Contact Information

Contact information for Julian (Remus) and John (Romulus):

Casa La Salle
Via Aurelia 472-476
00165 Roma
Italy

Telephone: 0039-06-66523301
Ask for room # 439

E-mail
John: jjalsevac@lifesite.net
Julian: julesarts@hotmail.com

In the distant off chance that any should you feel tempted to send any substantial packages in this direction, I would greatly disuade you from doing so, since, for reasons that nobody can discover, there is an absolutely enormous fee here at the Casa for receiving packages.

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Be distracted

Some of you may have noticed that there haven't been many updates on this blog for some time. Besides the fact that I one day woke up and suddenly realized that perhaps I should get a life, there's also the fact that we in Rome are immersed in the midst of finals, while trying to balance the difficult task of having as much fun as humanly possible. This blog has fallen a tad to the wayside. And so, to distract you from the fact that there haven't been very many pretty photos lately to allow you to vicariously live the awesome lives that we Romans lead and to alleviate some of the burden of your own mind-numbing existence, I thought perhaps it would do well to distract you all with this one. Julian has admitted that it is appropriate that he pay penance for not putting his own two cents into this blog on a more regular basis, but questions whether or not promulgating this photo to the world might be a little too severe. I think it is appropriate. Clint's suffering is pur...

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The Sequel

The Confessions of Julian Ahlquist (A continuation of the post by Romulus below. Read previous post first in order for this one to possibly make sense.) By Remus I contemplated abandoning the cursed suitcase at a different terminal and having that one shut-down and swarmed with bomb-squads and airplane delays rather than our terminal, so that we would be just fine. But then I was overcome by the small residue of conscience I had left, as most of it had been eroded away by violent thoughts against the French. My heart oscillated in painful gasps as I surveyed the Airport battleground. To me, this suitcase was worse than a bomb. I wished it was a bomb, so then it would blow up and disappear and leave me alone. But no, it was a normal suitcase. It wouldn’t go away. As I headed toward an alternate terminal, I threw myself at the mercy of the airport ticket agents, saying, “Excuse me, I thought this was my friend’s bag, but it isn’t. What should I do? It’s...

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Julian's Rambler Article

Swiss Cheese By Remus I woke up at 5:15 AM at the oppressive dictatorship of my alarm clock, but as the reign of passion had dethroned my reason, kicking it down the stairs in a heartless regicide, I stabbed the meddlesome clock in the dark, silencing the prophet and his admonitions, closing my eyes to its lifeless corpse to enjoy a day of quiet, to refuse such undue demands of penance. An unseen hour passed. I woke up again in a gasp, veering my eyes again to my advisor’s silenced pleas, seeing for the first time the error of my ways, but it was too late. He was dead. “John,” I addressed, this time to my roommate, another advisor and moreover my master. “John. When were we suppose to wake up to go the Vatican?” In lethargic resistance, similar to mine, with his head engulfed in a pillow, characteristic of Jalsevac’s sleeping posture, he answered in a muffled filter, “Uh ... 5:40.” “Oh, no,” I noted, in peril seasoned with a pinch of despair. “It’s 7:15. We’re late. They’ve left...

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The Vestal Morons

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