young men and women. “Sophisticated lot,” I thought to myself, observing them meandering towards various eateries for lunch. Upon closer inspection, however, I found that the suits were a little too loose, the skirts a little too high, and their demeanors a little too naïve. Was this merely a flock of poorly dressed youths? Nay, this was the local incarnation of that global exercise in futility, Model United Nations.

(If you have no idea what this is, Google it, do your research and come back. For the more enlightened readers, carry on.)

Now Prashant might wholeheartedly disagree with me (he was once a delegate, many moons ago) but I find the entire idea of MUN to be a right crock of steaming bullshit. Who in their right minds would want to model themselves after that inept bureaucratic behemoth?

(Truth be told, Prashant assures me that the only reason people actually attend this play-politicking is that insatiable urge that everyone gets every now and then: to get laid).

I suppose that these naïve children would say that they participate because it gives them a chance to experience international politics. Do these kids actually learn anything by spending months preparing for 3 to 4 days of playing dress up? No they don’t. You don’t learn anything by pretending to be world leaders.

If you want to learn something real, travel to Jakarta, Johannesburg, Singapore, Mexico City or Colombo. If you want to “feel” international, you experience it first-hand, not by reciting rehashed arguments of how countries need to do this and that.

Harvard University recently suffered poorly in a review of its undergraduate curriculum, where study abroad programs received a less than positive grade. We lament about the lack of understanding our students have of the world. We instead should stop bitching and start sending them overseas, for at least 6 months. In that short period of time, I assure you that their eyes will be opened a hundredfold.

Who am I to say that this is the utmost education that anyone growing up can?

Anyone who’s lived overseas can answer that question. A global nomad, that’s who.

If you feel the need to feign a vibrato, you may as well become a professional air guitarist.

Unfortunately, this was a nuance amongst many others that was lost on the hopelessly pretentious members of a band named 'Moonraker' tonight. I guess I should have put two and two together when I noticed that both the Boston Globe and Boston Herald presented positive reviews of them. Nevertheless, I suspended my disbelief and forked out the cover charge to go see this supposedly 'hip' show.

The opening act, 'The So & So's' performed a melange of pandering commercial ballads and cliche 'angry girl music'. At least they were honest about it. For that sole reason, their set attracted a sizable crowd of vapid overgrown teenie-boppers.

But then 'Moonraker' took the stage and the mass exodus began. I have never seen, to date, so many people walk out in the middle of a set as I did tonight. They had good reason to do so.

By combining the worst of Portishead vocals, mediocre prog-rock keyboard fills and generic electronic cheese, this hapless quintet created an utterly insipid and uninspiring sonic aura. The female vocals were exhaustingly invariant and the guitar sounded like a token overdub thrown in for no good reason. I was bored to tears.

Note to self: In future, be more diligent in your research before going to a show.