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I looked at my browser this morning and realised that I had an unusual number of YouTube pages open, for me. So I thought I would share them with all of you. They're behind a cut, because that's how I roll; click and discover odes to twine balls, acrobatic tangos, and one rescued coyote.

( If you could go anywhere in this great big world, now, where'd you like to go to? )

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Trace Chapter Nine and the Epilogue have been posted! Knock yourselves out, kids. Thanks for coming to Railburg with me.

Meanwhile, in origami news, is that a dollar bill in your pocket, or --

Oh. It's a dollar bill. (Slyly tucked in a pair of pants so you guys can't see how amateurishly I folded the balls.)

Both pieces today are from Pornogami. That link won't teach you how to fold the dollar bill in the photo, but it will teach you to fold a penis. I got the book for my birthday, and it has provided endless hours of lulz and entertainment, because I'm twelve.

Also, I thought you all might like to see how the bacon cheesecakes came out -- here they are in the pan, and here's the one I scooped out warm. Since the crust didn't want to come out with the cheesecake, I took it out separately and spooned it over the top. Om nom nom.

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I was going through some files tonight when I found the best paper I think I have ever written. It's a page long, handwritten, and I did it in 1996. It's not especially intelligent on its own, but given a little context, it still makes me grin with pride.

When I was in high school, I managed to get into a class with the Really Good History Teacher. She tried very hard to make class interesting, which is not easy, because the interesting parts of history are mostly the parts they don't want to teach you in high school. For example: the Constitution of the United States is an important document and statesiders should certainly know a bit about what it says and what it means. Unfortunately, it is also dead boring.

In order to make it more interesting, our teacher proposed a game. The class would divide up into four teams, and each team would study and present an aspect of the Constitution to a council of philosophers, who would vote on whether or not to ratify it. Thirteen students in the class were tapped to be philosophers. (For those following at home, that's about a third of the class -- go California public schools.) Each was assigned a historical figure to research and roleplay during the presentations. I don't recall all thirteen; I know Emma Goldman was one, and either Plato or Aristotle was another. The philosophers had to turn in their notes, along with a one page defence of their final decision, to get their grade.

I jumped at the chance not to have to work in a group studying the Constitution. I volunteered to be Machiavelli. The rest of the class slaved away on Federalism and Republicanism; I read The Prince, which was not easy going either, but at least more exciting by way of being somewhat taboo.

For a week, each team took turns making their presentations, and on Friday the philosophers were expected to vote. I was the last in line, and the vote was tied among the other twelve, making me the deciding factor. I could see the kids who'd presented look despairingly at one another, because there's no way the guy who wrote The Prince would vote to ratify a document that attempts to support the equal voice of all. It had become weirdly important to them that this thing get ratified.

I have been a smartass pretty much all my life. I was a good student, but I loathed predictability. So I stood up and said, "I vote to ratify."

I had to defend my conclusion, of course, which I did by reading out the final paragraph of my decision paper: I vote to ratify this Constitution. In less than ten years I am confident this country will collapse and a true leader will rise to take control. I realize that ratification cannot be stopped, and so I do this to show the people the folly of American Constitutionalism. When the new order looks back on this event, they will see it for the failure it is. There can be no better proof of its weakness.

I thought it was moderately clever. My teacher's comment was glowing: Very appropriately evil strategy, M. Machiavelli.

I think I'll hang it on my wall. Hi there, me at half my age -- you've got a pretty interesting future ahead of you.