The Vestal Morons

Julian's family. Now our adopted Italian family as well. Generous beyond belief, welcoming beyond understanding, and a heck of a lot of fun.

Commenti

Anonimo ha detto…

It is good to have finally visited that which I have heard so much about.

John your articles take on a new meaning as I read them here with pictures spread throughout.

Rome is unique in this world. It is a place where one can see, all wrapped into one, the great heights to which men can acheive as well as the ultimate destiny we all share -- death. I have never visted a more profound place in the world. Enjoy it; cherish it; learn from it.

All the best!

1:42 AM

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In Class in Rome

In Class in Rome By Romulus Something of the Renaissance Is on that page, inside this book. Such lovely, lifelike lines, you see? You’d like it if you’d only look. Across the flowing Tiber Begins to swing a booming bell As if to say; “Here is the spot Where wept the painter, Raphael.” The voice drones on I think to yell: Why don’t you show Instead of tell!

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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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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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