DAY 39: Coffee Culture

Almost every person I know starts their day off with a fashionable cup of coffee.  Whether it’s an espresso, Frappuccino, white chocolate or filter coffee, the branded-cup-in-hand phenomenon has overwhelmed the entire planet.  But it’s not only about the coffee-in-hand concept that endorses ones image as a “coffee fundi”; it has to do with the branding of the person’s identity.

The familiar quote, “you are what you eat,” can also be applied to the type of coffee one drinks.  For example, an espresso could easily portray a dynamic, powerful and firm individual, whereas a cappuccino could describe a sensitive, la-di-da person with all the time in the world.  Greek coffee on the other hand could easily define a risk-taker; after all, who on earth would consider an intimate cup of coffee floating above a mass of sinking sand at the bottom?

Frappe: probably one of the greatest creations to come out of Greece since the invention of the wheel.  Almost every continental has inherited this winning formula; a refreshing coffee that requires a single visit to the kitchen (preferably morning), rewarding the individual an endless sipping sensation that lasts throughout the day.

Cyprus has recently witnessed a sudden burst of coffee houses, dotted around the island – blaring out this new wave of coffee culture.  In fact, their presence has marked a new era of socialising, as multiple groups of people enjoy their coffees, multi-tasking the art of drinking, conversing and internet surfing. 

It’s my personal opinion that this new cultural era refers to an individual fitting a stereotypical profile – a socialite, sprawled across one of the coffee houses’ comfortable sofas, corrugated cup in one hand, mobile or android in the other.

It’s a prerequisite for any individual entering these coffee houses to identify an available spot to engage in the art of coffee culture.  Upon entry, one will observe a peacock collection of eyes staring directly at you.  This infuriating notion suggests that those before you have earned their spot within the establishment, and your inclusion relies solely on their approval. 

As your eyes meet theirs in a duel of emotion, their response can affect the type of coffee ordered.  Often is the case when their judgmental observation of my anomalous figure justifies an indiscreet whispering and a jolt of sudden laughter.  I respond with a similar gesture; whispering an invented language in my wife’s ear and pretending to laugh at their 'deformity'.

On the rare occasion, one will identify a light-hearted group of genuine people, sporting the trendiest fashion, legs crossed – swinging their feet to the rhythm of the repetitious beat.

Seated comfortably, one normally turns a blind eye to the remnants of the previous visit; a muffled collection of oil-stained papers resting on a tray and the crust of a leftover sandwich with a slight hint of turkey or cheese.  Seldom is the case where a coffee cup is left unattended, as one of the main rules command that we leave the ‘house’ with our branded coffee cup in hand.  This is the trendsetting essence of the coffee culture scene: walking on the pavement, sipping a heavenly blend of coffee as one dribbles through the oncoming traffic.

I remain forever indebted to the coffee houses across the world, recognising the importance of low-fat products on their menu.  I am overwhelmed with their extensive selection as I make my way through the masses and find my seat opposite another stout individual, fulfilling her craving of double fudge chocolate cake.  Her elated smile continues to glow as she mingles her own mixture of coffee and cake.  Oblivious to the whispering behind her, she perseveres through another slice of her dessert, reinventing her own coffee culture concept.

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

DAY 38: Men vs Women

It’s simply the truth and there is no escaping it. Men and women are fundamentally different and I'm not referring to the obvious gender-specific body part kind of way. Rather, I'm talking about what each of us does, as a member of the opposite sex; how we think and feel that makes us belong to either the Adam or the Eve party.
If of course, you have the necessary body parts but are not a hundred percent comfortable in your gender-specific camp, I suggest you get your hormone levels examined (testosterone and oestrogen have a lot to answer for).

I thought I’d take a look at certain defining situations and circumstances, and examine how Adam and Eve deal with each one.

First and foremost, it’s the fundamental difference in our bathroom habits. Taking the obvious methodology of how we actually physically use the bathroom out of the equation, men and women’s approach to the bathroom couldn’t be more different if it tried. Men’s approach is strictly for business. Go in, do your business as efficiently and quickly as possible and get out, preferably alone. Women, on the other hand use this opportunity as a bonding social event. It’s more often than not a group outing, where a variety of topics are discussed; men will hardly talk to each other in the bathroom, women use it as one of their greatest bonding locations.

This of course leads me onto the subject of toiletries. Ask a man how many items are in his bathroom cabinet (assuming of course his wife/ girlfriend have allocated him any space), and he will be able to list them using one hand. He has his razor, shaving cream, toothpaste, toothbrush and deodorant. Ask a woman the same question and she may look at you with great surprise.

“What do you mean how many items are in the bathroom cabinet? Don’t you mean how many kinds of items instead?”

 A good test would be to examine all possible storage facilities in any woman’s bathroom (and that includes one she may be sharing with a man), and see for yourself how many kinds of shower gel a woman is capable of using simultaneously. Ask the same woman why she needs more than one of anything and the answer will be quite simple; it’s how she feels at the specific moment she is about to use the product. One day she may feel she needs to use a cream-based soap, another day it may be an inherent pull from somewhere deep within to use an aromatherapy-based herbal wash – which has been sourced from a fair-trade country because she wants to make her contribution to those less fortunate than her. The most important thing to realise when it comes to women and their toiletries is that even though she may have a variety of the same thing, each and every one is absolutely vital and necessary.

The next stop is the bedroom, but not for the obvious reason; rather it’s how a man and woman each approach sleep. As we have been told by many experts, we spend half of our lives asleep, so it makes sense then that where and how we choose to rest our weary heads is very important. It seems though, that much like the ability to stand up to perform certain vital functions, men can pretty much fall asleep anywhere with the couch seeming to be the most practical and common location.

For a woman though, where she chooses to place her well-creamed (using one of her many products found in the bathroom) face and just-brushed hair is a matter of great scientific and aesthetic research and exploration. Firstly, it’s all about the mattress; it must be well-sprung but supremely soft at the same time. She must be able to lie in all her favourite positions and close her eyes safe in the knowledge that she has invested her (or his) money wisely. The next step to a good night’s sleep has to be how the mattress is decorated, combined with the overall look and feel of the bedroom. This is one domain where the man generally should give up on any kind of input because his opinion or own requirements are neither wanted nor needed.

There will usually be a plethora of pillows, duvets and throws, all of which usually weigh about as much as the mattress itself.  It is of vital importance that everything matches – creating a harmonious and peaceful environment, so that the best possible sleep is ensured. For the man, it’s simply a case of television, couch and sleep with no added extras.

When it comes to eating – my favourite pastime, getting the food and creating the meal could be said to date back all the way to the era of the cave man, when our prehistoric ancestors were faced with battling a range of wild animals to kill – something to bring home to his woman who was busy making their cave pretty with all sorts of leaves and flowers.

Then the invention of fire lead to the next essential process in the evolution of eating habits – the barbeque – which brings us to one of the most fundamental differences between men and women. When faced with a barbeque, the man will go to the butchery, get as much meat as he can, take it home, pour some salt over it for flavour and throw it on the fire, all the while drinking his beer or whichever alcoholic beverage quenches his manly, caveman-like thirst. The woman on the other hand, will spend a few hours planning a menu, work out who has been invited to join the feast and plan the meal according to the preferences of the guests; and by preferences of course, it is implied that it’s the women who have preferences – the men will happily eat whatever dead animal is burning over the coals.

The woman will choose a theme of chicken, meat or fish and then decide what kind of seasoning to use. Will it be a Mexican theme, Mediterranean or something French? The next step will involve the choice of accompanying dishes as well as the appropriate beverages to serve.

I personally believe that it may seem very exhausting to be a woman, what with all the decisions, choices and processes, but once it is understood that the woman is "always right, and that the man is there to lift heavy objects, take care of all the practical things and generally support and love the woman," then everyone is very happy and content.

Unless, of course, it’s that time of the month; that’s when all rules and understanding fly out the window and the real fun begins.

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

DAY 37: Sleeping Child

There’s often a knock on the door, luring a beggar to your doorstep – chanting about their unfortunate situation.  I’m often compelled to reach for that last ‘decent’ coin, hidden within the grooves of my wallet.  As I place the money in the person’s hand, my eyes remain fixated on the tainted appearance of their skin – reassuring me that the deprived individual’s request is genuine.

This ill-fated drama repeats itself on a daily basis in Greece as the economic downturn continues.  Families have fallen victim to this new wave of poverty; distressing images of mothers with infants, sprawled across the corners of every main street and subway.

But what caught my attention this morning was a shocking report revealing another truth to the impoverished icons stapled within my subconscious.  An undercover reporter in Athens confronted a woman (who he had observed continuously for one week), cradling her child at one of the city’s busiest Metro stations.

The woman, who fitted the profile of a destitute victim, concealed her face in sorrow as passers-by showered her with their loose change – relieving themselves from any guilt.  The infant remained still in her hands, as it did every day of the week – sleeping.

The reporter expressed concern for the child, who under normal conditions, would be crying, or even showing some signs of agitation. 

As he approached, the woman attempted to mask the child, placing the tattered blanket over its face.

“Why is your child continuously sleeping?” he asked.

An elderly man, annoyed by the reporter’s ‘inhumane’ conduct, tugged at the reporter, scolding him that he should refrain from questioning the woman.

As he stood there, staring at the ‘tired’ infant, he observed with disbelief that the child in the woman’s hands had mysteriously transformed its hair colour from black to brown.

The reporter’s extensive journalist skills had uncovered (from the previous day), a syndicate from Romania who smuggled stolen babies into Greece, for the purpose of organ trafficking, or in this case, to be used as ‘props’ in their piteous performances.  

The Athens reporter, who for obvious reasons preferred to remain anonymous, revealed that his sources confirmed the devious action of injecting vodka or heroin into the innocent babies – maintaining the infant’s immobility, as they continued to work their sorry cries on oblivious bystanders.

“In most cases, these infants cannot withstand the drug overdose, and end up dying,” he added.

The reporter has created a huge awareness in Athens today, encouraging the public to be on the lookout for similar situations. 

“In most cases, people tend to overlook the ‘sleeping’ child in the arms of its mother, dropping a coin into the charity box, as they continue on with their journey.”

Perhaps we should take the time to look deeper into the matter, before we encourage another dissipated individual to consider drugging an infant for financial gain?

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

DAY 36: Chicken Run

Getting your hands on breasts is rarely an invitation to turn down. A single chicken breast portion provides a sufficient amount of protein for the price of just one gram of saturated fat. 

So chicken it is, but if I had to tally the amount of chickens consumed in my lifetime, I would be held accountable for the murder of more than ten thousand birds; a staggering figure – one that would not appeal to my vegetarian neighbour, but certainly to the local butcher.

Overweight people have contributed to the world’s economy.  In fact, governments should be idolising us with a “World Obesity Day,” in order to pay tribute to the world’s ‘big’ spenders.  And to prove our sensitivity towards all those birds who have bravely sacrificed their lives for the overweight individual, we are prepared to erect a chicken memorial in their honour.

Today’s menu included grilled chicken coated with lemon and garlic.  I have eliminated all carbohydrate intake, hoping to shock treat the system into losing more weight.  This morning’s weight reading revealed that at my slothful pace, I will be rolling onto the stage for my upcoming performance in London.

One of the main reasons a dieter loses focus on his programme, happens to be the repetitive ritual of food included in the diet.  Poultry is considered a staple meal for every weightwatcher – hence my abduction of the species.  But unfortunately, I have reached a stage when the mere thought of a chicken dish repulses me from the dinner table, reversing the habit of a chicken run; I end up running away from the chicken as opposed to the chicken running away from me.

I’ve been on my best behaviour today, following my ‘ultimate challenge’ as strictly as possible; oats with low-fat milk for breakfast, a small fruit for the mid-morning snack, and finally a murdered chicken for lunch.

I’m beginning to think that if I devour any more birds, I’ll probably end up looking like them. 

I’ve spent most of the morning researching alternatives.  Perhaps I should introduce more roughage into my diet, replacing the bird with more greens?  Then again, an overabundance of vegetables might encourage another type of run.

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

DAY 35: Timeline

My wife had the entire family working on a cupboard ‘detox’ this weekend.  It was one of those insipid moments when the home seemed too small to accommodate the three of us.  And so began an eventful day of teamwork, as we all worked effectively to reach a similar goal. 

There were moments when our detoxification process mirrored an ant colony – every worker immersed in their own domain – completing streams of garbage bags as unnecessary clutter met the fate of the refuse bin.  But there were moments when the colony exploded into destructive arguments, predominantly when exhaustion began to surface.

Needless to say, the day proved to be beneficial for all of us – a small sense of pride awakening as we observed our corner with items designated for the local charity.   It’s unfortunate that we spend most of our lives purchasing things that eventually make their way to a concealed box, temporarily forgotten; an unforgivable amount of money that could be put to better use.

After an intense workout, and our home finally breathing again, I resorted to the couch, engrossed within a box of photographic memories.  I was on an impressive timeline, travelling to the past – recalling faces, moments, emotions…  My journey took me to my childhood, and the family’s annual trip to the coast; a collection of past girlfriends, forgotten loved ones, intimate messages and wild teenage experiences. 

But my timeline exposed an unfortunate inconsistency: weight.  As I persevered through my pile of snapshots, my body revealed itself as an inflatable balloon, working ignorantly throughout the years to reach its maximum capacity.  And the physical evidence lay before me as I tried to attach my cumber band (from my graduating school dance) as it battled to work its way around my ballooning waist.

I mentioned yesterday that Monday was going to be the ultimate challenge as I immersed myself into the second round of my diet.  Fully armed, I enter this new stage with a timeline of visual aids, and a cumber band that is determined to fit.

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online, visit www.paul-lambis.com

DAY 34: Recovery

I spent the first part of my morning, lying flat on my bed, recovering from a food hangover.  My stomach was reenacting the part of Mount Kilimanjaro, as I was trying effortlessly to see the rest of my body. 

It was a wonderful night at my mom’s house; dad blowing out his candles as the grandchildren sang his birthday praise in chorus.  My mother was reprising her famous Julia Child role as the soiree of desserts absorbed most of the dining room table. I started out with the glacé strawberries, impersonating my social eating skills in the presence of my family.  After all, strawberries drenched in syrup are a much healthier option as opposed to chocolate coated birthday cake?

I took a deep breath as I attempted my exit from the bed; my mind was spinning as I reached for the bathroom door, hoping to eradicate the damage from the night before.  My wife continued to stare – unimpressed by my childish behaviour as she pushed a glass of water and two antacid tablets towards me.

“Your stomach’s not used to it,” she demanded.

After a month of intense dieting, my cravings had finally entered another category; the same group as the restricted foods.  A wave of self-pity overpowered the room, as I reached for my comfort zone and reclined for the rest of the morning. 

It was foolish behavior; and now my family had to endure the cost of a walking zombie, mumbling feverishly as I wandered around the house.  My son voiced his concern to his mother as I overheard their whispering in the background.  Despite the odd chuckle, I observed his fear of losing his father to obesity.  I suddenly realised that my son’s childhood could easily be affected if I selfishly decided to submit to my cravings.

I will never surrender.  I must not succumb to the temptation of selfishness.  I will enforce a stricter regime in order to ensure a healthier and fruitful life; I owe it to myself and my family.  Here’s to a second chance and a healthier beginning…

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com

DAY 33: Fridays

It’s the most anticipated day of the week.  For many of us, it marks the beginning of a two day rest period – an opportunity to excuse oneself from the drumming madness of daily ritual.  There are some people who use this significant day to update themselves with the latest blockbuster, as Fridays are usually appointed to showcase a new release.  Others head off to the supermarket, furnishing their fridges with tasty nibbles for an eventful weekend of excessive eating.

I’m particularly fond of Friday evening, as it awards me the merited chance to unwind from an agonising day of appointments, meetings and deadlines – eager for that moment when the formal attire returns to the cupboard on a coat hanger, and I become one with the couch until the early hours of Saturday morning.

Today marks an important event in the Lambis calendar; my father celebrates his birthday with an intimate evening at home, surrounded by his offspring.  My mother has confined herself within the home, preparing an extravagant selection of baked goods: chocolate chiffon – drizzled with flakes of dark chocolate, moist carrot muffins – glazed with an angelic white icing, traditional Greek pie – bursting with a mouth-watering mixture of Feta cheese and spinach and a large helping of strawberries – simmered in sweet sherry and fine sugar.

I’m a firm believer of first impressions.  If I subject myself to an evening of glamorous overindulgence, I am bound to continue on this ‘tsunami’ for the rest of the month.  Truthfully, my mother’s incomparable selection is one I cannot avoid, so I’m off to my father’s celebration with intent to do bodily harm. 

I have two days to overcome Friday’s revolution before Monday greets me again, encouraging me to return to a healthy eating plan.

T.G.I.F.

Weight for me tomorrow. Paul

Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.  For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com