The Vestal Morons

This is just way too cool not to put up. From the opera house. I just wish blogger would let it be a little bigger. (Courtesy of Danni Ampi) From the ballet several weeks ago at the opera house.

Vespers with il Papa. See if you can find Julian. He's there. Oh yes, and Monica, though you'd have to really know that blond head of hers to pick it out. Il papa. Both Kaitlyn McCarthy and Adam Wilson can make the enviable claim that they have been the first of all of us to come close enough to, and to actually touch Benedict XVI. Ask them about it. I'm sure they'll be more than willing to do so. St. Pete's Piazza earlier tonight. I love that place.

The Meaning of Mountains By Romulus Sometimes it seems to me this pilgrimage has been nothing more than a seeking after the tallest peaks and the most fantastic panoramas. In looking back I see that so far I have conquered four of the tallest peaks surrounding Assisi . In Valdobbiadene we four squires nearly conquered the pre-alps, hiking through the frigid air along the crest of the mountains to the wooden cross that marks the second highest point. From that lowly point we looked desirously at the cross in the distance that marks the highest; and more desirously still towards Switzerland in the West, and the harsh, ghostly points of the Alps looming above the plain in between. And then, in Siena a few weeks ago, built as it is on a large hill, approaching the full height of an Italian mountain, I promptly climbed to the topmost point; I was disappointed, however, when the medieval houses, thick, tall, and hedging in on the narrow cobblestone streets, afforded me no b...

The Decimation of Mr. Wunch's Class By Kathleen Gilbert ( N.B. If ignorant, please refer to last week's article by Claire O'Reilly on the Cult of B.O.D. for background info before viewing this comic and enjoying ensuing hilarity)

Meet Dala. Composed of Sheila Carabine and Amanda Walther, these two girls are longtime friends of mine. Sheila is my brother's girlfriend of three or something years. They've just released their first album, called Angels and Thieves, under Universal Records, and this is me shamelessly publicizing them to Vestal Moron's reading public. Check out their website at www.dalagirls.com (designed by my brother). Watch their music video. Buy their album. And most of all, enjoy their sweet, smooth melodies.

Mr. Ahlquist hangs out with his best buddy in Piazza del Popolo. The boys look very, very natural, strolling through the streets of Rome. Hanging on the Spanish steps, also looking very, very natural. We also took some time to admire the Rolex billboard on the side of the church at the top of the steps. Ah. Romulus and Remus reunite with their foster-mother. At the Hassler Roof restaurant. Reputedly Chesterton stayed at this hotel, and ate at this restaurant some eighty-something years ago. At least that's what Mr. Ahlquist told us. I think he just really, really wanted to eat there. I can understand why. I'm not sure that his pocket did though. Mr. Ahlquist gets cozy with Thomas Aquinas. Father and son trying very hard to look very cool. I suppose they do a pretty decent job of it. What is it with Mr. Ahlquist with this gold film guy anyway? I don't know. Romulus and Remus enjoy the newest edition of Gilbert! magazine, complements of the president of the Chesterton society...

After a hellish day of traveling, with hardly a bite to eat, we finally get what we came for: a pint, and an honest-to-goodness burger. There wasn't a bit of pasta anywhere in sight. At the top of Blarney castle. Kissing the Blarney stone. Many jokes were made about the necessity or prudence of my kissing it. Very funny. Blarney castle. Just hanging out in the gardens behind the castle. Entrance to an old abandoned fortress. Pretty much the coolest place on earth...ever. Inside the fortress. Walking from the fortress to a path down by the shore to watch sunset we came upon an old, overgrown cemetary. Ms. Shannon enjoyes the sunset. ...and the last final flare. Drinking Irish coffee and hot chocolate in the pub on the way back to town from the fortress while the winds and rains raged outside. It was very comfortable...until we had to go back out into that to get back to town. The sheer amount of pubs in Ireland, and the amount of time they spend in them, makes a whole lot of sense.

The Roman Forum Cont. Oh, all right, so I didn’t call this thing the Roman Forum last week, so I don’t have much of a right to call it the Roman Forum 'continued' this week. But the fact is that it’s just such a bloody logical name for the thing, and unfortunately it only occurred to me after I threw last week’s edition together (at the last possible minute, as usual) and sent it whizzing off to the eagerly waiting Robert Turner. So this week it has a good name; or at least an appropriate, or appropriately obvious, name. Anyway, here are some more of the thoughts of my fellow Romans. There was supposed to be one more articlette in the group, but apparently Mr. Clint Atkins had to watch Amadeus tonight, which, I suppose, is as good an excuse as I’ve ever heard from any procrastinating writer (and I’ve heard quite a lot of them, and come up with a few good ones myself). But the ever-faithful Julian Ahlquist also has his say, and I think it’s rela...

The Floor By Remus After my Mildew article last week, I realized my Rambler publications had reached an all time low. As one excavates deeper and deeper into the baseness of human existence, one, like Augustine, will have a dramatic conversion. Thus, I will now proceed to write a serious article. So, for those of you without the ability to read serious things (such as I), do not read further. Throughout my life, I’ve had a problem with liking things. Specifically, liking things that are good and beautiful. I’ve gotten better with effort. But still, whether it be my sins, the culture, bad friends, or something unknown, I have a real problem with appreciating a truly beautiful, good thing. Maybe that’s not true. But somehow, I’m immediately turned off to something that another person enjoys – initially, at least. But I’ve gotten better. Through effort, through some prayer, through some thoughtfulness and personal experience, I’ve suddenly inclined my head and seen something anew...

Ramblings from Rome By Romulus (not really) For Christendom College's The Rambler At this juncture of the semester, we Christendom students, so blessed to be studying in Rome, have traveled at least from one side of Italy to another, and many of us much further besides. We have seen things, and heard things, and felt things, that we would never have seen, heard or felt in North America; and all these things have made enormous impressions on all of us. Since my arrival in Rome I have been writing a weekly column for The Rambler, trying with much futility to communicate these things to those back in Virginia, and to the many parents and friends elsewhere whom I have gradually discovered have been religiously reading Vestal Morons, or at the very least enjoying the photographs. Many have expressed pleasure and thanks that there has been this contact between the Christendom of Rome and the Christendom of the United States. This contact is vital, I have been told. People love to hear f...

Assisi. On the way to Assisi the boys feel the strange urge to sing the song "Alcohol" by what's-his-face-country-singer-dude at the top of their lungs. They give in to the urge. One blue gloaming in Assisi. The view, if I am not mistaken, from Christina's room (Courtesy of Christina) One rainy night in Assisi. One quickly falls in love with the very buildings and paths, and alleyways and stairways of Assisi. One foggy morning in Assisi... (Courtesty of Christina) One foggy afternoon in Assisi. One foggy morning in Assisi. The same foggy morning. On retreat. Unfortunately because we spent three days in silence and contemplation and not taking photos I have very few photos of father Dylan. This is the best one I could come up with. An astoundingly inspiring, and very practical and mystical (the two aren't opposed to one another) retreat master. Yellow.

Mildew By Remus For Christendom College's The Rambler Recently, I discovered a large ball of wet laundry in my suitcase. “Oh,” I said, “I wonder if this is going to be a problem.” Apparently, there is a fungus called “Mildew” that grows on clothes that are left wet for too long. When first I decided to leave this pile of soaking garbs in this small concealed prison, airily I thought what unfavorable consequences might come of it. Learned men and, moreover, women to whom I disclosed this discovery told me I was an “idiot” and beckoned me to re-wash them so as to destroy the attack of mildew, who, elusive but ripe now with resources, could attack and conquer at any moment. They urged that the cotton and polyesters then be purged with sun-rays afterwards; but this grandiose process did not please me. Before the revelation, I spent 8-hours washing these meddlesome fabrics. The hotel fortunately provided two washing machines, one of which we are banned from using. The other machin...

Florence Uh...girls...turn around. Florence is behind you. No, no, it's not inside your camera...I swear. Would you hate me if I didn't tell you what they were all looking at? Claire doing deep things in Florence. A very weird photo. I love it. The entranceway of a church up on one of the hills of Florence. Amazing singing of Compline by the monks. Haunting and beautiful. Oh don't ask me the name of the church please. It was in Florence and I could get you there no problem if you put me back in Florence; that much I know. But it was gorgeous. This is just a reminder of the sort of thing we're encountering all the time over here. It is a good lesson on how to give glory to God. 70's architecture with its silly semi-circular structures and slanting roofs, and spinning ceiling fans, can go suck a lemon. Ms. Erin praying in the gorgeous nameless church. Oh, all right, it's a photo of me. But it's a photo of me with a $600 Florentine leather jacket (Florence is ...