Finally after hosting and being hosted on Couchsuring [the best social networking site compared to Facebook, never follow anything created by college dropouts] by so many special people that have helped me overcome this “Elliot Syndrome” as I like to call it, it becomes apparent for the secret to my success and how I was able to find work, and make it back to my parents home. I believe in Angels. They work in mysterious ways and they do wander the earth and can come in the form of human beings, from all walks of life. First, every morning should begin with a nice cup of iced mochas preferably from 7/11 which just lowered their prices to a $1 for medium sizes, or cofffee, which ever you prefer to jolt the brain and keep us thinking. Like all good things, they usually began in Africa something I passed on to Sir Mogeni at CEU where we loved to talk about the greatness of women. Or as in the book Coffee: A Dark History theorizes Ethiopia was where it originated from. Everyone should read this book. By lunch time, people should be washing down their sandwiches with Ginger Ale or Henry Weinhard’s root beer, the stuff Charlie’s wife always had stored away in the garage. The evening should consist of the writing about what took place that day, which is why I struggle with my liking for journalists and the need for them. They exist because people fail to write down what they do, thus creating a market for lawyers who need to defend them and the actions they undertake, for good or sometimes for evil. “Evil prevails when good men fail to act.” And the fact that there is still an insurance company insuring left over Nazis from WW2 displeases me and action should be taken to uninsure that, or remove it by all means necessary. My father said that insurance company has a name, Alliance Insurance and its offices should be overtaken and that hate filled money rooted out and used to build kitchens to feed the homeless. An opportunity I had to do both in Budapest and in Washington DC, with beautiful women.
Ginger Ale should be a staple in everyone’s basement, water should be conserved. Charlie’s house has yet to be sold on the market, which makes me happy, as well as my sister Emily who lives there now and is engaged to a handsome young man named Aaron and who one day an Egyptian Queen named Rania, who looked after me while I was “sick” will meet one day with her husband Mohammed who is getting his PhD in Southern California in economics, my hardest subject at CEU but have found out I passed, and have not failed. All that is left is the thesis and I, like my father will be a Master, and maybe one day his idea of a business will be realized, which was the digitizing and touching up of family photos and will no longer need to work another day of his life and can realize his dream and just stay at home with his wife Colleeen and enjoy the grandkids that Emily will one day bring, but that Elliot will need more time to accomplish. I think my role, as Paige an A 16 PCV said, best suits me as “Uncle Elliot”. Funny, there is a Paige at Charlie’s Legacy Retirement Home. The peace has never left me.
My day will come when I will be Daddy Elliot, when that is, is anyone’s guess. It is good to have backup plans in case the first option fails. Don’t discredit the buddy system. I have forgotten this and it landed me into some trouble. If anyone is struggling in their lives with anything and has any real world experience at all to offer, my advice is to join the United States Peace Corps and volunteer in the greatest force for good the world has ever known. This is the best way to travel … with a purpose to serve those we are most unfamiliar with, learn a second language and give back. When much is given much is expected. I have been given too much in my life and I had taken it for granted. I have been able to travel around the globe and hope to make it to Kenya one day, Africa is the next place on my destination, after Lisbon (my current mission on Couchsurfing) to help Sir Mogeni run for any office in which he chooses, he is a warrior poet and now has two Master’s degrees and would make an excellent candidate one day for the UN Secretary General. I wish he could fly out and join me in Las Vegas and see the good looking brother my best friend is marrying.
So, how about some more rambling. I just woke up from an excellent barbeque prepared by my best male South Asian friend’s dad who is in town from Alabama, he is the man and so is his son. But my real quardian angel has yet to arrive in the valley. Salma; who prays for me five times a day somewhere else in the world. And it is her son, the real man who is escorting me to Las Vegas, to get this adventurer to finally conclude a promise made at the end of my undergraduate days at the University of Utah, a day that when despite differences in color, my best friend has chosen her King via of all things, the internet. October 1st 2011 should be marked on the calendar as the day that racism ends. Some people had promised to join me there, but have chosen other paths such as Argentina of all places. So a Man born in Moline, Illinois and a Man born in Montreal, Canada will be there in full splendor so that I can escort, rather than be escorted, the real Queen in my life, my best friend Angelique Davison, and hopefully win a million bucks so that I can retire and teach history for the rest of my life somewhere in the beautiful countryside of Eastern Europe and work to protect rights of the Roma and people of other color in that part of the world because multiculturism is not dead in the United State of America, but alive and well.