Honeymoon Options Down to Four

Rhodah and I just scored two new countries in our search for acceptable honeymoon destinations: Spain and Andorra.

I can travel all over the place without a hassle, even though my state is running about 10,000 new coronavirus cases per day. Rhodah, as a Zambian, is about as welcome internationally as a new airborne variant of cholera. We found out the Swedish embassy in Lusaka would process visas for both Sweden and Iceland, so we made an appointment, and I told her to ask them to name every other country they represented and to apply for visas to all of them.

Today they told her they processed Spanish visas, and that made me think of Andorra.

In case you don’t know, Andorra is the Liechtenstein of the Pyrenees. Resting between Spain and France, it’s one of Europe’s smallest countries. Even smaller than Otisburg. The people there are wealthy, and it’s a tax haven. It’s sort of like a little Catalan-speaking Switzerland.

Andorra features beautiful mountains, tax-free shopping, and excellent food. It has the disadvantage of being somewhat like Spain, which makes it at least a little bit like Miami, but you can’t have everything. About 70% of the residents are foreigners, so maybe I won’t feel like I’m in Little Havana. The official language is Catalan, not Spanish. That gives me hope.

To get into Andorra, all you need is a way into France or Spain. Andorra doesn’t issue visas. They just assume you’re okay if you made it to the border.

Although Andorra is a wealthy country, hotel rates are not particularly high. Another plus.

We spent some time trying to create a viable itinerary including Iceland, Sweden, and Andorra, but I don’t think it’s realistic. We are going to be stuck in Spain for one or two nights, and that cuts down on our time to visit desirable countries. My feeling is that it’s time to cut Iceland loose. It’s a hard choice, because Sweden isn’t all that exciting, either, but Sweden looks like the lesser of two evils.

Rhodah has not traveled much, so she wants to hit a lot of destinations in a short time. I think there is a better way. My feeling is that it’s better to spend 10 days in one location than 5 days in 10.

My mother made the mistake of inviting my aunt along on a trip to Europe, and my aunt had never been out of the country. She made the second mistake of choosing an organized tour. Once they were in Europe, my aunt caused problems by insisting they take part in every single outing and activity the tour company lined up for them. My mother was too busy to enjoy herself. It’s easy to go abroad and end up spending way too much time on planes and in buses, trains, and cabs, rushing around.

Oriental tourists have a reputation for zipping around in buses, taking pictures of themselves in front of things. They used to, anyway. A friend of mine told me about seeing them pour out of buses and line up in front of landmarks. The Asian at one end would run forward, turn around, and take a photo. Then the next Asian would follow suit. When everyone had taken a picture, they got in the bus and left. This is not tourism. This is documentation. It’s like birdwatching, except you’re the bird.

The people he saw learned nothing at all about the places they visited. Saying you’ve been to a country after acting like that is like saying you’ve been to the Grand Canyon because you saw it from a plane window.

My buddy Mike had a worse situation than I do. His girlfriend wanted to go to Paris for a weekend. Fly in on Friday. Spend Saturday and Sunday rushing around to see the highlights. Home on Monday night. It would have been a total waste of time and money. They would have felt awful on Saturday as well as the tiny fragment of Friday they would have experienced, and they would still have been jet-lagged on their return flight.

She also wanted to fly in early in the day. Fine idea, except the difference between an early arrival and a later arrival was $1800, or maybe $150 per hour per person, on the most unpleasant, least-rewarding day of the trip. Kind of steep when only one party is paying.

Her work schedule made it impossible for her to get more free time. I’m glad Rhodah and I don’t have that problem.

In the end she was unable to go at all because of the possibility she would get stuck in France because of a positive coronavirus test. She has kids. Now they’re going to a beach in Florida, in the summer. Who does that? Not me, thank God. If I absolutely had to go to a beach in the summer, I’d go to Long Island or the Carolinas. Definitely not one of Florida’s low-grade beaches.

Anyway, we are now leaning toward two main destinations plus some unavoidable time in Barcelona. There is pretty much no Spanish-speaking destination I want to see. To me, they’re in the same pile as Muslim countries and drab Eastern European nations where donkeys sleep indoors and women, being less valuable, are kept in barns. Live in Miami for a few decades, and you may also develop an allergy to Spanish.

Maybe I should go to Colombia to get over it. The Colombians I’ve known were easygoing, polite, and very friendly. Hispanics from different countries are different.

I have had some concerns about how much time we should spend abroad and how much I should spend, but I’m starting to wonder if it matters.

Last night, I was watching Youtube before bed, and I came across a video about the meteor which supposedly killed the dinosaurs. They call it Chicxulub. I decided I wanted to see a video of an animated simulation of the crash, but no good ones turned up. Instead, I started seeing videos from the 1998 movies Deep Impact and Armageddon.

In 1998, true to form, Hollywood displayed its inability to produce original ideas by simultaneously releasing two movies about asteroids hitting the earth. In one movie, a team flew to the asteroid and blew it up. In the other, Earth shot missiles at the asteroid and failed to bring it down, so the world ended, putting an abrupt halt to Morgan Freeman’s white-privilege-poking presidency.

I had no interest in watching this kind of thing when I turned the TV on, but here I was, watching, on the same day I saw videos about supposed once-in-a-millennium floods in China and Europe. I had also been reading about people getting coronavirus twice, although there is reason to doubt at least some of those stories.

While I was praying later, I started talking to God about the tribulation. I started asking if the end was really upon us.

Sometimes when I pray, I’ll hear a phrase over and over, so I’ll write it down. I think they come from God. They have proven reliable so far. A year or two back, I heard, “Almost done.” I thought God was talking about the current age.

Last night, I kept hearing, “Armageddon.”

Was it God? Was it me? Was it a spirit? I don’t make any claims.

If the end of the world, preceded by the rapture, is imminent, then who cares how long my honeymoon is or what I spend? I’ve only flown first class once or twice in my life. Maybe it’s time to live it up.

Hmm. A first-class ticket to Barcelona would cost at least $8000. Are there really people who pay that? We would probably spend around $80,000 on tickets if we went that route. I hate to sound cheap, but…

The world seems stuck. It seems like nothing is going forward. Even the Olympics are blighted. They aren’t allowing people to attend, so when you check out events, you see quiet, empty stadiums where the only people are TV crews, coaches, and the strange, unhappy, often drug-distorted characters who devote their lives to the procurement of fleeting glory most of us don’t even notice.

They’re holding the 2020 Olympics, and it’s 2021. What will they do in 2022? It’s silly enough to have the games every two years. Things will look even worse when they hold them two years in a row.

I would be perfectly happy to leave the earth from Andorra, holding my wife. The prospect of a future full of new variants, decreased freedom, increased leftist oppression and violence, shortages, and chronic guerrilla warfare is not inviting.

By tomorrow, we should have enough information to create an itinerary. I am looking forward to trying some of that crazy Spanish ham.

Plus Indoor Hunting Adventures

Yesterday, I went squirrel hunting. In my living room.

Ordinarily, this type of activity takes place outdoors and during squirrel season, but this situation was a little different.

I was sitting with Marvin, watching Youtube, when I started hearing banging noises. It sounded like someone was outside vandalizing my air conditioner. I got up and looked, but I couldn’t see any problems. I considered grabbing a rifle.

The noises persisted, and eventually, I realized they were coming from the fireplace. I was not happy about this. A few days earlier, I had seen a fat mouse hop out of the fireplace and run out of the room. I had to put poison and traps out, and before long, the mouse had defiled $40 worth of magnificent beef jerky plus a big bag of rice. I think the mouse is dead now, because he definitely ate the poison, and the Internet says it’s lethal after one feeding. I hope this is true. I haven’t smelled dead mouse yet.

Hearing the noise in the fireplace, I was afraid the mouse’s family was dancing in the flue. I got a light and started poking around, and whenever I jiggled the flue, I heard something big jumping and scampering.

The flue got stuck, and when I applied a little too much force, it opened, and a stinking squirrel landed in the fireplace. I jumped back because I was not eager to be chewed up by a vicious rodent. The squirrel ran into a corner of the fireplace and hid behind my portable light.

I had a problem. There is no way a human being can catch a squirrel. If he had left the fireplace, he would have gone God knows where, and I would have had to share the house with a starving squirrel until he got too weak to hide. By then he probably would have destroyed half of my possessions, and poop would have been everywhere.

I prayed he would stay in place, and I went and got my useless, overpriced pellet rifle. I paid $500 for it, and I have shot it maybe twice. I figured a .22 would damage the fireplace after passing through the squirrel, so the pellet gun was the way to go.

Finding pellets held me up. Then I had to look for goggles in case I had a ricochet. Then the gun refused to cock. I finally got it done. I went to the fireplace, held the gun’s muzzle close to the squirrel, and blasted him. I was hoping to hit the upper body, but it’s not easy to aim a gun at something 8 inches away, especially when you have to work around a plastic light and a big grate.

Sadly, the squirrel did not die immediately. It ran out of the fireplace and into the kitchen. Then it ran to the stairs, started running upstairs, turned around, and went into my bedroom. It ran to the sliding doors, which were closed. Then it went in the bathroom through the east door.

I shut the bedroom door to keep it from going out into the house, I opened the sliding doors, and I went in the bathroom from the west door to see if I could chase the squirrel out. He was not in the bathroom, but I saw a big smear of blood on the floor.

As far as I can determine, he ran out the sliding doors, and I hope he is now dead. The plan was not to make the squirrel suffer. I just wanted him out of my life.

The big lesson I have learned here is that as a former Miamian, I need to learn about fireplace and chimney operation and maintenance. I don’t know how the mouse and squirrel got into the chimney, and I need to keep the flue shut tightly so anything that makes it into the chimney is prevented from entering the house.

I think one problem was that the flue was not closed properly. When it’s really closed, it’s hard to open. It sticks. A rodent could never pry it open. When I started fiddling with it yesterday, it was not closed well. There were little gaps through which I could see into the chimney.

Another problem: filthy creatures are able to enter the chimney from above. I have to go up on the roof and see what the problem is. Surely there is some kind of metal feature designed to keep animals out.

When the flue opened all the way yesterday, dirt and dead bugs fell out. I think maybe rodents have been catching bugs and eating them in the chimney.

I learned some things about rat poison. The one you want is called bromethalin.

Anticoagulants like warfarin (coumadin) have been popular for decades, but rodents develop resistance to them, and they have to eat a lot before the poisons kill them. Bromethalin is better. It’s a nervous system poison, and the rodents die after a single serving. A poisoned mouse may live for a couple of days and pollute your precious beef jerky before he croaks, but he will croak.

Another good thing: bromethalin will not poison predators. If you poison squirrels with it, they will poop it out before dying, so you don’t have to worry about killing hawks and owls that eat their bodies. Disadvantage: it won’t kill feral cats, coyotes, coons, or possums, either.

I have too many squirrels, and shooting them is inefficient. I have mice in my outbuilding. I can put bromethalin bait out and thin the herd, and it will benefit not only me, but all the birds of prey in the vicinity.

I’ll bet you can find a website that says bromethalin kills all sorts of desirable wildlife. That’s leftist nuts for you. They would spin fables about water if they thought it killed vermin.

Maybe I could maintain a bird feeder if I used bromethalin. I could put a poison station beneath it for the squirrels. I don’t think a bird would try to eat it. It comes in huge, hard chunks. Maybe there is a way to do it.

Tomcat is a brand of promethalin baits. You can get it at Home Depot.

In other news, the tribulation really does seem to be rumbling to life. It appears to be manifesting in the weather. Europe has been having crazy floods. I think I wrote about the European problems. Germans have been dying. Germans! When you read that it rained in India and a hundred or a thousand people died, it’s not surprising, because India is a backward country full of people who lack common sense. The Germans are different. They’re sharp, and they are very responsible. In order for a flood to kill Germans, it has to be truly exceptional.

China has had floods. Dams have burst.

It’s funny how people who dislike God seem to pick up on the approach of the end. Far-left extremist Maureen Dowd just published a column about the floods, entitled Apocalypse Right Now. Unfortunately, she sees the floods as proof conservatives cause all the world’s problems. She says the flooding was caused by global warming.

There is a huge problem with that argument, and it’s pretty obvious. Global warming is a slow process. It can’t happen in one year, between 2020 and 2021. If the globe is warming, and if it causes flooding in Europe, then we would have seen floods for a number of years. The floods wouldn’t just leap out and surprise us. There is no gradual trend of increased flooding in Europe. Had there been, Europeans would have been ready this year instead of getting caught totally unprepared.

Leftists love to point to any example of bad weather and blame capitalism. They did it after the active hurricane season of 2005. After that, we had a bunch of very quiet years. Where did global warming’s hurricane-stimulating effects go during those years? Same place the left’s hysterical claims went. They shut up when the evidence turned against them. They only listen to “the science” when it agrees with their economic and social justice theories.

When conservatives say cold weather proves global warming doesn’t exist, leftists love to say, “Weather isn’t climate.” This means “weather” describes short-term events, whereas “climate” describes conditions that change very slowly over many years. Maureen Dowd is doing exactly what leftists accuse us of doing. Europe had one rainy summer, and she says it proves her view of the climate, which just happens to go hand-in-hand with environmental extremism, the destruction of industry, redistribution of wealth from responsible countries to chaotic ones, and socialism, is correct.

The evidence for climate change is not good, and the evidence that mankind causes it is even worse, but that doesn’t prevent leftists from latching onto sporadic weather events and trying to use them to prove Karl Marx was right. Marx is their messiah. Christians do the same thing. We look at the world and try to prove events prove Jesus is God, and sometimes we go too far. One big difference, however, is that many of our efforts are supported by prophecy.

Dowd’s irrational, facile column is evidence the tribulation may be near. Prophecy says God will release a spirit of murder into the world. Dowd is intolerant and irrational. She sees “them” (us) as the source of humanity’s problems, much as the Nazis saw the Jews, Gypsies, and Communists as wellsprings of humanity’s ills. Dehumanizing and demonizing other groups is the foundation of genocide, which is the purpose of the spirit God will release. You can’t have genocide until you make one group of people think of other groups as disposable, subhuman vermin.

I can provide a parallel. It would have been pretty hard to get me to embark on a squirrel genocide program, had experience not taught me they were bona fide pests with nearly no redeeming functions. These days, I find killing a squirrel rewarding, even if I’m put off by their suffering. Killing them is necessary and righteous, like killing roaches. I would be thrilled if grey squirrels went extinct this afternoon.

We’re seeing the spirit of murder in the left’s reaction to people who resist masks and vaccines. They often say they’re the reason coronavirus hasn’t been wiped out. They say they’re killing people, equating them with murderers. They’re taking steps to prevent resistors from buying, selling, traveling, speaking, and doing business. It’s very much like what the spirit of Antichrist did to the Jews of Europe. They were excluded from many jobs. They lost the right to disseminate their opinions, even by carrier pigeons, which they were forbidden to own. Eventually, they were segregated, concentrated, and exterminated, and the Nazis did this because they thought a day would come when they could say, “Finally, our problems are over.”

Of course, people who resist masks and vaccines are proxies for conservatives and Christians.

Conservatives and Christians generally don’t use carrier pigeons, but maybe we should start buying them, along with CB’s and ham radios. We are being tossed off the Internet every day.

If you listen to enraged leftists these days, you can sense that they feel like the Nazis did. They want to make us as though we did not exist. They want us to have no power of any kind. It’s not just obscure tweeters and commenters. Keith Olbermann, who had a popular television shows on popular networks, said Trump supporters should be arrested and prosecuted, and the mainstream left was fine with it. He called us “maggots,” which is exactly what Castro’s supporters called the innocent people they beat, robbed, enslaved, jailed, tortured, deported, and murdered in Cuba.

On the right, there appears to be a rising tide of kooky voices calling for civil war and blaming minorities for most of our ills. They are far fewer in number than leftist nuts, who have been dominant in leftist culture for a long time, but they’re here. These people also serve the Antichrist. Jesus never called for us to buy rifles and shoot our way out of our problems. He told the disciples to buy swords for the defense of individuals, but he never suggested organized armed resistance.

Over the last year, we have seen lack, disease, and hatred, which are symptoms of the arrival of the three horsemen. We have seen signs in the heavens. We haven’t seen earthquakes, which Jesus predicted, yet. Some Christians say earthquake activity has suddenly increased, but it isn’t true. Maybe we should consider increased activity a crucial sign. It would be easy to spot, and it would be unique in mankind’s history. We have had wars, plagues, and shortages ever since the world was created, but we haven’t had global outbreaks of earthquakes.

I keep feeling like I’m just waiting to leave. I can’t make myself feel that life will return to normal. I keep feeling that none of the earthly things I do are important. It’s as though I were in a burning building, waiting to be rescued, and I no longer needed to think about mopping floors or fixing plumbing leaks.

A guy I like to watch just put up a Youtube video about a dream a friend of his had. I watched, and at first, I wasn’t sure what to think. Then suddenly I felt I knew what the dream meant.

The friend dreamed a group of people were in a building, and they were high up, looking toward a city which resembled London. The city was being destroyed by an earthquake. As they watched, their own building moved toward the city.

A man showed up to lead people out of the building. Some followed. He took them up on a high ridge where there was snow and ice, and they walked toward a destination. The building went over a waterfall, into an abyss.

A similar ridge appeared nearby, and a woman was seen on the ridge, trying to take a quicker route to the same destination. She fell off and went into the abyss.

A man appeared via a flight of stairs. He climbed up to the first ridge and joined the rescued people. He said he had come from hell.

They learned their destination was Zion, the city of God.

I’ll tell you what I think God told me.

The city that resembled London was the carnal world. The isolated building was the location of the church. The destruction of London was the tribulation.

People who stayed in the building were carnal Christians. They kept their eyes on the carnal world, so they were sucked down with it. They were like people who live on social media sites; like Lot’s wife. She was still part of Sodom, so she stared at it with yearning, and she shared its fate.

The Christians who left were people who listen to the Holy Spirit and reject the Antichrist’s world. The man who led them was an evangelist. The ridge was Jesus. It was Jacob’s ladder, which is Jesus. A ladder is a type of stairway, and it’s a type of path, and Amos 9:6 says God builds his steps in the sky.

Jesus is a path. He called himself “the way” or “the road,” using the same word the Greeks use on street signs. The path is narrow. It’s easy to fall off, just as it’s easy to fall off a ridge. When you fall off a ridge, there is no way to go but down. It’s the same with Jesus. There are no lateral or upward moves.

The second ridge is an alternative route preferred by human beings. Any path but Jesus leads to hell. You can’t design your own Jesus. You can’t insist on a god who loves homosexuality, selfishness, and pride. The woman represents people who try to save themselves through the false messiahs of idolatry, including worship of self, man, and government. She’s a woman because women are the first to lead us into idolatry. Think of Eve, Jezebel, and Solomon’s wives. Men are supposed to lead, and the human race is supposed to be God’s submissive wife.

The man who came up from hell is a person who received salvation during the tribulation. Missing the rapture doesn’t condemn you to hell. You can still be saved, but you will wish you had listened sooner.

Zion is the new Jerusalem. It’s where the saved will go. It’s described in the Revelation.

This is what came to me, and I think it’s right.

I would love to say I hope I’m wrong, but I would only say that to comfort other people. I hope the rapture is close. This place is just too messed up to continue.

I used to tell God I was ready to go, but I wanted him to look after my dad and my pets. Then my dad died. Then one of my pets died. Marvin is okay; I hope God will take him along with the chosen. There seems to be no good reason to leave him here.

I used to feel bad because I might leave the earth unmarried. I felt a little cheated. I wanted to have the love of an attractive woman, chosen by God, before the end, and the pool of women who seemed available at my age looked more like a punishment than a reward. I’m just being honest.

I met a wonderful lady, much younger and more attractive than I had any reason to expect. We spent time together in Egypt. We did’t cross the line, but we shared love and deep affection. Then we married after we parted. Even if God harvests his crop before we get together again in person, I am content.

I have hope we will come back after the marriage of the lamb. The Bible suggests the raptured (not the resurrected) will return after Satan is imprisoned, to enjoy long lives on a blessed earth. That would be nice, but I will be thrilled to be anywhere where I don’t have to live amid curses, evil spirits, and toxic people.

Finally, Something the Swiss are Really Bad at

It looks like my wife and I will not be honeymooning in Switzerland. I bought Pimsleur’s German course and started listening to Youtube French conversation videos for nothing. “Ich mochte bier trinken.” That cost me fifteen bucks.

The Swiss are allowing visitors to come in from all over the world, but they have made the visa process very hard for Africans. Citizens of countries that don’t have Swiss embassies have to apply through embassies in countries that do. In Rhodah’s case, that means South Africa.

Switzerland belongs to the Schengen group of nations. More or less, this means mainland Europe. These countries cooperate on immigration matters. If Rhodah had ever had a Schengen-area visa, she would be able to apply to the Swiss embassy in Pretoria by email. Because she hasn’t had a Schengen visa, she has to go in person and have her fingerprints recorded.

She lives over 700 miles from Pretoria, which is near Johannesburg. She doesn’t want to travel alone, so she would have to have a friend go with her. Each of them would need two coronavirus tests in order to enter South Africa and re-enter Zambia. A coronavirus test takes 24 hours, so they would have to spend at least two nights in South Africa.

If either of them tested positive on the way home, she would have to stay in South Africa until she tested negative. During this time, I would be paying for her food, lodging, and repeat testing. If only one tested positive, the other would be left alone in South Africa, because the healthy one would have to get out as quickly as possible in order to avoid testing negative and being trapped.

Best-case scenario: I’m out something over $2000, and we get a visa in a little over two weeks. Worst-case scenario: Rhodah and/or her friend get trapped in South Africa, and one or both of them could be there for a month or more.

We could take a chance and try it, and I could forget about the money. Things would probably go well. There’s another problem, however: South Africa is disintegrating. Racial and political violence have resulted in nationwide looting and arson over the last two weeks. Pretoria has been hit. I can’t send two women there while the nation is falling apart. Black women are safer there than Indians and whites right now, but what kind of man sends his wife to a riot zone?

If you don’t know what’s happening in South Africa, I have two possible explanations for your uninformed status: 1. our leftist press doesn’t want to show you anything negative involving the post-Mandela rainbow paradise, and it isn’t anxious to show hordes of looters and arsonists who are all black, and 2. American journalists aren’t all that interested in what happens in other countries unless it somehow reflects poorly on Donald Trump, conservatives, or Jesus.

For a long time, I’ve watched videos from a South African Youtuber. He calls himself Serpentza. He moved to China in his mid-twenties, and he lived there for 14 years. He married a Chinese woman and moved to the US. I started watching his videos because it was interesting to see what was happening in China. He didn’t mention South Africa often.

Early last year, he started putting up ominous videos about coronavirus. This was before Americans had any idea what it was. He said it was a big problem in China and that the CCP was covering it up. He turned out to be completely correct. Now he’s putting up videos about South Africa. He put up a two-hour video this week, and he made some surprising claims.

He said the looters were organized. In some cases, they show up in convoys, including buses. One group showed up in armored cars, armed with machine guns. They confronted 30 armed guards protecting a property and told them to leave or die. He said the looters use common strategies suggesting organization. They remove their car tags, and when they are confronted, they recite the same excuse. They claim they need food.

There are many Indians in South Africa, and, along with whites, they are being targeted. Militias are forming. The Indians are using rifles to drive looters away, on a grand scale.

He says looters are also destroying black businesses and burning down food stores and other businesses that are essential to the distribution of food. Obviously, these behaviors harm black people. They can’t snap their fingers and make groceries appear to feed their families. It’s not a big surprise to anyone who knows that looters are not protestors. They’re all about hate and free merchandise.

The problems arose because a former president named Zuma was charged with over 700 counts of corruption. Zuma is popular among Zulus and the poor. He repeatedly refused to show up for trial, so he was sentenced to 15 months for contempt of court. When he turned himself in, the violence and destruction started.

I watched some of the video last night, and I kept thinking about the tribulation. Three spirits resembling horsemen will go out, and they will cause murder, shortages, and disease. The spirit of the Antichrist–the Beast–will go out and cause people to yield to peer pressure, not reason or the Holy Spirit. They will behave like beasts in a herd. We’ve seen it in BLM and Antifa, and now we see it among Zuma supporters.

Under the influence of the Antichrist spirit, people act like sharks in a feeding frenzy. They don’t think. They let hate and other iniquities possess them. They give up human status.

This is the world’s future, and I think it will be the near future. More and more, we will be ruled and tormented by crowds of vicious, demon-controlled berserkers who pretend to be victims.

Serpentza interrupted his video with some footage of his half-Chinese daughter playing with American kids. Various races were represented. They played together in harmony, as kids of different races generally do in America. He scolded all the liars who pretend America is a racist country. He said they had never seen real racism. In South Africa, rural whites are being beaten, cut up, raped, and killed by black Africans so frequently, it looks like a movement. In America, unhinged snowflakes say our country is racist because we have Thomas Jefferson on the nickel or because Barbie has blue eyes and a flat butt.

There is a huge gulf between “country with limited racism problems” and “racist country.” America is not a racist country, even if racism has not been completely eradicated.

Watch the video if you want, but it’s full of profanity.

He came to America to get away from hatred spawned by identity politics. He will be disappointed. It’s much better than South Africa, but it’s deteriorating quickly. Overt racism toward whites, Asians, and Jews is now mainstream on the left, and the Antichrist’s white children are starting to look for the answers in secession, rifles, and racism directed at non-whites.

No one is going to win in the Antichrist’s future. Everyone who gets caught up in the hatred and false victimhood will lose.

Rhodah and I are now stuck with honeymoon alternatives like Iceland, Sweden, and Mexico. There is no way I’m going to Mexico. A friend of mine goes there for dental work, and he says it’s like a crummy neighborhood in Miami, only worse. That leaves Iceland and Sweden, unless we want to visit a depressing Muslim country or a European country known primarily for vampires and werewolves.

Iceland has astounding natural beauty. Not as good as Switzerland’s, of course, and no alps. The food picture doesn’t look good: pickled things, rhubarb jelly, rotten shark meat, and high-end hamburgers. The people are supposed to be great. Nothing has ever happened there, however. In Iceland, you’re not going to get a tour involving Roman buildings, Renaissance art, a world war, a famous composer, or anything else. Because nothing has ever happened there.

My guess:

Nature: A
Food: C
People: A
Relevance to my existence as a Westerner: F

Sweden has SOME natural beauty, but overall, it appears to be flat and not rich in landscape features. The food sounds somewhat better than Iceland’s. They really do eat meatballs. I could probably eat those twice in 10 days without feeling oppressed. I don’t know if the burgers are any good. Sweden is reasonably close to the rest of Europe, though, so maybe there are some decent non-Scandinavian restaurants. A few things have happened in Sweden, but offhand, I can’t think of any. I would have to say that culturally and historically, it’s probably only marginally ahead of Iceland. The people are known for a total lack of reluctance to engage in any type of sexual activity. My understanding is that getting a one-night-stand there is about has hard as hailing a cab. This national characteristic would not have much relevance to two Christians enjoying their honeymoon.

I haven’t known many Swedes, but they seem somewhat rigid and stuffy, except when it comes to sex with strangers.

Score:

Nature: B
Food: B
People: B
Relevance to my existence as a Westerner: C

Iceland gets a 2.5 GPA, and Sweden gets a 2.75.

Let’s do Switzerland, for a giggle.

Nature: A+ (rough draft for heaven)
Food: A
People: A
Relevance to my existence as a Westerner: B

I get 3.825. That will get you into a good state university. With a 2.75, you’re probably looking at community college.

Now Mexico:

Nature: B
Food: A-
People: C (hello, robbery)
Relevance to my existence as a Westerner: B

I get 2.925. That’s surprising, since, to get me to go there, you would literally have to drug me. The food really pumped up the score. Truthfully, though, American Mexican food is way better than authentic Mexican food.

I only gave it a B for nature because it has nice beaches and good fishing. If you ever see me on a beach, it means my ship sank. I can’t understand people who like beaches. It seems like mental illness to me. You lie on a lounge chair and sweat under the broiling sun, doing nothing, or you swim in water than stings your eyes. It’s okay for walks, but that’s about it. I sort of suspect there is an upper intelligence limit for beach people. Intelligence correlates with susceptibility to boredom.

If lying in intense sun is so wonderful, why do all cultures love air conditioning and shade? A beach is like a sauna that gives you skin cancer. And the Japanese used saunas to torture POW’s.

Next, Egypt:

Nature: D (hot sand, 3 trees)
Food: C
People: A
Relevance to my existence as a Westerner: A

The land of the pharaohs gets a 2.75.

The only place that tops Switzerland on my list is Israel. I’ll score it even though I can’t go, due to the fact that my brief presence might cause a coronavirus wave in a country where even the dogs and cats are vaccinated. Way to commit economic suicide, guys.

Israel makes so many bad decisions, it makes me wonder if anti-Semitism is even necessary.

Nature: B
Food: B
People: B
Relevance to my existence as a Westerner: A

I get 2.6. Maybe my scale should be weighted. The food in Israel was not great when I lived there, but I give it a B because surely it has gotten better by now. The people get a B because a lot of people there can be annoying, even if you love and support them. Just keeping it real. Not comparable to the French, though. As for nature, it’s nice in some parts and the rest is desert.

My scoring system appears to be useless, because here is my actual list, in descending order of preference:

Israel
Switzerland
Sweden
Iceland
Egypt
Mexico
Random Turkish Prison
Whale’s posterior
New York City
Miami
Hell

The drop from Egypt to Mexico is bigger than it looks. I think Egypt is probably a decent destination in the winter. I had a great time there in the summer, but the smells and the weather were problems.

Rhodah is going to talk to the Swedish embassy on Monday. They do both Iceland and Sweden, so they can give us guidance.

I’m very disappointed. I was hoping to share a magnificent destination with my bride, but now I suppose we’ll spend a lot of time trying to build a second-choice country up, saying things that start with, “Of course, it’s not Switzerland, but…”

“Check out the breakfast buffet! Free rotten shark!” “Hey, look who’s buying a Big Mac! Stellan Skarsgård!” “Mmm…who wants Swiss chocolate when you can have boiled whale!”

As I said above, once Rhodah has been given a visa to one Schengen country, Switzerland will let her apply for a Swiss visa by email. I wish we had known this in June. We could have applied for a bogus Swedish visa. As it is, the earliest we could hope to be in Switzerland is late September, after the polar ice re-forms. Brown leaves, fog, and grey skies.

Wish I had better news.

On the whole, though, I can’t complain. I have a wonderful wife and nothing but first world problems.

The God of Cessationism Doesn’t Exist

Rhodah and I had a productive prayer session today.

Like many African Christians, Rhodah is open to the supernatural. She knows God still speaks to people and works miracles. This is one of the characteristics I had to have in a wife. I didn’t need a cessationist, covering her eyes and pretending all the wonders God was still doing were imaginary. I believe–I know from experience–that God still gives people miracle healings, and I had to have someone who would be on my side when I tried to get them.

Rhodah had a mysterious pain in a certain part of her body. It had been bothering her for days. We prayed about it, and it started to get better, but today I decided we should do what I had been taught to do in Last Reformation events, and we should also add some oil. The Last Reformation doesn’t generally apply oil to people, but the word says to do it.

I had her apply oil, and then I commanded her ailment to leave. I told it it was bound and muzzled. I commanded her body to be remade in the area where the pain had been.

She felt heat in the area where she needed help. This is a common thing with people who get miracle healings. Afterward, she couldn’t find the pain.

I am pretty sure I’ve had a calcium deposit in my shoulder. For maybe a couple of years, I’ve had problems putting my arm behind me. Reaching for things in my back pocket was sometimes very painful. It hasn’t been too bad lately, but I thought was should go for a healing anyway.

I applied oil (supplied by Rhodah when we were together in Egypt), and she prayed and so on. Afterward, the pain was nearly gone. I can reach up and touch the middle of my back now, and I haven’t been able to do that in a long time.

Afterward, I said, “You know what? We’re going to have a good marriage.” When both spouses submit to God, a marriage goes better.

I told God I would give my testimony before other people, so here it is.

I could have gone to a doctor. They can scrape deposits off joints. I wanted God’s healing instead, so I put up with the pain. God’s healing is better.

Hope you find encouragement in this information.

Belgian Frymasters Confirm my Rants

Two days ago, I wrote about the most important thing that had happened in my life, apart from getting to know God. Today, it’s time to write about something trivial.

Five Guys makes lame French fries.

I know what you’re saying. You’re pounding on your keyboard, calling for my execution. Everyone loves Five Guys fries, and they give you such huge servings! They stuff a cup with fries, put it in your bag, and pour more fries into the bag on top of it.

Don’t think about the fact that a Five Guys meal costs up to $20. It’s not generous to go heavy on the fries when you charge that much for a $9 meal.

I will agree that I enjoy Five Guys fries, but they’re nothing compared to fries that are made correctly. Five Guys fries are soggy; never crisp on the outside. They’re always dripping with peanut oil, which doesn’t taste particularly good. The best fries are like other good fried items. They’re crunchy on the outside, and they’re not wet with oil.

Years ago, I found out how to make good fries. It’s very simple. You use russet potatoes. You don’t cut the fries very big. You fry them once at something like 260 degrees, just until they’re cooked. Then you drain and chill them. Then you fry them at around 375 until the outsides are crisp. And you use BEEF FAT.

I remember telling a person who managed restaurants about this. He said beef fat would never work. It wasn’t a good frying fat, he said. Good thing the people at McDonald’s never heard that. They used to make all of their fries in beef fat, until the vegetarian extremists got to them.

Yesterday I watched a neat video, made in the capital of the French fry world: Belgium. How do I feel? In one word: VINDICATED. They do exactly what I say to do.

Until I saw the video I did not understand what fries meant to Belgians. I learned there are fry stands all over the country. Belgians actually consider fries a meal. Even the government is involved. They have a rule that every fry joint has to provide at least 10 sauces.

The Belgians seem to be belligerent about fries. A fry expert in the video attacked France over the misnomer “French fries.” He pointed something out: France, unlike Belgium, isn’t jammed from one end to the other with fry stands. If France gets the credit for fries, why aren’t the French making more of them?

Belgium boasts a unique job: French-fry joint proprietor. Think of that. There is no such job in America. If you make fries here, you also make burgers. There is no such job in England. If you make fries there, you also fry fish. To find a landscape speckled with establishments that only sell fries and drinks, you have to go to Belgium. That’s how serious they are.

In the video, a fry guru tells his secrets. He says he uses nothing but beef tallow, just like McDonald’s in the 1950’s. Just like KFC in the good old days. Five Guys uses peanut oil. The fry king says he has tried things like peanut oil, and his customers started complaining immediately. The fries just were not as good.

Why aren’t American restaurants using beef fat? It’s a shame the vegans are controlling the lives of normal people who lack food-related mental illnesses. As far as I’m concerned, Wendy’s still has the best fast food burger. Imagine how great Wendy’s would be if they used beef fat for frying. It gives me chills.

We need an American burger chain to start offering beef fat fries. They could run beef fat in one fryer per store to see which fat customers liked best. They would find that vegans only speak for vegans, i.e. self-hating omnivores who genuinely find good food offensive.

You know what vegans are? “Trans herbivores.”

It’s amazing that burger chains are crazy enough to pretend to worry about heart disease and obesity. I can go into a McDonald’s and order a sandwich with two beef patties, mayo, and cheese, plus a buttered, salted biscuit stuffed with eggs, bacon, and cheese, plus a huge ice cream dessert with Oreo cookies swirled into it, plus a Coke that literally has half a cup of corn syrup in it, but I can’t get fries made with beef fat. Yeah, Dr. Ronald is really looking out for my arteries. All the poison is in that extra gram of saturated fat.

For the first time in my life, I actually want to visit Belgium. Who says that?

The one thing Belgians are screwing up is the shape of the fries. They really need to try crinkle cutting and waffle cutting. Come on. They invented the waffle. How can they not want to show it off in packets of fries?

Belgium needs all the good PR it can get. The world barely knows it exists. Belgium gave its potato glory away to a country that did nothing to deserve it. Almost no one knows how good Belgian chocolate is. Belgians make the best beer on earth outside of the US (where the best microbrews are based on Belgian beer), but for some reason, the whole world thinks of boring German beer as the height of the brewer’s art.

What is Belgium famous for? Tiny, bitter cabbages and Jean Claude Van Damme, who doesn’t even use his real Belgian name.

I was totally right about fries. It’s sad that America makes them so badly.

Eat Your Hearts Out, Single Ladies

Here is some interesting news: I am married.

I used to wonder if God had decided I was supposed to be single all my life. It seemed like there was no one for me. Then I tried a couple of interracial dating sites, and within 11 days, I had found someone I could find no reason not to marry. Three days later, I told her I loved her. We kept talking, and I never did find any reason to think she wasn’t perfect for me.

Two months later, we flew to Egypt to meet each other. We already knew we were going to be married. We thought we would be applying for a fiancee visa for her, and to get that, we needed to prove we had met in person. A few days into the trip, I proposed.

Later I found out it would be better to marry and apply for a spouse visa. To get that, we needed to have a wedding and then get together a second time, to show the State Department the marriage had been consummated.

We looked for countries where we could both travel during the pandemic and which would be willing to allow us to marry on their soil. Iceland looked good for a while, but we eventually decided it was best to avoid the expense, time waste, and trouble of going to a foreign country simply to marry. I found out we could marry online, so we chose to do that instead. Marrying online left us free to honeymoon in a nicer place than Iceland.

Last week I got us a Utah marriage license, and today we had a Zoom ceremony attended by 17 friends and relations.

We have known each other 129 days.

Before we met each other, the field of marriage was like a wall of thistles to us. There was no way to get through. Once we came together, everything fell into place without effort.

I say I didn’t find any reason to think she wasn’t perfect for me. It’s really that simple. I never had a particular kind of person in mind. I never had a list; this age, that height, and so on. I just wanted a good Christian woman who knew God very well and who was attractive and compatible with me. Other than that, she didn’t have to have any particular traits. I was open to anything, as long as I couldn’t find any deal-breaking qualities.

It sounds like it should have been easy, but my efforts yielded nothing of use until I met Rhodah. She doesn’t match some target image I created. I just can’t find any problems with her. Since then, it has been as though we were sliding down a greased path.

Grooms are supposed to have cold feet. I didn’t. I felt a very small amount of anxiety, but the truth is that I have felt more nervous about stock trades.

Today hasn’t been a nerve-wracking day. It’s about like yesterday, except now I’m married. The big difference is that I feel I can relax more with Rhodah. There is a part of you you will always hold back when you’re single, and now that part of me is hers, permanently.

I don’t feel bad about having an online wedding, and neither does she. I feel as though I should feel bad, but I don’t feel bad. It seems as though it was the most natural choice in the world.

I don’t feel like I married my girlfriend. I feel like I married my wife.

Now we have to get her a Swiss visa while the door is still open, and we have to make plans. I have a ring on the way. It has to be appraised before I approve it, and then we have to meet in Switzerland.

There really are low-maintenance women out there. They are rare, and when you know one, it takes a while to believe what you see. Rhodah is low-maintenance. She didn’t buy a dress for the ceremony until today. She had me on video chat while she visited the mall. She kept telling me she hated shopping. She couldn’t wait to go home. She looked at about 6 dresses, total.

What kind of woman hates shopping? What kind of woman agrees to an online wedding ceremony, enthusiastically, goes to the mall on her wedding day to buy the dress, and then complains that she hates shopping?

The low-maintenance kind.

She looked beautiful, too. She wore a nice royal blue dress with a modest cut. We’re hoping to redo our vows with a preacher, so there was no point in buying a gown for today’s event.

It was wonderful having so many friends watching. I think of myself as a hermit, but I had over a dozen good friends watching, and I could have had a few more. How many people have a dozen worthwhile friends? Most people don’t even have one.

Almost all of my friends entered my life through church. I think that explains things.

To make the day even better, I found out I still had a pearl necklace that belonged to my mother. I had thought my sister had taken it. It has two strands of pearls and a diamond locket with a ruby in the center. Our wedding ring is a ruby with a diamond halo. Now Rhodah has something to wear it with.

I wish she could have my mother’s gold Rolex with the malachite face and diamond bezel, but that went to a pawn shop in Miami a long time ago, along with the other things I didn’t ask for.

I’m a husband. I can say “my wife.” From now on when I fill out forms, I have to check the “married” boxes. I don’t need a will; I have someone who will automatically inherit everything. When I’m with a single woman who seems eligible, I won’t have to wonder if I should do anything, because I shouldn’t.

I also have someone to support, but the same God who brought me a wife will help me feed her. After all, as the Bible says, “He who finds a wife finds a good thing and obtains favor from the Lord.”

I don’t know if I’ll still want to blog. We’ll have to see how things unfold.

“Deputy Clerk Osmond Just Logged In”

Today I have something I didn’t have yesterday: a marriage license.

It’s so strange to use phrases like “fiancee” and “marriage license.” They used to seem like they were only parts of other people’s worlds. Barring unforeseen problems, soon I’ll be saying “my wife.”

Rhodah and I gave up on marrying in person. The only non-tropical location we could find within reasonable distances was Iceland. I didn’t want to meet in a warm New World setting like Cancun and Jamaica. Who wants to get married in a hot place full of drunk, sweaty tourists? I have had enough of the tropics.

Iceland sounds like fun, but we would be blowing like $3000 just to get married, only to go somewhere nicer as soon as the wedding was over. Getting married an hour from your house and then going where you really want to go is fine, but wasting 5 days and lots of money on a second-place destination is not.

Today I finished our online application in Utah County, Utah. I don’t even know the name of the county seat. Just the county. For $70, they set us up very quickly. You upload a few documents and fill in some blanks. Then you enter payment, and a minute or two later, you are licensed.

In the confirmation email, they provided a link to a page where we can make an appointment with an officiant from the clerk’s office. They have spots open as early as Monday.

The strange thing is how stress-free all this is. We aren’t second-guessing ourselves. We’re not nervous. The main thing that concerns me is how relaxed I am. How can it be this easy?

I have two friends who want to be our official witnesses, so scheduling will revolve around them. Once Rhodah and I have a time that works for both of them, we can deal with other people who want to sit in. I don’t know if it’s possible to include “guests.” I’ll find out tomorrow.

Thanks, everyone who offered to witness in my comments. Had I not had potential witnesses on tap, you would have been life savers.

It’s a shame Rhodah can’t come to America. Biden’s idiotic travel ban has nothing at all to do with science. The leftists who elected him are hysterical and irrational when it comes to coronavirus, so he is maintaining the bans to keep them happy.

America was the single biggest coronavirus hotbed for a long time, and we already have the delta variant here, so, as scientists have said, there is no point at all in restricting travel. Coronavirus is here, so what are we trying to keep out? Pressure to return to sane travel policies is mounting, but Biden looks out for himself, not America, so he is taking his time.

I told Rhodah someone should chloroform him and fix things while he’s out. His wife probably already has a kit.

People whose businesses are dying because of leftist hysteria vote, so maybe Biden’s self-centered reluctance will hurt him in 2024, assuming he hasn’t already been removed from office because his dementia has progressed.

Once we’re married and can show we had a honeymoon, we can apply for a spouse visa. Then we wait. In the meantime, we will have to meet for trips every so often. Maybe Biden will have a lucid moment and okay tourist visas.

Switzerland says it may let us in for a honeymoon, but getting a visa for Rhodah may involve a lot of work. There aren’t a lot of other pleasant honeymoon destinations. Sweaty, beachy countries, Muslim countries, and European countries where people’s names have no vowels. That’s most of it. I think Thailand is open, but flying to Thailand is like driving to Jupiter.

Really long trips aren’t that bad if you have someone with you or you’re not meeting anyone, but it’s unpleasant to work them out when you have to meet another person. This is especially true when it’s someone whose welfare is your responsibility.

I like Switzerland. I can communicate in English and French. I’ve been there before, so I won’t be confused. It’s probably the safest place on Earth. The food is good, and they have interesting, decadent Swiss stuff full of potatoes and melted cheese. It may well be the most beautiful country there is. The weather is excellent.

I really don’t want to end up in a place like the Czech Republic, Albania, or Turkey. I don’t want to deal with countries I know nothing about, weird alphabets, regimes that torture people for wearing shorts, or the depressing atmosphere Islam invariably generates. I admit, it might be fun playing drinking games with Melania Trump’s family.

Tomorrow we should have some idea whether Switzerland will cooperate. If not, we may have to go to Iceland whether we want to or not. The sun is shining all day there now. That would be weird. I assume they make really good blackout curtains. Not like the crummy ones we have here that always let the sun blaze through an opening 5 feet long.

I am not all that comfortable about the ring, because buying rubies is so complicated. I found a nice stone and a magnificent setting. I’m unsure about the company that sells it, and I can’t find what I want anywhere else. I read a few disturbing things about them. Someone claims the president went to prison for defrauding people. They have a no-cost return period, though, so I would be able to have it appraised here.

You can’t get a good deal on a ring. All you can get is the best bad deal. Buying women’s jewelry is like buying coffins and anything made by Apple. You will always overpay. Buyers have spoiled sellers for centuries, treating their fungible goods as though every piece were a treasure and every occasion was as important as the second coming. “How often does little Ashley graduate from T-ball camp?”

You pretty much have to spend x, knowing the seller paid x/4 or less. I don’t mind. I just wish jewelers wouldn’t pretend rings were investments. Take my money, but don’t ruin the experience by insulting my intelligence. Something you buy for x and sell for a fraction of x is not an investment. No one has ever paid retail for a ring and then turned around and made money.

My plan is to buy the ring, have it appraised, and be content if the RETAIL (not resale) value is somewhere close to what I paid. If that’s true, then everything will be fine. I don’t want to find out I paid a lot and gave Rhodah a piece of junk. I want her to be thrilled.

The web says jewelers mark up wedding rings by 300 to 1000 percent. When you’re getting soaked like that, it has to be for love.

My buddy Mike used to know the Zale family, from Zale’s Jewelers. He wanted to buy a girl a ring, so they showed him a bunch he could choose from at cost. He says the thousand-dollar rings were down around $100. Don’t think about this if you’re a man and you’re still paying off a ring.

I’ll probably order the ring tomorrow. I’ll do my best to have it checked out. If we keep it and start having doubts about it later, we can always buy a different center stone. Rhodah absolutely must be happy with it.

I feel like I’m dreaming as I write about these things. In February, I was alone and willing to accept it. By mid-March, I was in love and thinking seriously about marriage. It’s early July, and I may be 5 days away from a crazy online wedding.

Who says we don’t serve a great God?

Listening to Ezekiel Finally Pays Off

Today I had one of the strangest thoughts I’ve had since becoming a Christian. I ran it by my fiancee Rhodah to see how it checked out with her. I didn’t want to call it “revelation” until I had talked to someone who was full of the Holy Spirit. Now I’ll run it by you.

For at least a couple of years, I’ve felt as though my earthly responsibilities didn’t matter much. I didn’t feel it mattered whether I invested or concerned myself with taxes. I felt it didn’t matter if I let home maintenance tasks go. The feeling I had was that the age during which these things had meaning, if ever they did, was about to close. If you knew you were going to move to Mars tomorrow, for good, you wouldn’t paint your house today. If you knew you were going to die next week, you wouldn’t bother counting calories this week. If you were on a sinking ship, you wouldn’t fight over who got to sit at the captain’s table for dinner.

I do try to take care of my responsibilities, but my motivation is not strong. I almost feel as though I’m humoring myself when I cut the grass or consider building a tractor shed.

Of course, I often wonder if the Holy Spirit is telling me the rapture is coming soon. Is he saying handling the mundane obligations of life is a waste of my time, because I won’t be here to eat the fruit, whether good or bad?

I never had much ambition. Now I have none at all. It doesn’t bother me at all that I’m not a high-earning patent attorney, which is what I would be had I cared about practicing law. It doesn’t bother me that I dropped out of college when I was a pre-med student. I don’t feel bad about the people I could have healed or the discoveries I might have made. I don’t feel pain over abandoning physics as a graduate student. I never think about my career as a writer, which is over after three books that didn’t go anywhere. There are people out there ignoring their families, working late nights, and cutting throats in order to win awards and recognition. It never bothers me that I haven’t won a prize since I came in first in The Miami Herald spelling bee.

Other people remind me of bugs, fighting over the choicest balls of dog poop. The things they chase may bring them pleasure for a short time, but none of it goes with them to heaven. Think about it. What will LeBron James be the second after he dies? Penniless, unemployed, obscure, and uninfluential. What will Jeff Bezos be? Poor. What will Beyonce be? A person who walks everywhere, because she has no limousines, and whose autograph no one wants. If there are lines, she’ll have to wait in them just like everyone else. If there is clothing, hers will be just as cheap as the next person’s. She will have no gold albums. She will have no Grammys. She won’t even have her weaves.

I’ve noticed that wealthy Jews love putting their names on things. I think this comes from their ancient relationship with God, even though they don’t know it. The ancient Jews knew there was no bigger curse than to have your name forgotten. Most Jews are distant from God, but the concept remains ingrained in their collective memory. Rich Jews donate money to all sorts of philanthropic projects, and what is the condition? Someone’s name has to be mentioned. The Morty and Sadie Weinberg Cancer Pavilion. Fishbein Hall. The Saul Rosenstein Observatory.

It’s all pointless. Two weeks ago, I visited structures built by some of the most powerful people on earth. I took pictures in King Tut’s tomb. I posed on the empty sarcophagus deep inside the Great Pyramid. The human beings who built these things made people tremble with fear. They were considered Gods. They had the power to execute people arbitrarily. They were wealthier than Bill Gates. Now tourists take funny selfies in the burial chambers the pharaohs thought people would forever be afraid to desecrate.

I saw a fancy box containing the mummified guts of a pharaoh. They looked like old bread crumbs. The pharaohs don’t scare anyone now, they have no power, and although their names survive in heiroglyphics, their language is dead, and no one is sure how to pronounce any of it.

We fight over excrement. When we get the big balls of excrement we want, we perch on top of them, possibly decorated in fancy clothes, and we toot our horns so people with less excrement can ooh and ahh. Then we die, our dung balls go to other people, and our bodies themselves become excrement. The excrement of lowly creatures like worms and beetles. Even embalmed people rot eventually.

You know what Jesus is going to do when the tribulation is over? He’s going to destroy every pyramid. All of them. Egypt. Mexico. Turkey. He’s going to destroy Angkor Wat, every mosque, every Hindu temple, and every Buddhist shrine. He’ll destroy every dirty movie and book. He’ll destroy every print, tape, and disk of The Wizard of Oz. He’ll destroy every naked Renaissance statue and painting. He’s not going to care about the loss to history. He won’t care about the artistic merit or the financial value. It will all burn.

No one in heaven will know you were your high school class’s valedictorian. If you hold an Olympic record on earth, you won’t hold it when you die, because there won’t be any Olympic records. There won’t be any Nobel Prizes in heaven. There won’t be a bestseller list.

It’s all garbage. Earthly achievement means absolutely nothing in the long run, and everyone will be alive to see the long run. Some will live on in heaven, and some in hell and then the lake of fire. No matter who you are, you will live to see your wealth taken and your accomplishments disappear.

The only things that will be remembered will be things we did for God, and our only treasures will be people we helped save. Cleaning ladies will be honored royalty in heaven while billionaires and famous actors scream and cry in hell without a trace of dignity.

To get back to the point, I was never highly motivated to “make something of myself” on earth, and now I feel even less motivated. I don’t owe the world that. I do have a duty to do God’s work, but I don’t have any obligation to become a doctor and cure cancer. I don’t have an obligation to become a soldier and defend my flag. I don’t owe the world books, symphonies, inventions, or paintings.

The thoughts I had today made me feel less ambitious than ever.

I was in the car, listening to the Bible, and I didn’t understand what I was saying. I figured it had to be Ezekiel. When I hear the Bible, and I understand nothing, it’s always Ezekiel. I looked at my car’s display, and sure enough, I was right.

The prophet was talking about winged beings that flew in God’s presence, and it said their wings made a sound like many waters.

I started thinking. In the Bible, waters are words and voices. The Sea of Galilee represents the world, and the world, really, is made up of voices. God spoke it into existence, and people and spirits shaped it and filled it with words. The powers that run the world use the power of words. Laws are words. Prayers are words. Blessings and curses are words.

The Bible says Jesus is God’s word, and it also says his voice is like many waters. It doesn’t say “water.” It says “waters,” plural. “Many waters” means “many voices.”

Why would Jesus sound like many voices? Are there more than one of him?

I thought about the Beast.

As we all know, there will be a man called the Beast. What many of us do not understand is that the Beast will be a figurehead. He will be controlled by Satan, and he will be the voice of all the people in the world who do not belong to God. They will worship him and be ruled by him, but his rule will be a fiction. In reality, Satan will control him, and other spirits will control the people who are under his rule. The Beast will be a follower pretending to be a leader.

The people of the Beast can also be called “the Beast.” They will be one with him. They will be his body, just as we are the Body of Christ. Satan is small and weak, and he is not omnipresent, so he can’t have a unifying spirit like the Holy Spirit. There is always symmetry in the supernatural, though, so he will have a counterfeit. The Holy Spirit teaches all of God’s people the same things, and he empowers them. Satan will use the Internet and cell phones, or whatever comes after the Internet and cell phones, to simulate the Holy Spirit’s work.

Even now, we are seeing mobs guided by Satan via cell phones. Kids coordinate on social media, and they converge on stores and empty their shelves. The police can’t react in time. In the future, we’ll see many more mobs, and they will be bigger. Before long, electronic connectivity will replace the government. Governments are slow and clumsy. Internet mobs are too quick for governments to stand up to.

So the Beast won’t just be Satan or a man or a mob. He will be a combination of all of these. Many voices, acting as one.

There is always symmetry in the supernatural. If the Beast is a combination of voices and the persons they represent, and Satan always copies God, why can’t God be a similar type of being?

Today it occurred to me that God, on the throne of heaven, may be a combination of all the beings who serve him. Cherubs, angels, seraphim, people, and whatever else there is. All of humanity’s worst parts are settling into the Internet, like dregs at the bottom of a bottle of wine, and the Internet will be the Beast’s nervous system. All the filth in cyberspace will be in the mind of the Beast. I now think God the Father is the sum of all the best parts of the beings who are on his side.

It would explain why he speaks of himself in the plural. It would explain why his voice is like many waters.

If what I am saying comes from God, then every Christian is already part of God. What did Jesus say? He said he was in the Father. I believe Rhodah pointed that out to me. As she told me today, the Bible says that in God, “we live and breathe and have our being.”

It’s very nice to have a woman who knows God.

If our spirits are already part of God, then each of us has an innumerable number of powerful beings who are on his side, as long as we are not in rebellion. No wonder the word says, “The LORD is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”

We are in the majority, all the time.

It appears that it works like this: every life comes from God. The lives of the innocent, including the forgiven, are attached to him. The lives of the rebellious are cut off from him, so they rot. Christians and other beings that are not damned are distinct persons, but we all have roots in God. Viewed with this in mind, the trinity makes sense.

My hand is part of me, and I give it life, strength, and commands, but it’s not the core of me, and if I sever my hand, I still exist.

If this is how it works, then it should not be that hard to get in touch with God and make the communication channel deeper and wider.

It would also seem that lower creatures would return to God at death, because they can’t be guilty of sin. Without sin, there can’t be a separation.

God doesn’t destroy beings he has created. Even Satan has eternal life. Instead of being destroyed, he will live on in a lake of fire. If God doesn’t destroy Satan and his fellow rebels, why would he destroy your cat?

Since I became aware of these ideas, I have felt less concerned than ever about what happens here on earth. I feel like an ambassador who could be recalled at any moment. If you were an ambassador in some messy little country, and that country had a revolution full of bloodshed and pain, you would be displeased, but you wouldn’t worry, because you would know our military would come and get you, unless you served under Barack Obama. The Bible says we are ambassadors, and we serve a leader who won’t abandon us.

I feel very disconnected to things here. I like it. I don’t like this place. I don’t like living in a body that can be hurt. I don’t like waking up and wondering if I’ll have a physical problem that day. I don’t like aging. I don’t like being surrounded by proud people who are impossible to communicate with and who get filthier every day. I don’t like living under the threat of man’s ridiculous, unfair laws. I don’t like death. I’m tired of death. I’ve seen so many deaths, and I’m only maybe two-thirds of the way through my life. I’m entering the death-rich third, which will also include my own death, unless the rapture comes first.

Feeling disconnected to Earth makes me feel like my trip to heaven is close. Maybe it isn’t, but I like the feeling. I am at peace today.

I want to marry Rhodah and have her with me during whatever time I am required to endure here, and I want to be useful in saving people and reducing their suffering. These are the only major goals I have now.

This all seems correct to me. Maybe it will be helpful to you.

In 2021, You Can Marry Anyone, Anywhere

If you’re trying to marry someone you can’t visit because of coronavirus, I have help for you, and it doesn’t matter where you live. I thought I had written about this already, but I can’t find any sign of it.

Utah County, Utah, now allows people to apply for marriage licenses and get married online. They don’t care where you live. You can be in different countries.

Jews have been taking advantage. Israel refused to recognize certain types of marriages performed in Israel, so Israelis started marrying online and then insisting their government approve their unions. This practice became so popular, Israel made an official policy decision to reject Utah marriages.

Utah County’s website will help you get a license by uploading your identification, and it provides email addresses for judges who will perform your ceremony via Zoom. There are also links to officiants who are not judges.

Problem solved.

What if you don’t want to have an online wedding in your pajamas? Iceland will help.

It’s easy to get married in Iceland, but you have to give them proof you’re single. They need a “no impediment” document from every state where you’ve lived since you were 18. In some American states, you can’t get this proof. I have lived in Kentucky, and Kentucky says I can’t have a document because I’m not a current resident. This is an idiotic requirement, but there you go.

The way out: Iceland accepts foreign marriage licenses. You can get a license from Utah County and use it in Iceland. There are probably other countries that will let you do the same thing. I have not checked.

Rhodah and I now have at least two choices. Iceland and Zoom.

It would be nice to get married in person, and I think it’s safe to say a lot of women would flip out if they found out they couldn’t start their marriages with real weddings. Rhodah does not care. As I wrote yesterday, she is strictly low-maintenance.

My only problem with an online wedding is that it will make me feel like I let her down, but as she points out, I didn’t cause the coronavirus problems. And she does expect a big fat ring and a nice honeymoon.

This week, we’ll find out if we can get her into Switzerland, where we would like to honeymoon. If we can do that, we may go ahead and do a Utah marriage. Even if we can’t, we might settle for Cancun. Hope that doesn’t happen.

Why get in a hurry? Because Utah is examining its online marriage process. The window could close. Getting married online can’t hurt us, but delaying might.

I think we should get a license tomorrow, regardless of what we do. Then we can sit back and plan at leisure. We need the license either way.

I have no reservations about marriage at all. You’re supposed to wonder if you’re making the right choice. You’re expected to get cold feet. Not me. I admit, it’s a little scary to know I’ll be responsible for another person, but that’s the extent of my negative emotions.

I’m not asking myself if there is someone better out there. I don’t doubt Rhodah’s sincerity. I don’t worry that she’s going to steal my life savings and turn out to be from Nigeria.

Compared to a fiancee visa, a spouse visa for Rhodah looks like the way to go. It may cost us a couple of extra months, but there is less hassle and less expense, and we will not have to walk on pins and needles when we’re together, for fear of committing sexual sin.

One nice thing about marrying quickly is that it will put yet another barrier between me and my sister. She would no longer be in a position to inherit, and she would have no standing to involve herself in my affairs if I became disabled. I don’t think she would have me killed for money, but I have been wrong about her before. I’m pretty sure that even if she was willing to kill me for money, she wouldn’t kill me simply for getting married and putting her out of contention.

All I have to do is live a few more days.

The fact that these thoughts are in the mind of a rational person says something about how she has lived her life.

What kind of officiant should we get? I have been sorting through them. A religious ceremony would require someone meeting certain standards. I don’t want a gay tree-worshiping pagan. I don’t want a Mormon. I don’t want a woman. He has to be a Christian of some kind.

I think it’s best to have a civil marriage. It counts in God’s eyes, and in a civil marriage, the officiant’s religious beliefs would be irrelevant. I would still want a man, though.

We need two witnesses. My buddy Mike is in. Do I invite all my friends? I can just imagine them, delaying everything while they try to figure out how Zoom works. I think I should pick one other person and let it go.

If you’re struggling to get married, think about Utah. It may be the answer to your prayers.

You Can Keep Your Skinny Jeans

I have wonderful news about my relationship with Rhodah. It turns out we agree about two very important things.

1. Wives should be slender and toned at all times.

2. It’s fine for a husband to be old, fat, flabby, and useless.

I’m holding up my end of the bargain. No one can accuse me of shirking.

Like Mel Brooks said, it’s good to be the king.

Of course, I am going to make an effort to do better. But she really did say no one cares if a man is fat, which is not far from the truth.

Today my friend Mike, who has appointed himself marriage coach, said I should ask Rhodah why she loved me. Rhodah said that was the wrong question. She said I should ask why she chose me. She said that if you can point to reasons why you love someone, the love isn’t real.

I have to agree. If you choose your mate based on one or more known criteria, what happens when he or she no longer measures up? What if your rich man becomes poor or your pretty wife balloons up, which most of them soon do? The thing you actually loved will be gone.

I was thinking about it while she talked, and I realized I don’t have a set of reasons why I love her. I just do. I can think of many wonderful things about her, but I can’t say I love her for this or that reason.

Here’s something God showed me today: if a man and his betrothed have disagreements, it’s not necessarily a sign they shouldn’t marry. Why? Because the Holy Spirit tells everyone the same things. If both of you are connected to him, and you listen to him every day, eventually, any disagreement will be resolved. It depends on how much time you spend with him and whether you’re too proud to listen.

I think contentious marriages are sick. It sets my teeth on edge when abrasive couples grin and talk about their “healthy” arguments. But disagreements about trivial things shouldn’t discourage couples, as long as they stay connected to God.

Our relationship is not contentious. One reason: Rhodah is not high-maintenance or entitled. Many American women have gone insane with feelings of entitlement, which is odd, because they sell themselves more cheaply than ever. A man’s chance of sex on a first date, or even before a first date, is at its historic peak, and continual sex prior to engagement is almost guaranteed, yet increasingly, American women demand insanely expensive weddings with ridiculous requirements.

Why are brides so crazy now? I think one reason may be that they feel they’re being repaid for sex.

Women often complain that men expect sex after paying for expensive meals. Men often complain about spending three figures on food and going to bed alone. Maybe this, along with the bridezilla entitlement syndrome, shows that modern marriage is more about self-interest than love.

I can say I’ve experienced this. I had an improper relationship with a completely unsuitable woman, and on one occasion, she talked about what I owed her, and she said I knew what she was talking about. I didn’t, but I suspected she was referring to a particular sex act she had been providing. I felt she was saying that if she was willing to yield to that extent, it meant I was obligated to marry her.

As a man, I had never thought of things I did for her behind closed doors as services or favors. I was just enjoying myself. Maybe I was the only one who saw what we did as recreation. Maybe she saw it as a paying job.

If a woman believes marriage is a set of transactions that comes with a ledger of credits and debits, then it makes sense that an irrational woman would feel owed after advancing marital services for months or years. The problem with this attitude is that where there is no contract, there is no debt. If you give someone something and pretend you’re doing it out of love, you can’t come back later and present a bill. Free samples are just that. Free. If a lady at the grocery store gives me a free egg roll on a toothpick, she can’t chase me down in the parking lot and make me buy a whole box.

The bills seem to keep coming, though, all over America and other parts of the First World. You can go to Reddit and give yourself eyestrain, reading about insane women tormenting grooms, relatives, and friends with demands that would make Caligula seem reasonable.

“If you want to be a bridesmaid, you’re not allowed to talk about your pregnancy, because it would take attention away from me.” “My bridesmaids can’t wear makeup, because I have to be the prettiest one there.” Actual quotation, about gifts: “Any clothes OVER $400 from Calvin Klein, Moschino, or Nora’s.”

One viral bride demanded $1500 from each guest so she could fly everyone to Aruba for a wedding.

The most I recall spending for a wedding gift is $140 (law school friend), and I thought that was ample. Vogue says $99 is fine unless you’re a close relative.

The weird thing about bridezillas is that so many go after innocent parties. If you sold sexual services to your boyfriend, why would you charge your sorority sister?

Another big problem American husbands complain about is a sudden end to sexual activity after marriage. Here’s the truth, plain and simple: if you don’t want intimacy with your husband, you don’t love him. You can’t stay away from a person you really love. Even at times when you’re not in the mood, you’ll show some consideration because you want to be good to someone you care about. If your husband were an invalid, you wouldn’t refuse to change his diaper because you weren’t in the mood. If he had cancer, you wouldn’t refuse to take him for chemotherapy because you weren’t in the mood. Somehow, sex is different?

Don’t claim you can’t have sex when you don’t feel like it. I can do it, and so can anyone else. It’s a simple courtesy.

Anyway, American women have a reputation for narcissism and selfishness these days. It’s very pleasant not to have to deal with that, especially in the time of coronavirus, when arranging a wedding with a foreigner is very hard.

Rhodah doesn’t care if we have an online wedding. She doesn’t care if it’s just us and a judge or preacher. She isn’t concerned about gifts. Why should she be? My kitchen is stocked with equipment, and we’ll be furnishing the house when she gets here. We don’t need a collection of doodads from Pottery Barn.

Rhodah never says I haven’t shown that I love her. She hasn’t asked me for all of my Internet passwords. She doesn’t tell me I have to eat what she eats. She never says I don’t do enough for her. She doesn’t fish for compliments. She doesn’t say things to make me feel bad about myself, in order to manipulate me. She doesn’t hang up or run away to punish me for disagreeing with her. She has never given me what modern men call a “sh__ test.”

I have written about this kind of test before. A cleaned-up version of the phrase is “poop test.” A poop test is deliberate mistreatment intended to determine exactly how much abuse a man will put up with. That’s not a complete definition. It’s also a way to establish dominance. It’s a way of making a man understand that if he wants sex, he will give up his self-respect and his integrity.

Women like this turn marriage into a game. A game is a competition. You can’t compete with someone if you’re on the same team. Aren’t you supposed to be on your husband’s team?

“Running hot and cold” is an example of a poop test. One day, a woman is all over a man. He’s the man of her dreams. He can do no wrong. The next day, she ignores his phone calls. She lets him drift for several days. Then she turns the hot water back on. She calls and asks where he’s been. He’s her dreamboat again. Then the pattern repeats.

Ultimatums are poop tests. “If we can’t agree on this, we may have to break up.” The last time a woman did this to me, I took her up on it, and her world was destroyed. I was more important to her than she was to me. She was expecting me to do anything to keep her, but I was already thinking about cutting the cord, so she picked a bad time. She should have been looking at herself and trying to make herself a better candidate.

Rhodah doesn’t have a list. “We have to live here, in a house that looks like this, with that kind of furniture, and we have to have this many kids, and we have to have them before I’m this old, and you have to be this tall, and your eyes have to be that color, and we have to have this kind of car…” None of that. Many, many American men have wives with lists. The men are just list items. They’re not leaders. They can be replaced.

In law school, I ran around with a girl who had a list. She said she was looking for a German man, which sounds crazy, but she meant it. A German man, in Miami. If not German, then maybe Scandinavian. Like she was picking out a couch.

She had other requirements. She would be about 46 now, and a quick Google suggests she’s still single. If so, it’s a shame. She was generally a very pleasant person, and I’m sure she could have landed a good man. She was very selfish and spoiled, though, and she could not accept correction.

She wasn’t a looker, but she wanted one. That’s a hard requirement to fill, for women. The world is full of happy couples in which the woman looks better than the man, but men generally marry women who look at least as good as they do.

She said she would consider me if she didn’t get what she wanted by a certain time. That was not an offer I could accept. I spent time with her anyway because we really enjoyed each other’s company, and I rarely ran into anyone I wanted to date. I got fed up with her selfishness one day and decided I didn’t even want to accompany her as a friend while I looked for someone else. I sent her an email explaining this. That was in 2004, and there has been no communication between us since.

I’m not saying she should have dated me. That would have been a disaster for me. But I think her entitlement made her a permanent spinster.

I would have dated her had God opened the door. I’m so glad he looked out for me. I was not capable of choosing a good wife. I didn’t know what a good wife was. Now that I have Rhodah, it seems obvious. God had to show me.

I didn’t know what a good marriage was. I had never seen one. Not one. Not in person. I had seen lasting marriages, but not good marriages.

My parents had a terrible marriage. All of my aunts and uncles had bad marriages. My grandparents had two bad marriages, and then my widowed grandmother married a man who was good to her but not a soulmate. My sister could not get a man to stay near her long enough to marry. Among my 6 cousins on my mother’s side, I can think of 6 divorces, with some multiples. I believe a 7th is in the works. One husband died very young, so it’s impossible to know how the marriage would have worked out.

Actually, I do know two marriages that don’t seem too bad. I had forgotten about them. They’re charismatics, though, and they try to stay close to God.

If you want compatibility, both man and wife have to have the Holy Spirit, and they have to let him order things. That’s the key. Even most Spirit-baptized Christians don’t listen to him, though. I hope Rhodah and I will always listen.

I am continuing to research marriage and immigration. More and more, online marriage looks good. It’s not as pretty as conventional weddings, but there is a certain romance to it. Two people faced with enormous obstacles abandon convention and use the Internet to elope electronically. Then they jet off to a beautiful location for a long honeymoon with no distractions. It would make a nice story for the future.

Coronavirus Makes the World Very Small

I appreciate the kind words I received after writing about the unnecessary, preventable death of my gentle little friend Maynard. Thanks, everyone who left a comment.

Things are slowly getting better, but I have waves of grief when I’m not busy doing things. The life of an animal can’t be as important as the life of a person, but you can certainly love an animal more than a person and grieve harder when he dies. These things are particularly true when you know your errors helped cause the death.

Marvin, my other bird, doesn’t miss Maynard at all. Not one bit. They lived next to each other for 25 years, and Marvin didn’t bond with him in the slightest way. That’s a blessing. I wouldn’t want to see him pull his feathers out because he was lonely.

He likes certain people, so it’s surprising he never felt anything for Maynard. Nothing positive, I mean. When he was young, he assumed Maynard liked him, but Maynard bit him as a reward for his advances. I guess Marv took the hint. Maynard was originally very friendly to other birds, but my first African grey, Frank, was nasty to him and changed him.

Marvin actually seems happier now. His attachment to me seems stronger. He becomes very emotional when I take him out of the cage. I didn’t see that coming.

Bird maintenance is easier now. One cage to clean. One poop tray to empty. Two dishes to clean, instead of four. No looking at the clock when Marvin is out, to make sure I leave time for Maynard. Every time I notice these things, I feel sad.

I feel sad when I bless Marvin at night. I used to decree that God was ending his hatred of Maynard. I don’t have to do that now. When I pray for God’s protection over me and all I have, I don’t have to say, “Marvin and Maynard” any more. Just “Marvin.”

Maynard’s death was made more painful because I had spent a lot of time using the birds to help me project love into the world. I didn’t have a wife or kids, so I made a special effort to pour love into the birds, just to open up the channel. I would hold them against my face and focus love on them. I asked them if they felt loved. I guess they thought I was crazy. From being near God, I knew love poured from him, and I believed it should pour from us, too, so I didn’t hold back. That left me more open to grief.

Maynard was not one to resist affection. Sometimes I held him against my face as long as I could, just to see how long he would stand for it. He didn’t protest at all. I always gave in first. He was happy to be held and loved for as long as I could manage it.

I would say I feel somewhat worse than I did when my dad died. I’m not sure. If so, it’s probably because my dad made his own bed, I tried to do right by him, his death was expected, and we were together at the end so I could say what I wanted to say. Maynard died young, I wasn’t as good to him as I wanted to be, his death was mostly my fault, and he was killed in a locked room in a veterinary hospital, where he could not see, hear, or feel me.

So much for that.

Today I’m working on arranging my marriage. The coronavirus picture keeps changing. Suddenly, it’s possible for Rhodah and me to go to countries that were locking us out a week or two ago. To my surprise, I found that even places like France and Switzerland were available.

We were thinking of Iceland, but I ran into what seemed like a roadblock. “Stronghold” is the word that will pop into the minds of Christians.

To marry in Iceland, you have to produce proof you’re not married already. In many countries, it’s simple to get what is called a “no impediment” certificate. Rhodah already has one. In the US, the federal government does not provide them, and many states don’t offer them, either. It’s stupid, because marrying abroad is not very unusual.

I researched a lot, and the best information I found said Florida would not give me a certificate. I contacted Iceland, and although the people who corresponded with me responded at length, they were not that helpful. They didn’t answer the questions I actually asked. They told me what they thought I should know.

I can understand that. People from Northern Europe can be very rigid. It’s a fact of life. I’ve dealt with it before.

Iceland said it would accept documents from every state I’ve lived in since I was 18, saying a search had been performed, and that nothing had come up. Having lived in several states, I was not happy about this. I started looking at state websites and making calls.

It turns out New York will give me a document, even though their website clearly says it’s impossible. I also ordered one from another state. A third state doesn’t answer the phone, so I left a message.

Regrettably, I didn’t check Florida first. Their website is not great, but when I called, they directed me to a page where I was able to download a form ordering a certificate proving my single status.

This means the money I sent Texas was wasted. On top of that, they take up to 25 business days. Now I have to try to cancel. They even provide apostilles which are tailored to various countries.

I will ship the Florida application out today, and I should have my marriage-ready document in maybe 2 weeks.

Iceland is looking good.

Before I got help from Florida, I was looking for alternatives. Gibraltar’s website seemed to indicate that they would accept Rhodah as a tourist, and they would also let us marry using an affidavit from me, notarized in Gibraltar. I started planning a trip.

Gibraltar is too tiny to hold much interest, so I thought we might take trains up into Europe. We can go to Spain, France, and Switzerland right now, unless I’ve misunderstood things. Right now you can check different “authoritative” sites and get differing information on coronavirus restrictions. I thought we could hit Marseille and then spend some time in Lucerne, where I spent part of a summer when I was in high school.

The first time I visited Lucerne, I fell in love with a cheerleader named Debbie. She seemed to be on board briefly, and then she started running around with a guy who played football in Calera, Alabama. I thought the world had collapsed. I thought love was supposed to be forever.

Of course, this girl was wrong for me. There was no way she could have been a good wife. I was young, though, and no one had taught me anything at all about women and marriage. I really believed God would put a boy of 16 and a girl of 14 together for life.

I didn’t eat for 13 days. I lost weight. I didn’t move fast enough when the cheerleader’s roommate showed interest. On the night before we left Europe, she asked me to dance and planted her lips on mine. I flew home on a high note, but I wished I had done something instead of waiting.

Visiting Lucerne with my new wife would feel like a victory lap.

Today I learned that Gibraltar is not accepting Zambians after all. That kills my plan. Maybe we should marry in Iceland and then fly to the continent for our honeymoon. Iceland looks great, but I can’t imagine spending more than a few days there.

Missing Spain will be a bonus. I’ve heard enough Spanish for a lifetime, and there is something dark about Spanish and Hispanic culture. It has a similar feel to Muslim culture, which should not be a surprise, given that Spaniards and Hispanics have so much Arab blood.

Spain is bigger than it looks on a map, so getting out would have taken at least two days.

I was disappointed to learn that the trains in Europe had changed. I knew there were fast new trains in Europe, but I didn’t know how common they were. I had been hoping for comfortable cruising on the nice, old-fashioned trains I remembered from over 30 years ago. It looks like Star Trek trains are all over the place now. You zip along at 200 mph in a double-decker car.

I’m not interested in speed. I enjoy watching the countryside roll by. I liked stopping in little towns and leaning out the windows to buy food from vendors. I guess those days are ending, except maybe in America, which has a backward passenger rail system.

I suppose a person can drive in Europe. Maybe we could fly to Marseille and drive through the alps. The gasoline would probably cost hundreds of dollars.

Jeremy Clarkson says Switzerland is like hell for drivers. The speed limits on many roads are very low, and being the kind of people they are, the Swiss enforce them. It’s strange the Germans don’t have the same policy. Maybe the highway is the only place where Germans can cut loose. But for the Swiss speed limits, people like Clarkson would probably spend every weekend in the alps, driving Porsches into guard rails.

My two favorite hangouts in Lucerne–Fugi’s restaurant and Pickwick’s Pub–appear to be gone. Fugi’s had nice, fatty Swiss food, which I liked. Pickwick’s was where I learned to drink way too much beer, at the age of 16.

I have looked at restaurants online, in Lucerne and other European cities, and I have been disappointed. Many, many places are full of the same nouveau garbage they serve in America. Cold kale and blue corn soup with locally-sourced squid ears. News flash, Europeans: no one goes to your countries to eat pretentious food they can get at home. They want the food your parents ate. I’ll have to screen restaurants in advance in order to avoid being buried in Gordon-Ramsay-wannabee gastronomic science projects.

Food doesn’t actually have to be creative to be good. A rib eye steak, prepared correctly, is still as wonderful as it would have been in 1905. In fact, most restaurants prepare steaks and other simple foods badly, after centuries of practice. It’s still a big deal to walk into a restaurant and get a perfect steak, a fluffy baked potato, and a proper martini without disgusting olive juice in it. I’ll bet I would have to drive 90 miles to get that meal, unless I wanted to cook.

Update

It’s frustrating, trying to get solid information on travel, especially for Zambians, because no one really cares whether they get to go anywhere. I have three sources for information on Switzerland. One says Rhodah will have to quarantine for 7 days. That’s no good. Another, the official Swiss travel information site, claims she does not have to quarantine at all. My third source, the Swiss government, has not responded to the email I sent.

France doesn’t look good. One source says Rhodah would have to quarantine for a week. I would not. I’m not sure why a vaccinated Zambian has to be treated differently from a vaccinated American. We get the same shots. Is the delta variant more likely to accompany a Zambian? I don’t know.

I just found a claim that Iceland has a 5-day quarantine requirement, but it sort of looks like it only applies to unvaccinated people. I see indications that if you’re vaccinated, you only have to quarantine until you get the result of a post-flight test.

Maybe we can marry in Iceland and then fly to Switzerland so we can honeymoon in a more pleasant location. I’ll have to delay applying for proof that I’m single until I know where we’re going.

My friends Alonzo and Teri have announced that they want to come. That will make for an interesting trip. I never thought they would want to spend that much.

Anyway, God will get us married one way or another. Getting the answers is a challenge, but it’s a nice problem to have.

Hope You’re Bathing in Love and Joy

This is a very sad day for me. Last night, my little friend Maynard, who called himself “Main Bird,” among other things, passed away at the University of Florida’s small animal hospital.

Sorry I don’t have a newer or better photo on this computer.

Maynard was a citron-crested cockatoo. He hatched on April 2, 1991, and he was with me from June of that year until last night. He was gentle (with me, anyway) and full of love. He lived for his times with me. He used to groom my skin and comb my hair with his feet.

I had no business buying Maynard. People make bad decisions when they’re out of touch with God. I had bought Frank, an African grey parrot, and I thought he needed companionship. Maynard loved Frank and tried to make friends, but Frank hated Maynard from the instant he saw him, so my plan didn’t work out. I had to keep them separate in order to prevent bloodshed. Eventually, they cooperated to make contact through the bars of separate cages, and Maynard bit Frank’s toe so badly he bled to death. After Frank, Maynard lost his friendliness to other birds.

I shouldn’t have bought Maynard for the simple reason that citron-crested cockatoos do not make good pets. Like many other cockatoo species, they have an insatiable desire for interaction and petting. You can never give them enough. Unless you dedicate your life to making your cockatoo happy, he will eventually become sad and dejected. When you take him out of his cage for love, he will brighten up, but the second you put him back in, he’ll feel rejected. You can improve the situation somewhat by providing toys and music and so on, but you can’t make things right.

My other bird, Marvin, is an African grey. He’s very different. He amuses himself all day, and he doesn’t mind if you spend time away from him.

Another problem is that a cockatoo that is cared for well should be good for 50 years, and he might hit 80. Even if you’re the best bird buddy on earth, can you commit to looking after an animal for most of a century?

I bought Maynard, and I found out how hard he was to please. Then I was stuck with him, so I kept him out because it was my duty. I could have sold him, but I knew most cockatoos got worse care than he did. I was afraid I would make things worse for him.

He was never consistently happy, but we had good times. I took him out every day and massaged him for long periods. I am probably immune to all types of bird microbes because I kissed his feathers so much. He used to get so flustered, he would shake with emotion. He would grab me with a foot and refuse to let go.

He never had a health problem until shortly before he died. He started chewing his feathers a few years back, and he also got fat and had to have his diet changed, but he was always strong and full of energy.

When I went to Egypt to meet Rhodah, I put Maynard and Marvin in a boarding facility. When I picked them up, Maynard had lost a lot of weight, and he had diarrhea. I started calling around, trying to find an avian vet. Some said they weren’t accepting new patients. Some offered appointments in the distant future. Maynard’s appetite was good, and his weight bounced back very quickly. He was active, and he looked reasonably happy. I decided to give him a few days.

When I got him to a vet, she took blood and poop samples. This was last Friday. She said he didn’t look too thin, and she was not concerned about his condition. She told me she would get his test results yesterday. Her office called yesterday, and they said his white cell count was high, so he needed an antibiotic.

I thought I would run over to her office and pick up the medicine, but they said they were having it shipped from Arizona. I thought that was ridiculous. He still had diarrhea.

He still seemed strong, though, so I didn’t worry. I decided I would take him to a different vet the next day.

Last night, I picked him up, and I could tell something had left him. He was limp. His beak was open. I offered him cheese–his favorite food–and he barely nibbled at it.

I put him in the car and drove him to the University of Florida, about an hour away. The whole time, I was praying for him and commanding him to be healed.

I had his test results with me, so I thought I would hand him over to the vets, they would give me antibiotics, and we would leave him alone while they worked. Instead, they insisted on examining him. That’s what killed him. He couldn’t take the stress of being handled by strangers while I was separated from him.

While I was sitting in the waiting room, I got a phone call. They didn’t even come out to face me. He had only been in the exam room a few minutes. They told me they had bad news.

I was surprised by the way the conversation went after they said he had died. They offered to do a necropsy, and they said it would cost $800. I like to think they weren’t squeezing a grieving pet owner for money, but it sure looked that way. Why would anyone want a pet necropsy, and why would it cost so much? I declined. They said they could cremate him for $60 and keep the ashes, or they could put them in a box for me and charge $140. I chose the first option. I did not want to see his ashes. I did not want to take his body or his ashes home in a box. I didn’t want to bury him on my land. I didn’t want to think of him every time I passed his grave.

I left his travel cage with them. I didn’t need it.

I drove home alone, and I saw a very strange moon down by the horizon. It was a three-quarter moon, and it was orange. The color was similar to that of a lunar eclipse. Horizontal bands of dirty-looking clouds lay across its face.

The moon looked like the devil himself was inside it, sending the world evil in the form of ugly clouds. It made me think about the tribulation.

If the rapture is near, then Satan’s time is just about over. The word says he will be imprisoned for a millennium, and then he will be released briefly to tempt the earth. We may be in his last months or years. He must be furious and ready to pull out all the stops. The word says he will be angry because his time is short. If the tribulation is near, Maynard won’t have to go through it.

Back at the house, I took Maynard’s toys out of his cage, along with a couple of perches, and I put them in a trash bag, along with the plastic bag that had been lining his poop tray. I pushed his cage into my foyer so I would be ready to roll it into my truck. I want to throw it out. I could give it away, but people here are very slow to answer ads, and I don’t want to walk past the cage every day for a month.

I was in a lot of pain, but I thanked God. Honestly, I think he rejected my prayers because Maynard didn’t have a very good life. The Bible shows that there are animals in heaven. Maybe Maynard is there now. Maybe he’s with my parents. In any case, he’s not stuck here, living an unsatisfying life and feeling rejected.

As much as I loved Maynard, I have to say that his passing will be helpful in some ways. He was a burden. Because I could not let my birds get near each other, I had to repeat things every day. I had to clean two cages. I had to take each bird out for a long time. I had to concern myself with two different diets. I had to buy multiple toys. Now I just have one bird to think about, so I’ll be able to do better by him.

Marvin senses emotions. He has been very gentle and solicitous today. I hope he won’t miss Maynard. I don’t think he will. They were jealous of each other, and they didn’t interact much.

I don’t want another parrot, so I hope Marv doesn’t need a companion.

On the drive home, I thought about my life. I realized I was very tired of death. My parents are dead. Three of my five aunts are dead. Three of my five uncles are dead. My grandparents are dead. Last year, I lost my young friend Travis to a gunshot wound. It was only a year after my father, whom I was caring for, died. Now Maynard is gone.

It’s discouraging.

Many years ago, I spent 4 months on a kibbutz, where volunteers came and went. I planned to spend a year, but I changed my mind. I was tired of seeing my friends leave. I made friends quickly, we spent a lot of time together, we made great memories, and then they vanished. When your life is like that, you may make an adaptation. You may stop making friends. The knowledge that anyone you befriend will be gone soon will discourage you.

Until last night, I never thought about this principle applying to life as a whole.

My remaining relatives are as distant as strangers. I have no wife. I have no children. I have friends, but most live far away. Right now, my fiancee is the only person I have to live for. If it weren’t for her, I would be glad to go. Someone would snap Marvin up. I don’t have to worry about him. My friends would mourn, but not very intensely.

I enjoy life, but how long does a rational person want to stay on this cursed planet, especially when the spirit of Antichrist has rendered so many people insane?

I wish Rhodah had been with me yesterday. Times like these are what husbands and wives are made for.

While I drove, I also thought about the need to streamline my life. I have all sorts of hobby junk. I have a huge tool collection, lots of guns, and many musical instruments I no longer use. The more excited I get about marriage, the less interested I am in maintaining my old pursuits. I feel like my possessions weigh me down. I’m even wondering if I should leave this house and get a property that needs less maintenance.

My next-door neighbors moved away over a year ago. They sold their big house and bought an RV. They planned to drive around ministering to people. I would never live in a vehicle, but I understand their motivation. How much can you do for God when you’re glued to tractors, guns, tools, and so on?

My yard is a real mess. I don’t feel motivated to improve it. It’s very hard to battle weeds and pests here, and growing good things is nearly impossible, even if you replace the sand with real soil. It would be nice to have a place covered in woods, with maybe 5 acres of easier-to-maintain grass.

Maybe I invested in hobbies and activities because I had no wife and no kids.

Do I feel like I want to get rid of things because, in my heart, I’m getting ready for death? I just got back from Egypt, where people prepared for death by stuffing tombs with things to take with them. I think they took the wrong approach.

The most painful thoughts I had involved my failings. In some ways, I am a contemptible person. Friends will deny it, but I know what I know. My character deficits have hurt people and animals unnecessarily, and I couldn’t do much to stop it. I can’t undo any of it. All I can do is thank God for redemption.

I feel bad today. I recognize that. I know most of what I feel now will dissipate. I know better than to make decisions based on the way I feel one day after the death of a pet I loved for 30 years. But some changes may be coming. Things may be sold.

I let Maynard down. I mismanaged his medical care when he needed me, and it killed him. That will be hard to get over. I also let him down while he was healthy. I trapped him in a situation that could never work out well. For years, I’ve been praying for God to help me do better by him, and I thought maybe it would happen once I had a wife here to help me. I can forget that now. At least I can refrain from making the same mistake a fourth time. No more pets. I’ve never bought a pet out of anything but selfishness.

I’m grateful for all the times I did things right. I’m glad I let him walk around on me and try to help me with his painful grooming routine. I’m glad I kissed him so much. I’m grateful for all the times I held him and loved him until he shook with gratitude. I’m grateful for every dollar I spent on him to make things better for him.

That’s it. His earthly problems are over. If pets have an afterlife, maybe there will be some redemption, in a place where time means nothing and creatures are good to each other for so long, they can’t remember anything else.

All I Wanted was to Buy a Nice Wife

The Zambian fiancee and I continue to work on formalizing our relationship and importing her permanently.

Previous research suggested the best thing was to try to get a K-1 or “fiancee” visa. They let you bring your fiancee to the US for 90 days, and during that time, you must get married. After that, you have to file for a green card and permission for your new spouse to stay in the US for two more years.

I had read that K-1 visas were better than spouse visas because they took less time. Having looked deeper into it, I am hearing that the time difference is very small. I thought a K-1 was the way to go, but now we are thinking of changing our plans.

If we marry in another country, we will no longer have to be concerned about male/female sin. We won’t have to worry about separate beds and rooms. That would be a big plus, because marriage with limited intimacy is a strain. We wouldn’t be united permanently right away, but we would have considerably more liberty during pre-immigration visits.

So where should we marry? Right now we’re considering Iceland.

You may wonder why Iceland came up. It’s pretty simple. There are very few non-Muslim countries that will take us in right now, within reasonable flight times from our homes, where we can marry without excessive red tape. Even Mexico requires things like chest x-rays. Iceland demands a pile of papers you can file in advance, and that’s about it.

Malta and Mexico are available as rendezvous locations, and we will probably need a few of those while we wait for Rhodah to be issued her visa. Iceland is not a good place to visit except in warm seasons, so if we choose to go, we should do it before the end of September. That, along with the possibility of a trouble-free wedding, makes it a good choice for our next stop.

What’s in Iceland? I don’t know much about it. Volcanoes and glaciers, I’ve heard. People who have been there say great things about it, so I am satisfied that it will work for us. It won’t be as dirty or hot as Egypt, and there will be real stores and restaurants serving things other than traditional Arab food, so it’s looking pretty good to both of us. I’ll be honest. After Egypt, just about any clean, peaceful place with normal access to food and merchandise would look great.

I heard from my friend Mike yesterday, and when I told him we were considering Iceland, he was surprised. He and his girlfriend are planning a trip there. Now we may have to make it a double date. They wanted to go to Paris, but there were various issues, and somehow he came up with Iceland.

They would not be able to stay as long as we would, but they would be around for a little over three days. That ought to be fun. Then we would be alone together, and that would also be fun.

I talked to Mike about the women he knows who are suspicious of Rhodah, and I’ll tell you my sexist conclusion, which is nonetheless correct. I don’t blame them for thinking she just wants a green card. Why? Because they’re women, and women understand women. They are used to seeing other women deceive men. They hear what women say about men when men aren’t around. A big percentage of women would lie to a man about a green card, paternity, love, attraction, or any number of other important issues. It’s no wonder they assume Rhodah is up to no good.

Men get what they want through their careers. Many women do the same thing, but many others achieve their goals by manipulating men they’re not attracted to. It’s an ancient truth.

Iceland requires a strange document from people looking to marry. You have to have a certificate stating that you’re not married already. In the US, many jurisdictions don’t provide these. It appears the answer is to swear an affidavit, notarize it locally, and then get an apostille, which is like an international notarization. Whatever. I’m working on it. Zambia issues the required certificate, so Rhodah’s job is easier.

When all this is done, we may have to wait a year for a visa. Should I give up on Rhodah and look for an American? Of course not. Women are not fungible. I can find an American bride, but I can’t find an American Rhodah. I’ll just have to wait. Thank God I can pay for occasional visits.

I’m going to start looking up restaurants, hotels, and things to do in Iceland. Mike wants an AirBnB. I don’t get that. In a hotel, they clean up after you, and they provide room service. In somebody else’s second home, that would all be on me and Rhodah. Mike says he wants a kitchen. I can’t really see myself going to a weird Icelandic grocery and then trying to cook on someone else’s hopeless foreign rental cookware.

Imagine the kind of cooking equipment people leave in their houses for tourists. It can’t be good.

Rhodah is also against AirBnB. She says you go to a foreign country to try their food, not yours. Like me, she wants room service and maids.

I don’t want the homey feeling of someone else’s house. I want to avoid it. I like the cold, impersonal cleanliness of hotels. I want to know the toilets are clean, everything has been dusted, and no one’s heart will be broken if I break a glass or leave a stain on a carpet or towel.

Nothing is set in stone now, but it’s possible we could be married in a little over a month. How about that? Until today, I didn’t see it happening that soon. Marriage will open up new questions I wasn’t thinking much about. How does God feel about birth control? Should we risk having Rhodah carry and bear a child in Zambia, even if the risk is small?

Here’s a question: do I want to risk having a child who is not an American?

America has an idiotic law which says any person born on our soil is a citizen. It makes no sense, and it encourages hostile foreign women to come here to have children. It originally came from English common law. The idea was that the British king wanted to rule over everyone born in his kingdom. Why the Founding Fathers, with their leftist, sovereign-hating bent, allowed this ridiculous time bomb of a law to be adopted is beyond me. Maybe they felt America needed to build up its population.

As a result of the internal conflict over slavery, the Fourteenth Amendment reiterated the common law principle. Now we’re stuck with it.

Even the children of illegal aliens are citizens, as long as they’re born here. Unbelievably, however, there is no blanket law that makes the children of Americans citizens. Some children born abroad are citizens, and some have to apply for citizenship. I suppose this shouldn’t surprise anyone, since birthright citizenship was originally intended to help the state at the expense of the people. Maybe it makes sense that the law isn’t always helpful to us.

It sort of looks like my children would be citizens, because their mother and I would be married. A State Department release says the foreign-born child of at least one American citizen is considered a citizen at birth, as long as his parents are married. A press release isn’t the same thing as a legal opinion, however, so I don’t know how reliable this one is.

It boils down to this: marriage is not a lovers’ paradise, free of all earthly cares. I had lost sight of this well-known fact. I was thinking mostly about the other aspects of marriage. I thought I should have a partner in life. I wasn’t focused on generating my own tribe.

New blessings always bring new challenges. Like Rosanne Roseannadanna said, it’s always something.

I hope to post exciting news some time between now and the end of September.

Women Root for Zambian Fiancee and Me…to Fail

It’s a strangely cool, overcast day here in Northern Florida, and for some reason, when I walk outside, I smell burning coal. Wonder what’s up with that.

Today Rhodah and I worked on the ill-conceived government form that will eventually lead to her getting a fiancee visa. I hate government forms. It seems like they never work. They ask questions that have no answers, or the answers can’t be determined by a normal person with normal resources, or the answers won’t fit in the tiny boxes.

The single biggest obstacle to my marriage is a series of boxes in which I’m supposed to write Rhodah’s current and former addresses. Zambian addresses don’t fit in American boxes. A typical American address has three lines. First line: the recipient’s name. Second line: a street, a house or building number, and maybe an apartment number. Third line: city, state, ZIP. A Zambian address can have an infinite number of lines, and instead of a logical model involving a number and a street name, it may say something like, “Corner of Mboogoo Boulevard and Mumbweezi Drive, Third Floor.”

We are trying to jam the addresses into the form as well as we can. I think the answer is to append some pages and use them to write out addresses just the way Zambians do.

I don’t know what the government plans to do with these addresses. Rhodah says you can’t look Zambians up by their past addresses. They sort of wander from place to place without leaving much of a record.

Some time tomorrow, I expect to come up with a final version of the form. Then we’ll send it wherever it has to go, with however much money the government wants.

In the meantime, we are getting cynical comments from the meow chorus.

My friend Mike has told his friends about Rhoda and me, and that means the friends’ wives know. The ladies have decided Rhoda is a) too young, and b) too pretty for me. They think this proves she’s a gold-digger. Their theory appears to be that I will learn my lesson soon. I guess they think God will show me I should have married someone bitter and old.

This is exactly what I expected to hear from older American women. I should also add that it’s music to my ears. What man wouldn’t want to hear that his fiancee was too young and pretty for him?

Here’s a funny thing about modern life: for about 60 years, people with heads full of manure have been telling us not to believe things which are clearly true. Want to learn about men, women, and marriage? Don’t watch Jerry Springer or Dr. Phil. Don’t watch Oprah. She’s about 70 and still hasn’t been able to squeeze a proposal or a family out of her boyfriend. Instead, watch an episode of Leave it to Beaver or I Love Lucy. People used to know how human beings thought and felt. They used to know what worked. Modern people are stupid by comparison. They can’t even figure out what sex they are.

Here’s an old-timey, sexist generalization which is true: American women tend to feel entitled. They also tend to be highly mercenary. They tend to be misandrists. This is why so many American men are interested in foreign women.

I used to joke about marrying a foreign girl. I said I would to go a Thai bride website and place an order for delivery. In retrospect, I should have been serious about it. I knew the pool of American women was not the best place to fish, but I didn’t have the courage of my convictions, so I didn’t take the plunge and look abroad, to countries where women actually like men and want them to assume their proper roles in marriage.

About three months ago, I signed up for an interracial dating site, and after about a week had passed, I had met a wonderful Zambian woman, and I already felt it was likely we would be married. I suppose that makes me sound like a desperate man who would dash down the aisle with the first woman who winked at me, but that’s not true. If it were true, I wouldn’t be single at my advanced age. I have rejected a large number of women over the years, and that includes women who were attractive and who would have seemed like good catches to most men. I have been lonely and discouraged at times, but I have never been desperate. When I came across Rhodah, I didn’t think, “This may be my last chance; I better do whatever she wants.” I thought, “This is exactly what I’ve been waiting for. This is effortless. This time, I am not going to run.”

I opened the door to foreign women, and a keeper jumped right into my lap, right away. Maybe it’s a lesson for other American men.

There are a lot of success stories out there, coming from American men and foreign women. Failure stories are a lot less common. You can find a lot of American men out there, praising their foreign girls. There aren’t that many men complaining that they were duped and used. Something to think about.

Anyway, here is some more non-woke, old-fashioned wisdom about women. First, they all hate each other. This is really true, although I guess I exaggerate a little. Women are extremely competitive when it comes to men, and they resent other women who might land the fish they want. They take it very, very personally. They harbor white-hot malice toward the competition. Women will actually mourn when male celebrities get married; men are not like that. Second, they also resent it when men who belong to “their” dating pool start to look into other pools. It makes them feel threatened and powerless. They tend to feel the men are breaking an unwritten rule; unwritten because it doesn’t exist.

If you marry a foreign women, American women who find out about it are likely to be angry at both of you and to wish you the worst. If your wife is younger and better-looking than they are, it’s even worse. Your wife becomes a gold-digging tramp, and you become a pathetic, delusional fathead who prefers denial to admitting no attractive woman could ever want him.

No one will ever tell you you’re unattractive in order to help you. It’s always manipulation.

Here’s a truth many people, male and female, will not want to hear: fierce attraction and intense love between dissimilar people are as common as dirt. Here’s another truth: if someone who doesn’t want you takes up with a person who is more attractive than you, and then things don’t work out, it won’t make you more attractive to the person who rejected you.

If you’re unattractive to me, it’s not because women who are more attractive exist. It’s because you’re unattractive to me. If everyone else in the world disappeared, I would still not want to marry you. I would work with you in order to survive. We could live close to each other in individual post-apocalyptic shelters. I still wouldn’t want to see the inside of your bedroom.

I always think of Budweiser when I think of women. If all beer production ended except for the production of Budweiser, I wouldn’t start drinking it. I would quit drinking beer forever, because Budweiser is disgusting. Having no beer at all is much better than drinking Budweiser. I’m not going to marry Budweiser just because I can’t get Guinness.

A wife isn’t a necessity, like food. When good food isn’t available, you will eventually get so desperate, you will be thrilled to eat things like cockroaches and lizards. It doesn’t work that way with women. When an attractive woman isn’t available, you still won’t want the unattractive ones.

You shouldn’t resent other people over their romantic desires. It’s none of your business. You should try to get what you want instead of telling other people what they should want.

May-September romances have existed since the creation of man. There is nothing abnormal about them. What’s abnormal is hoping two people who love each other will divorce in misery, just so you can think God punished the husband for not wanting you or your type.

Rhodah is wonderful. I love her without reservation. We get along beautifully. We have the same beliefs. We enjoy the same things. The bond of affection between us is very powerful. I can’t go into detail without getting into TMI territory, but our relationship overflows with warmth and a desire to be close.

I hit the jackpot. People who live in a different reality–people who didn’t let God choose their mates–will think we’re lying to ourselves, because that’s what they would have to do in order to end up in a situation like ours. They would have mates God didn’t select, so they would have trouble, and that’s what they expect us to have. The reality of blessed people is not like the reality of the cursed, so when they interpret our circumstances according to their paradigm, they’re wrong. As the book of John says, “the light shineth in the darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not.”

I’m not watching my step. I’m not pacing myself. I’m not hanging onto an insurance policy. When I hold her, I hold her, all the way. I don’t think about betrayal and alimony. I let my cares go. When you see what you want, you know it.

Now that I’m an official “swirler,” meaning a person involved in a black-white relationship, I’m learning stuff. One thing of interest: marriages between black women and white men are the most stable kind. The divorce rate is very low. On the other hand, black men and white women are more likely than average to divorce.

Why is this? I think it may be because black women are the most feminine women, and white men are the most masculine men. Masculinity and femininity are drawn to each other. They complement each other. Some people might argue that Asian women are the most feminine, but they tend to have a hard edge, and they can be emasculating. Some may say black men are the most masculine, but think about it: they are more likely to let women support them, they are much less likely to stick around and be real fathers, they tend to have a feminine obsession with their appearance, and in relationships, they expect to be pursued. White men are more likely to pursue wives, marry their women, raise their kids, pay the bills, and protect their families. This is just fact.

When black women let their femininity out, it’s almost overpowering.

I don’t think anyone is unaware that white men are looking for women who will let them be masculine, and I know for a fact that black women are looking for men who will let them relax and be feminine. If you look around, you will find them online, complaining that they have to be masculine in order to survive. They hate it.

Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but it’s true, and it’s interesting: white men who marry black women tend to get women who are very attractive, but black men who marry white women tend to end up with ladies whose beauty isn’t their long suit. I don’t know why this is true, but it is. If you go to Youtube and search for videos about interracial couples, you’ll see one beautiful black woman after another, but the white wives are generally less gorgeous. Oddly, the same dynamic seems to be at work among white women who marry Muslim men.

I don’t know why I’m writing about black women. Rhodah isn’t “black” in the American sense of the word. Her ancestors were never slaves. They stayed in Africa. She also doesn’t have the cultural issues that can cause problems when black women marry white men. By that I mean she dresses well, speaks well, isn’t overly sexually provocative, and doesn’t let her emotions run away with her. She also doesn’t resent white people. She doesn’t think I need to be reeducated. I don’t have to worry that her friends will come over and eat my food while telling me I should be ashamed of my race.

I don’t want to reeducate her, either. She’s already exactly what I want. She knows the Bible up one side and down the other. She loves prayer and Bible study. She hates leftism. She’s very warmhearted. She’s thoughtful. She’s helpful. She’s funny.

When we’re married, I will never have to go to a Juneteenth parade and risk becoming a crime victim while I virtue-signal. I will never have to celebrate Kwanzaa or pretend it’s a real holiday. I will never have to pretend Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton are real reverends. I won’t have to see CNN in my living room. I’ll never have to stifle my real opinion of BLM.

I should prepare for problems with other people. I don’t foresee much trouble from whites. I had a black girlfriend a long time ago, and white people didn’t bother us. Black men may become a problem. They are very, very open to dating white women, but many of them are extremely hostile to BWWM relationships. I suppose black men and older white women will resent us more than anyone.

One great thing about my life is that the nearest ghetto is…I was about to say it was x miles away, but the truth is I don’t even know where it is. Orlando? That’s over an hour away. Ocala has no ghettos. There are pockets where relatively poor black people are concentrated, but there is nothing like Miami’s Liberty City or New York’s Bedford-Stuyvesant, where people like me can’t walk down the sidewalk at night in safety. There are no ghettos anywhere near me, so Rhodah and I won’t have many interactions with the kind of people who would be likely to threaten us. Interracial marriage is very, very common here. I don’t think people think much about it.

Miami is now mostly ghetto. That’s really something.

I doubt I’ll ever be in a place where I’m likely to be abused for holding a black woman’s hand, and I doubt Rhodah will ever see black-on-black crime up close.

I don’t think Rhodah would know what to do in a ghetto. She would be even more out of place than I would. Zambia is nothing like Harlem. I suppose that’s why Rhodah is such a girly girl. She never lived in a place where she had to grow a hard, masculine shell.

I don’t deserve my blessings. I ran from God and delayed all the good things he wanted to do for me. It’s amazing that he was still willing to bless me with such a fine lady. I hope I can be a huge blessing to her as well. If you’re still young, learn from my problems. Stay close to God, pray in tongues every day, submit, and pray for help in finding a wife. God is still in the matchmaking business, and when he comes through, you will be amazed.

Tough Love for Popular Destination

Originally written on 6/19.

It’s my second day back from Egypt, and I feel great. I can’t tell if I feel great in absolute terms or I just feel great compared to the way I felt in Egypt. I’ll take it, however.

Egypt is 6 hours ahead of me, so before I left home, I decided I would try to start going to bed early. It didn’t pan out all that well. I didn’t sleep well the night before I left.

Sleeping on the flights was not possible.

My first flight took me from Orlando to JFK on Jetblue. I have heard people say nice things about Jetblue. I’m glad they had good experiences. Both of my Jetblue flights were so packed, people were forced to check their carry-on bags, and Jetblue did not let me choose my seats. It wouldn’t have helped had Jetblue been a better airline, however, because I can’t sleep on short flights.

My second flight took me to Cairo on Egyptair. Apart from the fact that Egyptair is one of the few airlines whose most effective terrorists are their pilots, I have no complaints. My economy seat was reasonably spacious, and it reclined a long way. The food was okay. The airline supplied a good entertainment console, and we also got things like sleep masks and socks. The flight staff was polite. On top of all this, I had three seats to myself.

Problem: bad parenting. A lady a few rows ahead of me had a little girl who screamed all the way to Cairo. I know what people will think: “Poor thing. Her ears hurt.” No. This kid was a brat suffering from improper instruction. She was not screaming in pain. She just enjoyed screaming. The lady holding her encouraged her. Even with silicone ear plugs, there was no possibility of sleep.

In Cairo, the tour operator liked to get started early. For some reason, Cairo is in a time zone where the sun is pretty high at 5:30 a.m., and the Egyptians like to get moving before the air heats up. I wanted to sleep until at least 7:30 to start getting over the time change, but it wasn’t happening. We had a day tour scheduled, and the pyramids could not wait.

Later in the week, in order to get to Aswan for the cruise, we had to get up at 4:00. This didn’t improve things at all. We also had to get up early for the unbelievably long drive to Abu Simbel, a destination I recommend skipping.

Egyptians like to get up early, but they also like to eat dinner late. The cruise ship provided dinner no earlier than 8:00, which is ridiculous. You eat, you run back to your room, you prepare, and if you’re lucky, you’re in bed by 10:00. It should be obvious that ship operators don’t want their tourists limited to 6 hours of sleep, but I guess no one in Egypt has thought about this. Dinner should start no later than 7:00.

When I returned to Florida, I had to get up at 4:30 in order to make a 9:35 flight. This was what the guides recommended. In reality, 6:00 would have been just fine, but there you go. It was 4:30 in Cairo, making it 10:30 p.m. the previous day in Florida, and my flight was scheduled to land in Orlando at 8:00 p.m. Thankfully, the screaming kid was not aboard my second international flight, so I did sleep a little. By the time I got home and found my car, I had been awake for about a day, after getting too little sleep in Egypt. It was not a recipe for highway safety.

I thought I would have a hard time adjusting to Florida time, but last night I fell asleep at around 10:00 without drugs, and I woke up at 5:00, which is not all that far from my target.

Rhodah’s situation was worse. We tried to work things out so we would be together as much as possible on the way home. I didn’t want her to be alone in airport waiting areas. It wasn’t possible to make the flight times work well. My flight from Cairo left in the morning, and hers left at about 7:00 p.m. We tried to get her a nice paid lounge to sit in, but Cairo International is not set up well for that. She had to sit in the main terminal. Then she had a similar wait in Dubai. Fortunately, I was able to put her in a lounge there, with a buffet and so on, but she still ended up landing in Zambia a long time after I arrived in Florida.

Anyway, we survived. I just wish I didn’t have this cold. It’s mild, but even a mild cold is a pain when you’re traveling. Rhodah’s symptoms were somewhat milder than mine, thank God.

I have some more observations about Egypt.

We were taken to a bazaar during one of our day trips. I recommend against going to bazaars that are popular with tourists. First of all, there is not much you really want in an Egyptian bazaar. Second, you will pay more in markets that draw tourists. At least this is what I deduced; one of the guides let something slip. While we were in the car, he pointed to another bazaar where locals go, and he said the prices were very good. If you’re determined to buy Egyptian scarves which may or may not be genuine, find out where the real bazaar is and go there on your own.

The bazaar we went to was called something like El Khalili. I am too lazy to look it up. The main drawing point was a small coffee shop where Naguib Mahfouz and Morgan Freeman have been known to drink. There are pictures of both of them on the walls.

I have never read a Mahfouz book, and I never will. I don’t have any interest in his books. I can’t name one title. It’s amazing that I even knew who he was. As for the sensation of being in a shop where Morgan Freeman once sat, it’s everything it sounds like it would be. But the guide and the shop employees were very nice, so I was, too. They have to make a living. I was happy to look at the photos.

There were jewelry stores in the bazaar. They made a real impression on me, like the jewelry stores in airports. I wondered who in his right mind would buy jewelry in such places. If a bazaar shopkeeper in Egypt sells you a ring, how do you know if the price is good, and what do you do when the plating comes off and you find out your ring is mostly steel? And airport jewelers…has any airport merchant anywhere ever offered a reasonable price on anything? If a Whopper costs $10.00 in an airport, why would you expect a good deal on a watch?

I suppose some people shop at these stores. They’re not for me, though.

Googling around, I don’t see much of a connection between Freeman and Egypt. It looks like he visited a few years ago while doing a documentary, so I suppose his stop at the cafe was incidental. I guess the proprietors were happy when they saw him, and they decided to make the most of his visit.

Rhodah and I stayed near the pyramids every night we spent in Cairo. I wouldn’t do it again. She was captivated by the view, which was pretty neat, but until Giza is put back together, it won’t be very comfortable for tourists. Walking around is dangerous and difficult because of the street repairs, and shopping and dining out are nearly impossible. We considered moving downtown, to the area of Tahrir Square. That would have put us near the Egypt Museum, not to mention streets with usable sidewalks and functioning shops and restaurants. If I were to go back, I think I would do Giza for one night and then move downtown.

I had no problem getting money from ATM’s, but they dispense 200-pound notes, and that made life harder for me. In Egypt, a 200-pound note is a big deal. It’s around $12. When a driver runs you around all day while touring, a good solid tip is 100 pounds. When someone carries your luggage, 50 pounds is very generous. If you’re stuck with big bills, you have to get change all the time, and it can be awkward. Not that this stopped me.

My hotel, the Steigenberger Pyramids, had some failings, and one was that they didn’t keep petty cash on hand. I could not get bills changed reliably. That’s a shame, because they should have learned to provide such routine services.

When you use a public toilet in Egypt, you can pretty much count on running into someone who wants a tip. Five pounds will do it, although I think it annoys them when Americans know how little to tip. Some bathrooms have attendants, and others are jammed up with janitorial people who pretend to be attendants, and they may tell you stories about their starving children in order to get more money out of you. They will not hesitate to try to get several dollars.

Two bad things happened to me because of the constant haggling. First, I started saying no to people even when they were trying to sell me things I wanted. I would say no and keep walking, and then I’d realize I should have bought the water or whatever they were selling. Second, I haggled when I shouldn’t have, out of habit. I’d walk away after negotiating a proper Egyptian sum, and then later, I’d realize I should have given them more, just because they needed it. By then there was nothing I could do.

Haggling is a stupid system. Egyptian merchants would make more money from tourists if they just posted reasonable prices and stuck to them. Just because you got a sucker to pay you $25 for one $3 scarf doesn’t mean you’re doing a good job. You have to think of the many people you drove away with your haggling. You might have sold dozens of scarves and made money on volume.

Haggling conditions tourists not to talk to Egyptians. How can that be helpful? It also conditions them not to visit the country again.

We got a guy in trouble at the Valley of the Kings. We went into a tomb, and he took up with us, uninvited, and started taking pictures for us. He climbed into a sarcophagus, which is highly illegal, and took photos. Then he badgered us, trying to get us to go in, too. Of course, we refused. Then he demanded a lot of money on the way out.

We had a good relationship with our guide, and I commented on what we had been through. I said the unofficial escorts in the tombs should say what they wanted up front. I wasn’t complaining, and I had no intention of trying to get money back. I was just commenting on a funny business model I found interesting. Our guide didn’t think it was funny at all. He went to the man who managed the site, and that man was irate. He dragged men out of the tombs and had us identify them so he could chew them out. He even insisted on going into the next tomb with us, to protect us. We kept telling them we didn’t want to get people in trouble, but he was adamant.

I felt like we should have told him one man was climbing into a sarcophagus and trying to get tourists to go in. He was damaging the site. I decided to keep quiet. I didn’t want to cause more trouble, and in the end, as a Christian, I don’t really care if someone damages a pagan site. The world would be better off if they were all destroyed. Rhodah agreed.

Speaking of damaged sites, we saw an interesting phenomenon in many locations. There were wall carvings of pharaohs and false gods with the faces chiseled off. Our guides told us this was done by Christians who had used the temples as churches. When Rhodah and I were alone, I told her I had no problem with it, and she felt the same way. It’s safe to say that when Jesus returns, he won’t be interested in preserving structures and artwork created to honor beings who dragged people he loved down to eternal agony.

The Egyptians don’t take good care of their treasures. You can rub your hands all over ancient carvings in every site. Many relics look dirty and worn in places because people have handled them so much. Tut’s tomb is defaced by big spots where bacteria introduced and fed by human breath have formed colonies. Between the ancient Christians, the tomb robbers, the gypsy “guides,” and tourists, many ancient artifacts are slowly being destroyed.

In the Valley of the Kings, a licensed guide can’t go with you into a tomb, but untrained attendants who crave tips practically live in them. It will not work out well in the end.

I almost feel bad about snapping a finger off a statue of Nefertari to turn into a keyring. I was going to tag the Sphinx with my Instagram handle, but they weren’t letting visitors get close to it.

Our guide told us a British man bribed tomb attendants to help him cut a placemat-sized panel out of one of the tombs. He tried to take it home to England. Somehow, I can’t help picturing a gay man who wanted a really nice board for serving cheese at parties.

When I got home, I had to go get my birds from the boarding place. The lady who helped me asked where I had been, and I told her I had visited Egypt. She practically swooned. She had been there herself, years ago. She adored Egypt. I was amazed. I found it extremely hot, very dirty, hard to get around, and, apart from the tourist sites, pretty dull. Oddly, I liked the Egyptians themselves a lot more than their country.

I can understand loving a place like Paris or Athens. If you go to Paris, you’ll have no end of things to see. You’ll also be able to walk out of your hotel and get great food in countless locations. The weather in Paris is magnificent. The shopping is great. Public transportation is great. You can even rent a car.

Egypt isn’t like that. You pretty much sit in your hotel or on your ship, waiting to be picked up and driven through security checkpoints, to see temples that all look alike, in the burning sun, with no clouds, knowing you’ll have to walk past endless merchants who will descend on you like horseflies and who will never take “no” for an answer.

Rhodah wasn’t thrilled, either. She doesn’t want to go back except possibly to celebrate the anniversary of our engagement. We met some very nice people, and we accomplished our purpose, which was to be with each other, but the country itself is a very demanding, even exhausting, destination with limited rewards to compensate visitors.

With a few changes, Egypt would be as inviting as Greece. It’s too bad the Egyptians, who can be such exceptional hosts, aren’t aware of the things they need to do.

If we had gone to Greece, we would have been filled with great food. We would have had wonderful walks in parks and on streets that didn’t smell like poop and weren’t full of constrution debris and garbage. We would have seen important historical sites. We could have been alone together without hiding in hotel rooms. Egyptians should take note. They can do anything Greeks can do. I would love to see them do better.