Zombieland

Ah, the beauty of Oxford.

Last night I had the most horrific nightmare I can remember. It was a bloody, shocking dream that involved all of Oxford being invaded by zombies. Horrible. I find that the worst dreams are always the ones that involve friends dying.

It wasn't like I watched something scary before bed. I think what might have happened was that my phone alarm went off maybe an hour before my heavy-duty alarm clock went off. For those of you who still don't know, this is my phone alarm:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyinuvmTboc

I've been using it as extra incentive for me getting up after the first alarm. My Plan B.

My shower and toilet have been making noises all throughout the day. Rule #3: beware of bathrooms. (you get 50 John Points [JP] if you get the reference)

The past few days have kind of felt like being the living dead. I've had so much homework this weekend that Saturday I spent the entire day in my room, and Sunday I spent most of the day in a religious building, church in the morning then chapel choir from four to eight (zombies have +1 invulnerability against chapel buildings, that's why). To add to the zombie feel, I've finally come down with the dreaded Freshers' Flu. For those of ye unaware, it's just like Freshers' Fair, but a lot less fair and almost as bad. So now I'm tired too often and thirsty too often and able to sing not enough. Gah!

At least tonight I FINALLY finished my weekend's homework. Even though technically it's not still the weekend. GAH! Still, at least I'm entirely on track again (for now; we'll see).

By the way, there's a Hallowe'en party this Thursday. I've been planning my costume for about a week now. I'm somewhat proud of it. It's not quite ready yet, though, so here's a sneak peek:

And no, I'm not going as a scale. No matter how wickedly ironic that would be.

I'm not working too hard on it, instead spreading the work out a bit each day. But if there's one thing I've learned from Oxford, it's rule #32: enjoy the little things.

Sickeningly,

    John Khouri, Zombie Apocalypse Survivor

P.S. If you figure out my costume, message me for an extra 100 JP! :)

Honesty

I know; it's late. I will go to sleep right after this, but there's an important message I really need to share first. Abandon hope all ye who came for a joke. Try back tomorrow. Tonight I'm putting straight-forwardness first.

I just wanted to say that honesty is one of the most important steps in the world. We try to hide who we are, we drink alcohol to try to get rid of the pain (even though it never, ever heals our pain in the long run), we bend to the norms of society to fit in, we wear gaudy outfits and hide behind a mask of lies to disguise ourselves to others, but, most tragically, to ourselves. The trouble isn't just that we hide from others, it's that we're always hiding from ourselves.

We can't do that. And when I say we can't, what I mean to say is we can, of course we can, we do it all the time, but if we want real healing, if we want to change our ways, if we want to know who we are and what we want to do with our lives, we have to strip away the outer layer of disgusting stuff (and no, I'm not referring to your clothes, and if you thought I was, then you might want to consider doing laundry soon).

Some of us aren't very intelligent. Some of us have alcohol problems. Some of us have eating disorders, chocolate disorders, rapping diss orders, whatever. We all feel alone and trapped and afraid, not just once, but many times throughout our lives. None of us are perfect. But that's what matters: none of us are perfect. We all have pain, stress, anxiety. Some of us have more than others, none of us have any truly reliable method of comparing.

What we need to do is be honest with each other.

We try and hide who we are, to others and to ourselves. But that traps us. If we run and hide from our fears, fearing shame, it doesn't heal us; we just burn up inside, alone in the darkness. We have to stop running away from the path; we need to start looking for it again. We need to have the courage to tell people what we really think. We need to have the courage to look in the mirror and look past the jewelry and clothes and appearances and see who we are.

And then we have to tell people about it.

We have to admit to others who we are, even though it's hard, even though it's painful, even though it feels like your world will end if anyone were to find out the part of you that you've been trying to hide. And people will judge you for it. They might hate you for it. But by saying that, you set yourself free. In honesty is freedom. And if we be honest with each other, we can turn to others for support, and bond with each other, even in situations that don't involve Super Smash Brothers (even though that's pretty fantastic, too). And we can look at the mirror with acceptance, having accepted ourselves. We have to admit who we are, despite the pressure not to do so, and accept that as part of who we are, forever, even though it's not what we want, even though it's not what we would like, because it's us, and if we can't accept ourselves, we'll never find any form of contentment.

They say that admitting you have a problem is the first step to breaking an addiction. There's also a verse in the Bible, "[t]herefore confess to your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed" -James 5:16. Finally, I'd like to quote the powerful movie The Incredibles, "[y]ou always say to be true to yourself [...]."

If anyone wants to talk about anything at all, message me, or ask if I can talk to you, or contact me in any way. I'll listen to anything you have to say (unless it's an analysis of Twilight).

Sincerely Sincerely,

    John Khouri

Personal Anecdotes and a Message of Responsibility

Tonight has been a very eventful night.

The first occurrence was when I lost my key. I don't know how I could have lost it, since I was only in my room for three minutes, and then spent the next forty minutes scouring my room. I'm pretty sure a friend of mine took it by accident, but for my luck, tonight's the night everyone's gone out clubbing at a club called Parksend. That just sounds depressing, am I right? "The end of parks." Poor children. No more parks...anyhow, it looks like I'm locked out until he gets back.

I walked into the JCR, expecting to find it empty, but instead I found three of my friends. It wasn't easy to find them, though, as they were buried under a mountain of paper. The three girls are going to be up until five in the morning to finish their essays. They'd only just started. They were better off than another friend of mine, though, in biochemistry, who has been working on one assignment for fourteen hours, whom I met during his brief dinner break, during which he informed me that he was going to be working for another nine hours. Yikes. That's almost twice the amount of work Maths and CompSci have had this week.

Anyhow, I wanted to find a way to help the girls, so I asked them if I could go out to Tesco's and buy them some food. They literally killed me. Like, literally, dudez. So I went down to Tesco's.

I've had two very interesting Tesco's experiences today. I went down a few hours earlier with some buddies and I got some rations. For those of you outside the UK, in Britain, they've got automatic service machines at supermarkets. Now that's cool. Next step to the Terminator movies live. It charged me twenty-eight pounds and I left with my friends. Then I stopped midstep when I asked myself the question, "Why did some muffins, some cereal, a small loaf of bread, and a pudding cup cost twenty-eight pounds?"

I had to wait for half an hour while they figured out exactly why they charged me twenty eight pounds for "Men's Knitwear" instead of fifty pence for a desert cup. Especially since Tesco's doesn't even sell "men's knitwear." Eventually they reimbursed me with a Tesco's gift card.

The second, and quite hilarious, experience was when I went to fetch food for the poor girls. I was looking for one of their requests, a chilled coffee, and I didn't know where it was. I saw a guy in a bright red three-piece suit and guessed he probably just sang in choir. He didn't look like he was drunk, though, so I said to him, "Hey, I know you don't actually work here, but would you happen to know where the chilled coffees are?"

He found that comment so amusing. "Work at Tesco's? Me?! Ha ha!" And then he adopted such an elegant, flamboyant persona, it was incredible. "Yes! Ha ha! I'm James Tesco! Welcome to my store! Let me show you around!" "Walk with me," he said suddenly, putting an arm around my shoulder and walking me through the aisles. "Let's go for a stroll. Ah! We've got pumpkins! Yes we do! Pumpkins that fit in your hand! Ha ha!" He was so amazingly in character that I just went with it.

A store worker walked by. "Excuse me, sir! Where is the coffee?" asked Mr. Tesco. "Downstairs." "Downstairs! I knew that, of course. He works for me. I was testing him. Right, down the stairs, to the right, and there's your coffee!" He left me nearly crying with laughter. He was such a funny guy, and the situation was so much like being Nick in The Great Gatsby when Gatsby takes him out in his shiny car into town that it was just perfect. I brought the provisions back to the girls and they were so grateful.

On the way to Tesco's, I found a student doing the drunk walk, so I helped him to bed before continuing on my courier quest. Good thing God put me there, because this guy could barely walk, and he kept babbling on about how he was going to get his mates and go out to Parksend. If you've ever tried to reason with a drunk person, you'll know that you can't. You just have to be firm but courteous, so they accept your help and don't get angry.

People have asked me why I don't drink. I've told them that I don't want to lose control, especially not at Oxford, and end up missing a lecture or hung over the next morning or something. And that's definitely part of it. But the fact is, I can't drink. I owe it to the friend I lost. I don't blame myself, I know that it would've happened no matter what I did, but I despite all my efforts, I wasn't able to help. Not enough. So now I owe it to him, whenever I see someone in need, someone who needs help, to help that person. Because if you don't help, then maybe no one will. To even drink one glass of beer, to make myself less than capable of helping others, would be an insult to his memory.

So I'd like to challenge anyone who's reading this blog. The next time you see someone in need, ask them if you can help them. The next time you see a stranger crying, sit with them and lay a hand on them. The next time you see someone having a bad day, do something to cheer them up. The next time you meet someone you care about, give them a hug. The next time you see someone hurting, ask them if you can pray for them. Because someone has to.

Stay safe,

   John Khouri, Courteous Court Courier

American Identity

I had stuff today. But not much. Went to a few lectures. Did homework. A lot of homework.

I did have an interesting time with my tutorial. Last week, one of my tutors told me that the only time we could meet was at 12:00 on Tuesday, today. I told him I had an hour-long lecture at the Computer Science building, which is a twenty-minute walk from Oriel. He told me to run. So I did. I sprinted almost as quickly as I did when I was late for matriculation. I made in five minutes to his office, gasping and panting. After the lecture, he told me we'd do it the same time every week. So I guess Tuesday is "Sprint Day" for me.

Went to FISH (Fun, Interesting Scripture Hour) today. It was both fun and interesting! And one of the members made everyone gluten-free cakes! I know some of us were excited!

I enjoyed the FISH group today, but I noticed immediately that there was something off about it. I made a joke or two that might've garnered a larger laugh in America, and one of the categories in this fun word game we did afterwards was American states, and the others envied my American knowledge. It's made me really question my cultural identity. Back when I was in America, everyone thought I was Hungarian for some reason. Not really, of course. That wouldn't even begin to makes sense. No, back in America, I sort of felt a bit of affinity towards the English, since my grandparents were English and I watched a lot of British telly (that's "tv" for you Rednecks back home). But now I'm in England, I kind of feel a bit out of place wherever I go. It reminded me a bit of the problem that some Chicanos have in California, where they don't feel entirely at home in California because they're viewed as outsiders, but in Mexico, they're also viewed as outsiders. But only a bit.

(And yes, that is my first mug. Thanks for asking!)

Because there's more to being American than eating steak for breakfast every day, chopping down trees, chucking tea into harbors for no reason, being rude, being loud, having funny accents, building nuclear weapons, owning ten firearms each, riding horses, not using the language properly, and always wearing cowboy hats (not that we necessarily do any of these things, but that's what the British think we do). I've composed a list of what being American means.


The American Mandate

1. Being American is apple pie. End of discussion.

2. Being American is watching Family Feud because there's nothing else good on and because Steve Harvey is Steve Harvey.

3. Being American is wearing a cowboy hat non-ironically at some time in your life and enjoying yourself.

4. Being American is hating Mondays and looking forward to the weekend until someone notices it's the last day of the work week and starts singing the chorus of Rebecca Black's "Friday."

5. Being American is finding all forms of humor funny, but much less so that which is at the expense of others.

6. Being American is being part of a fresh, diverse, gigantic stew that's been boiling away for only three hundred years.

7. Being American is watching any movie with Johnny Depp in it, because his very presence in any movie increases its overall grade by five percent.


8. Being American is watching It's a Wonderful Life.

9. Being American is telling people you're Polish, or English, or German, or Vietnamese even though what you actually are is American.

10. Being American is being quite a jolly can of beans.

11. Because a jolly can of beans is a merry can.



I feel so much more secure in my identity. I know exactly who I am now.

With much happiness,

    John Khouri, Antartican-Canadian

Foreign Culture and Other Tall Tales

Today, I slammed through an inordinate amount of homework. I'm nearly done with everything! Just in time to start the cycle over again, this time on perm press (a little laundry joke there for all you launderers). I've finished all of Probability and turned it into the correct tutor (probably), I've checked out my Haskell code textbook from the library finally and used it to complete the Functional Programming homework (hey, at least it works), I finished all but three problems on the extremely-long Introduction to University Mathematics problem sheet (I'm glad I got to know it better), and I will have to start Complex Numbers before Wednesday (I've heard it's not too complicated).

Tonight I went with a friend of mine and learned the Salsa (specifically the on-the-line style, as opposed to the Cuban or Puerto Rican variety)! High school buddies, next time I see you, we will be doing the Salsa! And we will celebrate with salsa. And nachos. Mmmmm.

I told a girl from Spain my vaquero joke. :P

For dinner, I ate some tacos at the local Mission Burrito to set the mood for the evening. Learning the Salsa, I had few problems with the dancing itself, having done much harder choreography in Knightshine, but the instructor gave the weirdest names to each of the moves that I could never remember, so when he called out for us to do the "camelon" or the "meeugenfloogen" I had no idea what to do. It was very, very fun, but I realized that it was also the first time I've actually done something exercisey since I've come to England (unless you count a panicked fifteen-minute sprint around Oxford on the day of matriculation exercise).

I've been eating so much food ever since I got to England, and I've assumed for awhile that I've picked up a ton of weight, but I finally got a scale and weighed myself, and to my astonishment, I've lost three pounds! For those of you who use the metric system, that's like 87 kilos!!

I performed my now-regular evening ritual of playing a round of Brawl before bed to ease the pain of my sore brain. I was halfway to beating the meta out of Metaknight with large, spotted, green-and-white eggs when a huge crowd of people came into the JCR and hijacked the TV to watch the new episode of a British TV program called "Made in Chelsea." I had nothing else I could do that night (my brain was fried by then), so I watched along.

It seemed just like a bad soap opera. A large ensemble of girls with dyed hair and men with what I refer to as "Angel hair." You know the style:

Every single guy on that show had this exact hairstyle, I swear. All the English students there took it so seriously, though. As I watched the show, a handful of odd things stood out to me in particular. For one, the hair. For two, the actors seemed to be extremely in character (not that any of the characters were very likable or original) and so I assumed they must be either top-notch actors or just have static characters that they've gotten really used to playing. I decided it couldn't be the first one, because while each of them gave some excellent realism to their roles, giving an actual sense of realism to the show, their delivery of many lines were extremely awkward.

Another thing was that the characters were all pretty much the same character. It seemed that everyone on the show had slept with everyone else multiple times. With such a large ensemble, I think the characters should really be more diverse personality-wise, but the writers seemed to really pull it off and make each character seem kind of distinct. Huh.

Speaking of which, the writers were phenomenal. I mean, I'm excellent at writing comedy, but writing serious stuff for me is really difficult. I've tried before, and to give a sense of realism to a piece with any characters, you have to ask a million questions before you even begin. Who is each character? How does he/she relate to every single other person in the room? What's their job? What are they doing recently? What's their personality like? How did it get to that way? What was their childhood/young adulthood like? Where's their personality going to go? How will it get there? Does that really make sense? And if you want to make them take a different path organically, you have to reanswer a lot of those questions in your head to make them say exactly the right thing organically. And yet here was a group of writers who apparently do this regularly and seemed to answer these questions bang on the money! I was kind of impressed. To do that requires an understanding of people I haven't seen since Shakespeare, Agatha Christie, or F. Scott Fitzgerald.

I was also very impressed with the incredibly philosophical/characterizing/allegorical power of this one scene, which reminded me a lot of a scene from The Great Gatsby. Although in another scene, there was an extremely awkward moment where the man and woman just "gaze into each others' eyes" for like fifteen uncomfortable seconds. It was the weirdest-looking thing ever, but apparently the director kept it in and told the techies, "Add some super-romantic music into the background so the audience knows it's real love this week."

Anyhow.

By the way, you know basically everything I just said, about the writing, the amazing characterization, and masterful ensemble? Forget that. It turns out that it's a structured reality TV series. No wonder they were so in character.

Those wacky Brits.

Sleepily,

    John Khouri, Confused American

Different Man

Today, I had the very great pleasure of hanging with one of the coolest men of our time! I'm not allowed to say his name because of my own rule about saying others' names on my blog, but I can tell you that his name rhymes with "awesome belch." Mr. Belch and I went to high school together, and did several drama productions concurrently. He goes to a uni in California, but he's currently doing a semester abroad at the University of Edinburgh. He and some friends came down to London, and he decided to visit me in jolly old Oxford!

...Awesome and I got a bit wet...

I gave him a tour of Oriel College, I showed him the covered market and some pretty amazing carved-wood puzzles, and we searched for secret tunnels in the Radcliffe Camera (there were no secret tunnels that we could find, but that's just because they're so secret).

We talked about life. About Walker. It was the first time I was able to talk face-to-face with a friend who knew him about him, and I think it was really good for both of us. Finally, at the end of the day, Austin (I mean, Awesome) even came to see me in the Oriel Chapel Choir at Evensong! I saw him leaving ten minutes in. He told me later via FB that he had to catch a bus. It looked like he was trying to sneak away, having expected more engaging, upbeat songs!! :P

Speaking of chapel, while the songs we sing are beautiful and extremely well-sung, I don't like them at all for worship, because when you sing them, you spend so much time worrying about technique, and notes, and words rather than what you're singing actually signifies or implies. Also, they make me drowsy.

I spent a fair amount of time on work today, a few hours. What with church, then lunch, then entertaining Awesome Welsh, then Evensong, then dinner, there wasn't much time left for work. I checked with other people in Maths and in CompSci at the end of the day, and we all seem to have around the same amount of work completed. Tomorrow is when we'll finish it before we get assigned new homework, like the end of the fiscal year. I'll be a different man by then.

...I don't actually know how I'll be different, or why, but I'm pretty sure I will be a different man, because I titled this blog "Different Man," and I wanted to show a parallel between myself and Awesome and have a double meaning of the title, as always, but thinking on it, I probably should think about my title before I create it.

Maybe that's how I'll be different.

...

...Or maybe not. :D

Anyhow, I like to have at least two pictures in each post, so here's a picture of a cat being adorable.

Blessings,

    John Khouri, Amateur Oxford Secret-Passageway Spelunker

The Scariest Moment of My Entire Life

(so far)

At Oxford, we take the matriculation ceremony SERIOUSLY. I mean, you can skip the 300-person lectures, and no one will notice. Students are almost encouraged to miss a tutorial once or twice a year. But there's one thing you don't miss, and that's the Latin-imbued ceremony that allows you to be an official member of the University of Oxford, followed by the infamous class photo (featured prominently in the recent awesome movie The Great Gatsby, starring Leonardo Decapitated). You just don't.

Before I left King's, I played a featured role in the school musical "Where's Charley?" about some slacker Oxford lads and their weird relatives. There's an almost-famous scene at the beginning of Act 2 when everyone's singing, wondering where Charley is, because they're about to take the class photo. Charley comes running in at the end of the number, breaking the fourth wall, and just makes it into the photo. But, in the same way as with the pronunciation of "Ashmolean" and "conservatory," that musical showed its ignorance of Oxford in its treatment of this ancient(ish) tradition. If everything else is taken for granted, the matriculation ceremony and photo are the two things that cannot be taken for granted.

So imagine how I felt when my alarm didn't go off this morning, and I woke up at 11:17, with the matriculation ceremony to start at 11:30.

As swiftly as I could, I changed into subfusc, and went charging out into the streets. I asked the first person I saw where matriculation was, and he said the examination schools, and so I sprinted there as fast as I could. No one was there.

I instantly demanded from the closest person where it was, and they told me they thought it would be at my own college. I sprinted back to Oriel as fast as I could, my shiny shoes getting completely messed up. No one was theeeeeere.

I asked the porter, where is it?! Where is the matriculation ceremony?!! He told me Radcliffe Camera. I sprinted across the road (although I did check both ways first), and made it just in time to the Sheldonian Theatre (which is near the Radcliffe).

I got there just in time to see the last few people from Oriel entering the theatre. I asked the man, and he let me in. I saw all but the first minute of the ceremony (probably just something boring and Latin).

But wait! I wasn't registered! I was supposed to register before we all went over! The kind woman who did the registering added my name to the list when I explained. But wait!! I wasn't in subfusc! I was wearing my Oriel tie instead of my white bow tie!! I had just enough time between the ceremony and the picture to sprint back over and up to my room to fetch the bow tie and sprint back just before the picture.

Phew. Complete and utter disaster narrowly averted.

B tee dubs (btw), here's a picture taken with my "college sister" (who, like everyone else in my blog, while remain nameless, but not necessarily faceless). This is our awkward fake-family Christmas card photo.

I didn't get much work done today, but that's because this week has been a seriously stressful week. I've had to do a ton of walking, since I currently have lectures in two faraway buildings in the morning and in the afternoon, meaning I can't work on homework at either times of the day (though that will change later this week, thankfully).

Also, on the day I was going to sleep in and recover some sleep, we had the fire alarm go off at 7:00. It was a fire drill. Apparently it's mandated by law in England for all unis (universities) to do them at random times like that and get as close as possible to an ideal three-minute evacuation. Apparently our seven-minute evacuation didn't make the cut, because half an hour after I'd returned to my room and gone back to bed after standing out in the cold half-awake wearing shorts for fifteen minutes, the fire alarm went off again. This time it was a false alarm, but my first thought as I heard that insanely loud alarm go off was, "They really do hate us!"

Adding to things, I've missed three lectures this week; one because they got the Maths and CompSci lecture list timetable wrong with a small yet significant typo, one because it conflicted with a tutorial, and one because I forgot to write it down in my planner (my new best friend; call him Steve, the Man with a Plan). And an ill-timed lecture made it so that I missed half of a rehearsal for choir, meaning that that night I performed without having learned half the music.

And then, as some of you know, something dreadful happened on Monday.

The point is, I've been going out of my mind this week, so it was very important that I take an afternoon and not spend it entirely on work. Now I've got that out of the way, I can finish those three problem sheets tomorrow with a bit of elbow grease and spit and polish and whatever other disgusting-sounding thing I need that implies hard work.

I'm sorry I haven't been updating the blog recently, but now you know why.

Tardily,

    John Khouri, an Oxford Man

First Day of Classes

I woke up this morning at 8:00. Then I remembered my first tutorial was at 11:30, so I went back to bed. Then I woke up at 10:00, and went back to bed. I finally woke up at 10:30. Best morning ever.

Although I'm reading (that's Britspeak for "majoring in" / "studying") Mathematics and Computer Science, I only have some of the lectures the Maths students have and some of the lectures the CompSci students have. So while both my Maths and my CompSci collegues had lectures this morning, I didn't have my first lecture until four o'clock PM for no reason whatsoever. It's good to be Maths and CompSci :D

I spent some time working on a GeomLab project during the day. I also hung out with some CompSci students (two of whom live on my staircase) and tried to do the homework they were working on, not having much else to do. It was very difficult, since I didn't attend the lecture for it. It's really weird to think that soon, both the Maths and the CompSci students will know things that I will never know. But then, it occurs to me how gaining knowledge for the sake of being knowledgable is like always working out or getting repeated plastic surgery for the sake of being beautiful. The knowledge I gain here at Oxford isn't useful beyond its potential usefulness, and that additional superlative knowledge that I pick up will disappear when I'm gone. Best make the most of what we're given, as opposed to doing pointless things with it. Plus, I'll be learning more than either one of the pure studies individually anyhow.

It rained all day. I don't know why I'm including this in this post, exactly, because this is England. That's what happens; get over it.

I attended an Intro to University Mathematics lecture at 4:00, my very first lecture at Oxford. I learned about the numbers 0, 1, 2, 3, and so on. It was fascinating. I've never heard about such numbers before. I was so surprised to hear of their existence. I daresay I would even characterize myself as - dare I even begin to suggest such a dizzying prospect -  amazed. To even consider that I'd been blundering about - through kindergarten, preschool, elementary school, middle school, high school, even some classes at the local community college - and never - no, not even once - ever even dreamed in my wildest, most fantastical of visions of such great paradigms as numerical values such as "ateeen," and "for-thurdy," and even such mathematically perplexing monstrosities as "ziro"...why, even the very considering of them would've been - totally, absolutely, horrifically, and unconditionally, maddeningly forbiddingly - absurd. If you had told me about these natural numbers the other day I would have laughed and branded you a mad man. And then killed you. With a cheery smile on my ignorant countenance.

In all seriousness, though, I enjoyed the lecture. It was easy, I like defining things I already understand, and I finally got a proper definition of basic mathematical induction. And no homework!

I walked back and I remembered that I hadn't signed up for either informal hall or formal hall. At Oxford, you have to sign up online for a spot at dinners, so that the cooking people know how much food to prepare for each. So on the walk back to Oriel College, I spent over an hour tracking down some eating utensils to prepare the chicken I'd bought the other day. You would not believe how hard it is to find cooking utensils in Oxford. No matter where I went, no matter how far I walked, no matter how much the rain poured down on my head, the stores I frequented always had one thing: no cooking utensils. Finally I found them at a student store and went to my dorm room.

I spent a good deal of time marinating some raw chicken fillets with some black pepper and garlic in a small college kitchen with a recipe and method taught to me by the veteran Middle Eastern food expert Ms. Rose Khouri (my older sister). FINALLY, after maybe five or six hours spent the past few days gathering everything I needed, I was able to enjoy a simple, delicious, homemade meal. It tasted amazing.

If this meal looks appealing to you, consider following my sister's food blog. She's an excellent cook. I'll try to add a link as soon as she sends me one.

Best cooking I've ever done in my life. Now I am a man!

I think I prepared too much food, though, even though I skipped breakfast today to sleep, because after I finished I wanted to take a nap on the couch.

...But instead, I played some Brawl with friends. The Amazing Social Game. Shame that as soon as things start picking up, we probably won't be able to play as often.

First day of college classes = done! Hope your first days were all as tasty and violent (but in a video-gamey sort of way) as mine!

Most stuffedly,

    John Khouri, Manly Master Chef

P.S. Since the guy above me is also named John and is in CompSci, we've been trying to figure out a nickname for one of us. We've been trying out the name Jay for me, like the letter "J---," and like Jay Gatsby, who apparently was also "an Oxford man." - The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald

Struggles and Random Metaphors

Yikes. Today's the first day of the Michaelmas Term. Bring on the homework [cue thunderclap sound effect]...

Today I went to have breakfast with the Oriel Christian Union, and discovered that what "FISH" (see previous blog) actually stands for is "Fun Interesting Scripture Hour." Never would've guessed that. I also learned how to make bacon. That'll come in handy if I ever decide I like bacon (and now that I've revealed my secret bacon-distaste to the Internet, I fully expect a series of attacks for the rest of my life by deranged bacon lovers). Hey, food isn't all flowers and willow trees. Not unless you're an owl. And I'm not an owl.

...Not yet.

Our group went to St. Aldates' Church, an old church renovated to appeal to living people. I got to hear John Lennox speak there. For those of you who don't know, John Lennox is a famous philosopher, physicist, theologian, mathematician, and Russian-speaker who infamously debated with Richard Dawkins. I highly recommend his videos and books, he's amazing. I got to speak to him for a little bit and ask him a really difficult question just to see if he actually knew his stuff. He did. :D

As it turns out, I got into choir!! I spent most of the afternoon practicing the three songs I was given this morning. We were to perform them tonight. But when I walked into the room and had an hour to learn all the songs (plus some songs I hadn't been emailed about), all that pre-training flew out of my head faster than a cute, little, winged bunny with big, furry ears falling out of a willow tree...falling really, really quickly. I found, though, that I picked up learning sheet music without preparation extremely quickly, in no small part due to three years of training under the legendary Mr. Jim Sluyter. What an amazing guy. By the end of the night, when we were performing at Evening Song in the college chapel, I felt almost as comfortable with the music as I am with a comfy couch. Which my dorm room does not have.

After all of this hard work, I have been accepted into a legit choir. Although after just seeing a video of this year's big Knightshine fall number, I remember how much more fun that was for me. Ah, well. All good things.

Benefits of being in the choir include being able to get dinner at formal hall for free on the nights I perform. It was a three-course meal, which left me feeling impatient, and also very confused by the entrees. What's next, roast swan? Pickled mermaid? Still, never turn down a free dinner. Plus, y'know, chocolatey dessert and expanding one's horizons and all that in a castley environment. It builds character. Here's me dressed for dinner at formal hall:

 I also wear a long gown (two layers of long gowns, in fact) for the singing. It was a pretty modern hipster look, as you might expect.

A friend recommended the Fight Club to me, so I watched on iTunes tonight. Just finished it. It was weird. It reminded me a bit like a butterfly, to be honest. A demented robot ninja primate butterfly. With fangs, and dentures, and dragon wings. Which is all to say that it was weird. But interesting.

I talked to my friend today. He tells me that everyone always tells him he looks like Harry Potter. I think he looks like a be-speckled Merlin (in the TV show). I'm teaching him how to play Brawl. He's getting too good. John Khouri; bringing civilization to England one Nintendo character at a time.

I gotta sleep, good afternoon/night/morning everyone!

Sincerely,

    John Khouri, First Tenor


P.S. If you've been reading my blog for more than two days now, I hope you'll have noticed that this blog delivers on the rain check I promised two posts ago, in "Alone." See? There was a reason for all those random things I said! :D

Filler Day

Another filler day? Perhaps. But then again, perhaps not!

I woke up in the morning after five hours of sleep. But I stuck through with it and forced myself awake. Then I realized I had NOTHING to do. So I mucked around a little bit. Finally read the college information papers I'd been avoiding all week. Pretty much what I thought they'd be about. I also got a letter from a bank with my English bank card. Banks are exciting, right?

I went on a walk with a friend and we had a nice little mini-adventure. We found this really interesting wooden crafts shop in the market and spent some time trying to crack the wooden puzzle boxes.

I call it "Grumpy Turtle."

I also got the greatest deal ever at Oxfam (kind of like Oxford's Goodwill).  Twenty-five pounds (fifty dollars) for a really nice two-piece suit that fit me perfectly. At least, the suit jacket did. I thought I could get the pants shortened and everything would be okay, but then when I went to get them done in, I had to try them on, and I realized that they seemed to have been designed for use by a man two heads taller and half a waist skinner than me. Still, fantastic suit jacket.

I then went out to Tesco's to buy something I could cook, since I pretty much had the entire day to myself and no more homework to do. I bought some garlic, black pepper, and turkey breast. I'm currently storing the turkey in a friend's refrigerator (I bribed him with a box of donuts). I'll use these in the days to come.

I later went to an OICCU (Oxford InterCollegiate Christian Union, pronounced "OIK-YU") dinner. A man gave an amazing lecture on the Parable of the Prodigal Son. It was quite moving. Afterwards, my English friends explained to me the difference between American humor and British humor. What is it? I'm sorry, but I can't divulge trade secrets like that.

After the dinner I created a costume for the "bop" that night, themed "high school stereotypes." I think I killed the "loser" stereotype.

Then my buddy and I played Super Mario Smash Brothers all night. It was awesome. Unfortunately, he's getting really good, despite only having started playing two days ago, so it's going to be more difficult in the future. But I realized that Super Mario Smash Brothers is the world's greatest social event. It's fun, multiplayer, satisfying enough to entertain for hours, there's always more you can do with it, it's indoors, and it inevitably leads to humorous situations. Some of my favorite recent memories with friends involve playing Brawl.

It's ironic that by brawling, people come together. I guess the Greeks figured that out first, though.

I hope I can play squash in the next few weeks. It looks fun!

Farewell, readers.

Ever yours,

    John Khouri, Master of the Yoshi


* Oops, sorry. I forgot to include all things I said I'd include in this post yesterday! Well, I'll try it again tomorrow.

Alone

I'd like to apologize in advance, this is not going to be a very happy post. I wish it were; I hate to have to let you guys down, but it's not been a happy day for me. I'd like to offer a rain check, and promise a post on flowers and butterflies, and swans and willow trees, and castles and mermaids, and Harry Potter and Merlin, and cute little bunny rabbits with big furry ears and comfy chairs tomorrow. In fact, I promise to include ALL those things at some point in my post tomorrow. But not today. Today was melancholy. So I'll try harder to make it funny than usually to balance it all out.

But I have to write this post, if only to say that if anyone reading this message ever feels like I did today, he or she should FB message me. Even if it's at three in the morning here. Just not four in the morning. That's when I dream about passion fruit. Mmmm.

If you don't like sad, if you read my blog because it's funny, then I sympathize with you. You won't hurt my feelings (that much) if you skip this. I might not even notice. Except for you, Abbey Middleton (yes, namecall, I know), because you make up the entirety of the Canadian demographic within my readership, so I'll know if you don't read this. I don't like writing when I'm sad, but I intend to write every night, no matter how bad a day I've had. I'll try to make it as funny as possible, though.

But before the sadness begins, I'd like to share with you this picture of a cat on the disco floor.

Hee hee!

There were no disco cats for me today. Okay, the fun ends here.

I woke up at 7:30 after five hours of sleep and showered and changed. Then I checked my schedule and found that the next thing I had to attend was at 1:30. Everyone else was spending the day working on the homework that they hadn't even started yet, so I spent the entire morning/early afternoon doing laundry, catching up with some TV shows, and finishing writing down the solution I derived from Tuesday. I'm just glad I didn't derive from California, because my car would have sunk in the Atlantic long before I arrived at Oxford.

Okay, now it's serious time. Seriously.

At 1:30, I went over for the Maths induction lecture about good study habits. Let's just say it was unpleasant. Cool building, though. New. Glass. Ooh, shiny. A'y'ays.

At 3:00 I went over with some Maths and CompSci people for the Computer Science lecture. Also unpleasant. Unfortunately, because of the weird way in which it was set up, I was separated from the other CompSci people from Oriel and I had to walk the half hour walk back to Oriel alone in total silence. I then spent the rest of the evening in silence, watching new episodes of the Crazy Ones, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., and Arrow (which were all admittedly fantastic). I had nothing else to do until the "family meeting" at 7:00. No one to talk to. But I was excited for the event, and content (which, obviously, is Spanish for "with tent", for those of you out of the know) to spend it watching the (again, fantastic) TV episodes, which I'd yet to see this week.

The family meeting. Ah, the family meeting. At Oxford, Freshers are assigned "college parents" who look after you and make sure you're all right, also answering any questions they can, as if they were your parents with you at college. They usually do that for more than one student, who is your "college sibling." I've got a college sister and two college dads. Apparently you're allowed to marry your sibling at Oxford. Just not in real life.

It should have been amazing, but for whatever reason, I left the reunion feeling more isolated than ever. It didn't help that I realized that my standard jokes from The Jokebook appear to be custom-tailored to a more specific demographic than I would have thought, and the people here have an illusive sense of humor (and by illusive, I mean there's not a single common denominator that I've discerned yet), meaning that there are precious few ways I can make people laugh. That's just sad.

I did make one guy laugh. I approached a friend of mine with whom I've spoken with many times, who lives near my room, and who shares a name with me and told him, "I've forgotten your name." He started to get really annoyed immediately, at which point I quickly added, "No, of course not really." He laughed so hard. He totally bought it. Unfortunately, though, I think that says a lot more about my infamous failure to remember names and faces than it does about my sense of humor.

On the plus side, though, I met someone who speaks Spanish as fluently as I, and we had a pretty deep conversation in Spanish for half an hour. Fun to practice after a week or two of lack of use.

I hate that I had to end the day in the college bar for a Freshers' pub quiz. I hate pubs. It's too loud, you have to shout to be heard, you can't hear others, and when you do hear them, you realize that they're drunk. That is, of course, unless you're drinking yourself.

The thing that really hit me, though, was when a friend of mine told me he just got an email saying that he'd been accepted into the audition choir. I was happy for him, but I checked, and I've received no emails at all. I was so disappointed, more than I thought I would be. I've figured out that it's because it reminds me of how I was rejected from Knightshine the first time those three years ago. Rejection is brutal, hombre.

It doesn't help that I don't know any of these people well enough to actually be able to talk to them about how I really am. Back in California, I would be talking to someone I trust absolutely and spilling my guts all over their ears, and they'd be vomiting up their entrails in reply. And that was beautiful. But now I'm at Oxford, and everything's all locked up inside and slowly choking people.

I decided to go to bed on time tonight (as in midnight). The one good thing for me about being alone (apart from building patience and love through suffering) is that it reminds me that I'm never truly alone. And, like with all suffering, even when it's a dark and stormy night (oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that it was raining all day), there's light in the distance. And if you look for it, you can find it. And it can be had.

Well, that's my day. I'd like to apologize for vomiting my feelings all over you. I hope you've still enjoyed this post somewhat. If you've got a minute, please leave me a message to tell me how you reacted to this, so I know whether or not to include anything deep or not happy in the future. Should I add more jokes? More lolzcats? Less details about me? I want to know what you guys want to know, because this blog is yours more than it is mine. I do this blog every night for the readers. Let me know what you want from me! :)

Thanks for reading, guys.

Yours pensively,

    John Khouri, That Guy Who Vomits All Over People

Surrounded

This morning we had the Oxford-wide Fresher's Fair. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!

Anyway, so here's my tale:

After waiting in line for half an hour, I finally entered the Fresher's Fair. I saw that there were like 50 or so societies, so I started with those closest to me and worked to those farthest. I started with charities, fundraisers, and caregivers, and moved onto societies. For each stand, I asked the people there what they were about, and they each gave me a one-minute monologue sales pitch, after which I carefully contemplated my available time and whether or not I could squeeze it in, as well as carefully weighing what I could do in these groups against the compound amount of stress they would entail. Then I would either decide I wanted to join and sign up for the email list or decided I did not, at which point I would politely explain why I wasn't going to join and wish the organization luck regardless. I did this for almost every single one of these stands in that large hall, and finished after about an hour and a half.

Well, as it turns out, there were actually fifteen such rooms in the Examinations Building fitted out for the Freshers' Fair. I discovered this useful nugget of truth when I finally left the Freshers' Fair only to discover myself in another equally stuffed room.

I continued to look for interesting activities and such, but I spent less time on some things that I KNEW I wouldn't / couldn't do, like Tai Bo, Salsa, Chess, and Fencing clubs (although I think I'll always sort of / kind of regret not fencing at Oxford). Eventually, though, extremely thirsty and being demanded my email address and handed a leaflet or other free item at every step, I began feeling claustrophobic. My goals changed from "sign up for activities that I can use to glorify God" to "escape!!!" A big, friendly sales guy tried to give me a flyer for something, and I remember practically warding the flyer off like a demon.

Finally I got out, but I was still weighed down by the free, biodegradable bags containing free "goodies" and group information I'd accumulated in the Freshers' Fair. I just thought to myself, "I hate carrying this stuff around. I wish I could just throw it all away!" And I thought of it as a metaphor for sin. And then, back in my room, after praying, I took the bag and threw it away!

...And then I picked it up and put it neatly in my trash can. Y'know, 'cause it's my room. And I keep my room tidy.

I felt so much freer, and I realized that it doesn't make sense for me to worry about all the unattainable opportunities that surround me, because I trust that God has one and only one plan. And that plan doesn't surround us; it includes us. This year, I'm doing Oriel Christian Union, Choir, and maybe the Oxford Imps, but that's it. Because with a double major, my workload is already going to be plenty high, and there's no need to create an unhealthy stress environment. 'Cause an unhealthy stress environment is like...unhealthy. For a...place. In terms of stressy things. Y'know.

What I know, though, is that simplicity feels more like God's plan for my life than a massive labyrinth of busywork and lectures.

Later we had our Radcliffe Library induction, which was basically no different than the Oriel Library induction, except that the Oriel Library has books on Computer Science. I just zoned out during the librarian's overly-long explanation and silently copied his accent just for practice. I would probably pay more attention if Giles was still librarian (from Buffy).

It was pretty cold, and I forgot a jacket, but apparently somehow I was still warmer than the students native to England.

I auditioned for the choir. The Welsh song with which I auditioned, Suo-Gan, went very well. However, the sight-reading bit was fairly atrocious (in the bad meaning of the word), since the piece of music he gave us was probably the most technically complex piece of music I've ever seen, and I once sang a ridiculously complicated Italian piece. Ah, well. I get Brownie Points for singing in Welsh.

Met with the maths tutors today. Then we had the Freshers' Banquet, which was a delicious three-course meal that reminded me of Hogwarts. Then our Dean (not Dumbledore, of course) gave a speech about the beginning of term (after all, he's dead).

I made the terrible mistake of forgetting what my CompSci professor looked like and asking him what his name was when he sat across from me at the table. He then spent the rest of the two-hour meal proving that he knows more about my own country's history than I do (at least the starting bits).

That night, some of the other CompSci students had me telling jokes, explaining to them John's Theory of the Eight American Accents According to the Rest of the World, and telling them mathematical riddles. Then I crushed them as Yoshi in a few games of Brawl. Fun times :)

We choose that with which we surround ourselves. This morning, I found myself surrounded by possibilities, and later by the things in the world that bring us joy, but in the end, what we really need is the love of God.

Cordially,

    John Khouri, Faux Welshman

The Value of Freedom

So because of that buttery/chocolately/scrumptious delight of toast I had last night, I ended up falling asleep at 2:30 and sleeping through my alarm, which I forgot to set. Nothing bad came of it, I just missed breakfast. I just gotta be more careful in the future, 's'all.

Of course, that didn't stop me from having it again tonight. Mmm...

This morning I attended Oriel's Freshers' Fair. I signed up for pretty much everything. 'Cause I've got freedom, and I can do whatever I darn well feel like. Except then I realized I have a double major, and I promptly began scratching out my signature from various sign-up sheets.

I signed up for rowing, but only because everyone's been telling me I should be a cox (yes, with an "x"). For those of you who don't know, the cox is the fella at the front of the rowboat who bellows at everyone to stroke in unison. Since the cox is basically dead weight, as he does no rowing himself, the ideal cox is very small as well as loud. I don't know why they thought I would make a good cox, but I decided to sign up just in case I didn't get into choir.

Still, I don't think I'd like being cox. I don't have time, I'd have to wake up at five a.m. every morning, and I can just imagine all my teammates all stealing bits of food off my plate at every meal to make me lose weight. I'm not very patient, so I don't have much more wait to lose.

I officially signed up for the OCU, and I made sure I signed up for both choirs. One of them only practices once a week, while the other one you get paid for being in, and you get all sorts of perks. For example, I'd get to go to not one, but TWO far-too-early Christmas banquets I'm definitely not going to enjoy. Still, it's not about the food. It's about the money. And a possible t-shirt. That's what really matters.

Of course, if you've been reading my blog since it started (about three days ago, WOW), you'll know that it's not really about the money for me. I kid, and I josh. It's about using my voice to honor God. 'Cause He gave us the freedom of choice. We can use our gifts to glorify ourselves (I'm looking at you, Bieber), or we can use our gifts to glorify God.

Anyhow, enough talk. More pictures!

Here are some friends of mine, who kindly invited me into their humble (though not as much as MINE) abode. In this here blog, I try to respect others' rights to anonymity, so instead of using their (fairly common) names, I'm only posting a picture of their (rather specific) faces. They gave me cake and I left them.

As it turns out, there was no reason to leave, since the friend I thought was waiting for me wasn't at my room, so I decided to start my Computer Science homework. Earlier today, we finally met the Computer Science professor. There had been a lot of mystery about him, rumors flying free around the room at bouncing off the sofas in a manner reminiscent of the wind's cameo at the beginning of the Great Gatsby. Some people told me he fought in the war. Some told me he was an Oxford man. Oops, sorry. That's not my CompSci professor, that was Gatsby.

I'm often told told that the professor's eyes pierce into your soul sometimes when he gazes at you with those unfathomable eyes (much like Professor Dumbledore), except that when he does that, he's actually just thinking. It's a bit unnerving at first.

I completed the first two problems in the Computer Science homework Professor Spirey gave us to complete before next week very responsibly, thank you very much. I got completely stuck on the third problem, but had a hint about it involving strong induction, so I did the extremely pretentious thing of actually going to the college library and looking for a book without technology. Like the Romans used to do. After spending an hour in the library and not locating any book that explained strong induction, I left the library and used my phone to find it on Wikipedia in fifteen seconds.

Not that it helped.

I finally figured out problems three and four by actually sitting down with some of the other Computer Science students. We sat there in the JCR on the couches and talked through the problems, thinking about a solution together. After two hours, to our utter astonishment, we had figured out two extremely simple solutions (well, to us, anyhow) to the two extremely confusing problems. We felt so liberated. All we needed for our freedom was each other.

And some paper, of course.

And a few pens. Some pencils. An assortment of mathematical textbooks, both in the library and out. All the chairs in the world (for a metaphor; it was the cornerstone of our solution). And a large piece of oxygen in our mouths.

But mostly each other. Y'know?

Afterwards, I went with other members of the Oriel Christian Union to a local pub. Still no drinks for me, but we had a good time before going to the G&D. The G&D is a fabulous ice cream store in Oxford city, in the type of fabulous that involves eating so much sickeningly delicious, high-cholorestal-building ice cream that it probably would've been healthier to go to a bar, get completely drunk, and form a rock band.

I ate every lick of that ice cream. I hated myself.

...But at least I wasn't this guy.

I ended the day with watching Django Unchained. Most violent movie I have ever seen, but also one of the most original. The actors' American accents made me feel at home while watching it. Is that weird?

Be free, my readers.

Most southernly,

    John Khouri, Unchained

Clearest Night

What a busy night! My brain tells me I should dive right into the meat of my day, the evening portion, but my chronologically-inclined tin heart demands chronological adherence for this post. From the top!

I woke up this morning to the delightful melody of the old children's ditty "Ladybug, Ladybug." Now, I don't know if you've ever heard the song, but it goes a bit like this:

   Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home.
   Your house is on fire and the children are gone.
   All except one, and that's little Anne,
   And she hid under the frying pan.

The particular version I wake up to every morning is this one:
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyinuvmTboc

Now, I'm not sure exactly why we used to sing this charming little piece to our little children right before bed, but I'm guessing it wasn't motivated by love.

What happens is that I set my clock alarm, but I don't trust it all the way and so I make sure I always have a series of alarms set on my iPhone as a failsafe to make sure I never oversleep. Every morning, however, I wake up to the alarm clock, get out of bed, and forget about the iPhone. That is, until I hear this song suddenly start playing loudly out of nowhere while I'm alone in my bedroom early in the morning!

You may wonder why I have this song set as my ringtone. Fair question. Truth is, I'm not exactly sure how to change it. Nor do I care enough to find out, because, quite frankly, I'm starting to find it really catchy. I've caught myself humming it in the hallways of Oxford.

Anyhow, after I woke up this morning and had breakfast, I went on the library induction. I got my books for this trimester for the "Mathematics" part of "Mathematics and Computer Science."

Yes. These are my mathematics books. More will come for Computer Science.

Sadly, my books turned out to be the only ones that wouldn't let themselves be checked out by the Oriel library's checking-out system. I waited half an hour for the assistant librarian to fix the problem, but I was disappointed to learn that even though they should've been approved by the system, the system rejected them for no reason, and I had waited in line all that time for nothing. So I was strongly reminded of my first driving test at the DMV. I've just received an email, though, that they've finally convinced the system to let me take my books in peace, so I'll go get them with my Computer Science books.

Mid-afternoon, we played some games as a class. We played a game of Ninja (which I got to help teach to a group of unindoctrinated Brits), played several games of Twister outside on the Third Quad lawn (three of us were still going an hour later, even when it started to rain), and discovered that the JCR has a Wii and the game Super Mario Bros Brawl (which a few comrades and I played for two hours, then decided, probably for the best, that we can never, ever play that game on a weekday again owing to its addictive qualities).

The highlight of my first three days at Oriel, though, would probably have to be the first meeting of the Oriel Christian Union (OCU). About ten people attended the first FISH (Fellowship In Someone's H_______, I'm allowed to guess again next week), and it was fantastic. Finally, I've found a group of people with whom I can talk without fear, without nervousness. If I wasn't afraid of this very blog gaining the reputation of just being another blog about Harry Potter, of which I imagine there are probably quite a lot, I would call the experience "magical." Some of us who attended talked more, some were shier; some were taller, while some were more like me; but all of that broke down because we all came there for the same reason: God. The rest is only details.

We're going to read through the book of John this year, look deeper. In this meeting, we learned about Jesus, and how his identity is given in four different ways in the first few verses of John. Michael, one of the leaders, apologized to me about the forth one, but it's there in the Bible at the beginning of John.

After the meeting, we played an interesting game about a lion ("rawr!"), a giraffe ("nibble, nibble!"), a humming bird ("zzz!"), and an amoeba ("wwuummwuwuoo!"). I learned how to play a game called "Signs" and we played a bit of (Bible-themed) Charades, which turns out to not be so popular in Britain.

I left the FISH feeling refreshed and revitalized by the spirit of the community of fellow believers. I kind of wanted to go to my room early, but for some reason, I have this thing where I can't go to bed until I go on a walk all the way over to Tescos and buy something. So I prayed to God that if there was anything else He wanted me to do, anyone else He wanted me to talk to, I wanted Him to send them, because I was prepared.

I ended up buying some fresh Scottish strawberries at Tescos. I bought them to share with the late-night porters and anyone else God sent my way. I shared some with some second-year students and talked about life. I had some really excellent conversations. Strawberries are great ice breakers.

Then a friend of mine, drunk, fell and hit her head, hard, near me. I helped carry her to her room. I held her to make sure she wouldn't hit her head again and asked her questions about her family to make sure she wouldn't fall asleep in case she had a concussion. I'm told now that she'll be alright.

It seems that drinking is a huge problem for a lot of people in the UK. There's nothing we can do about it, though, except stay sober and help those who need help, acting responsibly so that we can show Christ's love in our everyday actions.

Later on, JCR reps were making toast, so I spread Nutella on one piece and butter on another, and ate them together like a sandwich. I think the combination must have killed me, because I was in heaven.

Good night. Keep safe.

From,

    John Khouri, Nonalcoholic and occasional Self-Appointed Designated Driver

Not Going to the Toga Party

As you've probably gathered from the title of my second blog post ever by the time you're reading this first line, I'm not going to the toga party.

I should explain.

I was having an overall solid day today. I woke up freezing at 7:30 and proceeded to finally close the window I'd neglected to even realize was ajar the night before. I continued to meet people (and promptly forget their names) at the welcome event for the International Students. I've found that easier names (Tom, George, James, Rob) are much harder for me to remember, because the harder names (Ashok, Igereim, and Shini) demand more effort spent learning them properly. The Freshers then had a few one-hour lectures that introduced us to a few heads of the college and to the sort of educational system in which we will soon be working (UGH! SO DULL!). I've gotten to sample foods I never thought I'd try, and even found a new favorite desert, sticky toffee cake, which is honestly almost as good as its chocolatey equivalent.

The event sounded really fun, so I decided to go on the Freshers' barcrawl with everyone else (although, of course, instead of drinking alcohol, I drank several glasses of water). We went to several famous pubs, including a pub called Turf Tavern, where Inspector Morse used to be filmed on leave, and another pub where Elijah Wood was filmed in the Oxford Murders. Very cool.

There were several goals, including getting the best photo of the night (I think the one below wins), drinking at the most pubs, finishing within two hours, and telling the best joke.

After telling the joke ("The Camping Trip" - The Jokebook), we were told we won. But I felt used and angry. I had fun running around and taking pictures and all that jazz, but the group leader's attitude towards me at the end gave me a sense that she only really valued my contribution of the winning joke.  I realized that no matter how hard I try, I can't ever completely fit in.

But that's okay. Because I don't need to be liked. I'm loved by my Father, and that's really all that matters.

I'd lost sight in Him, and that's okay, we all do. But I'm not here at Oxford to party, I'm here to go through with the next stage God's planned for my life. And while I'm here, I should sure as heck glorify Him in my actions.

So no, I'm not going to the toga party.

Blessings,

    John Khouri, Raconteur


1 John 4:1

Arrived!

After months of seeing my friends all go off to college, I have finally moved into Oriel College, Oxford! Woohoo! I will use this blog to comment about whatever happens.

(note the A-Team shirt)

A lot has happened over the course of the day. I'm actually writing this while all the rest of the Freshers (or, as Hagrid likes to call them, "firs' ye'rs") are in the JCR, drinking a lot of alcohol/fruit drinks. I can't believe they're already out drinking again after already going to the bar together, but I guess that's England for you.

I personally have not had any alcohol. I did enter a pub as part of the week's events with the rest of the Freshers, AND I ordered my first drink from a bar, but it's not what you think; I ordered pineapple juice :)

I really enjoyed hanging out with everyone in the bar, but the problem is that I had to practically shout to be heard because of all the people. No way to tell jokes, apart from through facial expressions and mime.

My loving parents, sister Rose, and grandmother helped my carry all the luggage into my new room (there was a particularly large suitcase to which we refer as "El Gordo" that I had to heave up two flights of stairs). There are NO roommates at Oxford (unless you ask for one specifically).

We also went to an amazing church this morning. I thought the churches in England were going to be all stuffy and partially in Latin and stuff, but as it turns out, I enjoyed it even more than Open-Door Church, which I attended in Los Altos. Although the rest of my family was tired after an entire hour of unfamiliar songs.

Today was a giant broohahaey-fest of everyone trying to learn everyone's names (I'm SO going to be BFFs with the hilarious old weekend porter here, Mark). Yikes. With over three hundred people at Oriel this year, it's going to be the hardest battle since...well, since the battle of the 300 :D

It was unbelievably exciting to finally be let loose from my parents and finally TALK to non-family members after the ~1 week we'd spent on this trip so far. I was so excited I talked at a rapid pace that's extremely fast even for me for the first hour or so! When I finally left my parents, I was in a hurry, since I didn't want to miss a Fresher's meeting I thought was going on, and I wanted to get my room sorted out and talk to people and get a blog set up and EVERYTHING. I don't like long goodbyes as a general rule, so we didn't make it longer than a minute. Because why do goodbyes have to be sad? It's not a permanent goodbye. And as I ran back towards Oriel from the Old Bank Hotel, I knew that God has big and exciting (or mathematical) plans for me here at Oxford.

Love,

       John Khouri, Pineapple Juice Drinker