Can you sense the sarcasm in my voice? Don’t get me wrong I have lived the whole “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” story with my father working at four different Greek diners and my mother telling me every day of my life to find “a nice Greek boy to marry.” But I don’t think, I can say that every Greek-American reading this believes the same thing, that this is not the way to promote Greece. The person responsible for this brilliant idea is the deputy minister of tourism and culture Mr. George Nikitiadis. His idea goes as follows, to grab a bunch of Greek artists put their work on these placemats, which as well know that these very same placemats get crumbled, doodle and wipe off everybody’s spills and leftover food daily. The sad part is not just the idea but that commercial sponsors from Greece, like ΟΠΑΠ and the restaurant association are giving money for this idea to blossom and come alive.

About 6 million euro’s are being given for 7 million throwaway placemats to be printed and distributed to diners across America. It doesn’t end here also plastic throwaway cups are going to be given to the customers of these diners as well. What happened to posters, art exhibits with various Greek or Greek-American artists, concerts and dance festivals to raise money to promote Greece? You can just shoot a commercial in Astoria, Queens in New York City and you have your promotion right there.

I might be the only one angry and annoyed about this “awesome”, “brilliant”, “extraordinary”, and “wonderful” tourism idea but I believe Greece deserves better than throwaway placemats and plastic cups, especially in the times that we are in now.

Us Greeks should be well aware that it is our job to produce, maintain and help tragedy develop to its full capacity. If people aren’t swearing at each other on crudely presented late night reality shows, we are nowhere near fullfilling our role as Greeks in the universe.

Other cultures, such the Anglosaxon culture for example, keep calm. It is what it is. We’ll do the best we can. We shall take one step at a time. There may be some exception, but in general, people don’t drive like madmen ready to blow their heads into a million pieces because the country is in financial turmoil. Americans aren’t happy about the financial crisis in the US either. The news, however, focus mostly on consumer confidence and gas prices. Channels do not pick the most tragic title for their ‘news at ten’ ad and they do not repeat this herrendously tragic and fear infusing headline throughout the day just to intimidate the ones that aren’t yet terrified by means of incessant repetition.

Embracing fear brings a familiar tragedy back for us Greeks considering that the German occupation of World War 2 wasn’t that far back. Suffering and striving and struggling and fighting is familiar territory for the Greek psyche of recent times. Ladies in their 50s and 60s are almost happy to be complaining about the crisis, cursing politicians and showcasing the suffering that is either taking place or is about to take place. ‘I am cooking simpler things these days because of the crisis’ ‘In this crisis we should all be taking the bus’. Everything we didn’t feel like doing because it required too much energy, too much work or we just didn’t feel like doing,  all of a sudden turns to a fashionably ‘out’ activity. There’s a crisis. Noone should be doing it anyway. Let us all stay home and moan or gather someplace and moan collectivelly. This way the tragedy will be lived out, felt and somehow dealt with in a masochistic yet agressive and bold manner. It’s not the most efficient way to deal with a problem, it’s not polite and seam-free, it is incessantly crude if not downright barbaric, but it’s as extreme as it gets; and tragedy needs extreme states of being to play out right. Hopefully, the much-needed catharsis, will come in a form that includes a little less passionate moaning and groaning and a lot more cold and calculated action…

Greeks who never left Greece -other than on a shopping trip to London, Paris, Munich or Milan where cousin Maria or best friend from High School, Spyros, was studying- however, think differently. 

Taking Greece for granted is a problem for modern Greeks who never left Greece. It creates two contrasting Greek identities. That of Palamas, where Greece is an ideal of a country, and that of Seferis, who wrote: ‘No matter where I travel, Greece hurts me’. Seferis’ view of Greece was powered by the same pain felt by a lot of internationally renowned Greeks once Greece acts like a spoiled child towards them. The most current example of this highly disfunctional behavior is no other than the way the Lyric Opera House treated the internationally recognized Verdi soprano Dimitra Theodossiou.

Prime ministers around the world bring Ms Theodossiou flowers, crowds of fans gather outside the Scala in Milan just to catch a glimpse of her walking by, groups of opera fanatics travel through continents to avoid missing one single premiere of hers -and mind you, there’s a great big deal of those these days- international joyrnalists and opera critics name her the new Maria Callas, but the Lyric opera house in Greece just decided she shouldn’t sing Nabucco at Herodium theatre this year because she’s ‘too expensive’. Nope, us Greeks who live in Greece prefer people who are able to sing (or perform in any way) at a moment’s notice,  make no plans and have no life or serious carreer. We prefer mediocrity cause this makes us feel safe, unchallenged, idle and on the sidelines of things, life, the world.

Is this really where we want to be, though? Greece gave birth to philosophy, art, science, architecture, medicine,  just to name a few, do we really want to stay on the sidelines and just drag ourselves behind others?

When a friend or and an aquaintance goes to hospital, the considerate North American may send a Get Well card. A phonecall could be perceived as too personal at a time that a person would normally crave privacy and isolation. Any normal person that is. A Greek person, however, would be concerned if everyone he/she, her/his family and their aquaintances know don’t march into hospital, lively, loud and all dressed up as if it were a 4th of July parade in central NY.

They will all be wearing their biggest smiles, carrying sweets or tyropitakia their aunt Litsa made and will proceed to outline every other hospital visit complete with the condition of the patient, the outcome and the amount of visitors that other patient had. Talking insessantly appears to be the attitude of choice and all those herds of people visiting the poor patient (who could coincidentally only be there for a mild one-day-deal nose job or 3 stitches after a kitchen accident) will defend their right to disregard visiting hours, silence, cell phone and non-smoking signs with such conviction that would put any General that ever fought any war to shame.

Expressing concern is nice. Warm. Kind. Even touching. But it is also a step too far. Intimidating. Overbearring. Over the limit.Whatever the choice we make when faced with the question on whether to keep it Greek or americanise it all a bit, the grass will always be greener on the other side. An outsider will always notice the difference and wonder, who’s right on this.

The American ideal of being supportive to a family member, at a time of need (emphasis on that one) and just then and no other time whatsoever, usualy involves sending a postcard. The postcard’s presence under the tacky Bermuda magnet is a constant boost to one’s self-confidence, an omnipresent souvenir of love and a sentimental reminder that your sister/ brother/ father/ mother/ uncle/ aunt/ mother-in-law/ step-mother/ friend respect and care about you and their will is to see you happy in your own way of defining happiness, whatever that may be.

Well, that is not the case with Greek families. Nope. Everyone would like to be in control of everybody else’s lives. And I am not talking meddling once in a while. I am talking 24-7 365 days a year. If it was up to a Greek mother to decide what her son would wear to work everyday she seize tha opportunity like no other, even if her son is 57 and married with 3 kids. Mind you, quite a few actually do.

Us Greeks tend to disassociate ourselves with that cold and detached Anglosaxon culture. We throw accusations around, ‘Oh they do not care about their own kids, they throw them out on the streets’ or ‘They don’t care about who lives next door to them’. Yep, they do all that, and so much more, cause they do not consider it good manners to be controlling  and they do not appreciate being on either side of the gossip game, some Greeks seem to get so much pleasure out of -or used to get so much pleasure out of. Nope, respects comes first. And respect involves space, time and peace and clarity of mind. I can see my Aunt rolling her eyes and looking away towards the Archipelago as I recite that last sentence to her. It’s all Greek to her now, isn’t it?

‘Alitissa Psihi’ means a soul free enough to explore its instant, imminent and pressing urges each and every moment. A soul that allows a person to experience each moment as though it’s the only living moment anywhere, ever. The word ‘Alitis’ is as ingrained to the Greek identity as the word love is ingrained to emotions. All of us Greeks hide a percentage of this ‘Alitisa Psihi’ deep inside, whether or not we care to admit to it.

Living abroad and adding a second nationality cultivates the illusion we tamed it, we conquered over it, even, we’re done, nice and all well put together. And then the day comes when it’s all out in the open again. Anything could trigget the outburst. A lousy job, a partner/husband/girlfriend, an outrageously insulting event or an Anna Vissi concert (beware, the North American tour is coming up). And then the ‘Alitis’ in us comes out stronger than ever, prouder than the flad on Independence Day, unbending and remorseless, kicking and screaming and we belong to it, one way or another, willingly or otherwise.

That wildly open heart breaks all obstacles and allows the truth to come out and life tobe lived in full. It’s a curse and a blessing. A curse cause it cause one to suffer while in a tormenting all-destructive conquest to reveal the truth and unveil pains that societies around the globe get structured around repressing. Yet, it’s a blessing, cause living life to the full involves living out pain, whether that is the pain in Melina Mercouri’s eyes when singing ‘Ta paidia tou Piraia’ in ‘Never on Sunday’ or the pain in Papamichail’s anger when crashing that shot glass inside his hand in that movie I believe was called ‘To pio labro asteri’.

Having that word in our vocabulary makes us Greek in a very particular, painful and yet liberating way, so we might as well rejoice in all its sorrow.

Drivers around the globe express their inner selves and reveal their deepest secrets while driving, whether or not they are aware of it. Greek drivers, however, take it to a whole new level. If they are mad at their spouse, they won’t hesitate to take their anger to the streets by beeping away at every opportunity the get. The beeping escalates to louder, more suddent and much longer lasting beeps, if the driver hasn’t been getting any lately. If they accelerate and fly by you at the most unexpected and/or inconvenient time, then they get extra gratification points. Anger needs to get out there and difused.

Don’t get me wrong, American drivers get the same urge to drive away their anger and sorrow. However, they tend to feel slightly more self-conscious about it. For example, they will give you a warning before overtaking you and it won’t be as dramatic as right on the sharpest turn, a glimpse of a second before the truck on the opposite side drives by. Plus the whole rolled-up windows-air-conditioning on thing makes any potential cursing/shouting irrelevant. Make no mistake though, a Greek driver will roll down the window before shouting obscenities or making a strange come-on.

Greeks fall madly in love. And I don’t mean candlelit dinners and romantic outings at the movies. I mean drama, tears, shouting, blood and sweating of all sorts. And then things get ugly. Yeah, things do get ugly everywhere, I know, just not quite this way. Tasos Livaditis said ‘If we are not dying for one another then we are dead already.’

Marlon Brando in ‘Streetcar Named Desire’ raped the poor meddling sister and got rid of her. Yep, that’s American drama all right. The Greek Marlon Brando would have killed her in the heat of passion, then would have repented his crime, made a suicide attempt only to end up in jail while his wife would be getting the necessary consolation from his handsome younger brother or charming father.  And just in case the Greek audience would find that boring, the writer would throw in a haunting family secret involving a parent’s secret love child who unwittingly falls in love with his half-sister.

I am not saying dating is all that bad in Greece. Except that I don’t seem to witness any dating going on around here. Is it just my wanton friends or is everyone just going straight to business? Coffee, is of course still number 1 when it comes to going out with someone, but things seem to escalate with the speed of light from then on. Sometimes even the proverbial coffee doesn’t come into play.

Of course Hollywood does project an image of abundant easy love, but still, everyday life in the East coast implies that people do actually go on dates before taking it all to the next level and becoming lovers. The dinner and a movie ritual is alive and well as far as I know, ‘Sex and the City’ airing or not.

I am not saying Greeks are more promiscuous that North Americans. Yet any sort of courtship that involves controlling the expression of passion ranks pretty low in their esteem. It is not a surprise that one will bump into couples kissing and fondling each other everywhere in Athens. And I am talking serious displays of affection in very, very public places. Metro, trains, parks, street corners or the middle of the street will do too, thank you very much red light. People pass those love birds by and nobody bats an eyelash. It’s natural, the old man in the straw hat will say, people fall in love. And then I remember kissing my boyfriend once, outside the Barnes and Nobles in Georgetown and getting three dirty looks in a row from annoyed book buyers exiting the store. And it wasn’t even a true french kiss! Imagine that.

Not quite sure where I stand on the matter. I would have liked to have been more old-fashioned back when I was dating. Would have been nice to have prolonged the soapy, romantic, getting-to-know each other period, wouldn’t it? Civilized, proper, plus it would have heightened, no, crescento-ed the anticipation, right? Couldn’t do it. Nope. Leaned towards the Greek side, I guess. The waiting was  just excruciating. As Anatole France would say ‘I always preferred the craze of passion rather than the wisdom of indifference’. Us Greeks often do just that.

As Greek-American children, we heard our parents use words for things that we accepted at face value, as all children do. An ashtray was a ‘tah-SAH-kee’ – a dustpan was a ‘fah-RAH-see’– and a little trash was ‘skoo-PEE-thee.’ It sounded something like this:

“Will you go get the broom and the fah-RAH-see to clean up the skoo-PEE-thee from the tah-SAH-kee that fell on the floor?”

These and words like them were included in everyday speech surrounded by English words, so as children, our interpretation was seamless. To an outsider, however, they must have wondered from what planet we had been deposited on earth.

Items of clothing had their own names as well. Were you ordered to put on your ‘pah-POO-chah’(shoes, although the origin of that word is said to be Turkish) and ‘KAHL-tsehs’ (socks), bring your ‘fah-NEH-lah’ (sweater) if it got cold and then be sent on your way?.

It’s no wonder we mixed up the words like ‘kah-PEH-loh’ (hat) and ‘koh-PELL-ah’ (girl) red-faced after saying, “Meen kah-THEE-sees ah-PAH-noh teen kopella’ (in an attempt to say, “Don’t sit on top of the hat” but coming out, “Don’t sit on top of the girl.”)

Just as amusing were ‘Greek-ified’ American words stuck in the middle of sentences. This was a habit that was originated by Greek immigrants in an attempt to assimilate into American culture even though they never quite mastered English. A cake became a ‘KEH-kee’, a car was a ‘KAH-roh’, a baking dish was a ‘kaht-sah-ROLL-ah” (origin was Italian, though), a steak was a ‘steki’and a carpet was a “car-PEH-toh.”

Why mention all this? Because perhaps the time has come to offer a singular apology to all Greeks in the ‘old country.’ To this very day, many of us don’t know the true Greek words for all these American corruptions of your language. Purists from past generations who once spoke‘kah-thah-REH-voo-sah’ (cleaned up) Greek would be turning over in their graves to hear how people outside their homeland use the Greek language.

Still, a classic in the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding came when the Greek immigrant mother had a tough time understanding what a ‘Bundt cake’ was. One of her guests took one look at it and remarked, “EE-neh KEH-kee, moh-REE” (it’s a cake, you idiot).

First let me explain that we have been together for nine years and married for the past five. My new husband was a confirmed Greek-American bachelor (my parents would be so proud…) I had known for more than 20 years, and without going into the ‘back story’ on how our union occurred, suffice it to say that getting to know and love nearly every other aspect of my husband’s personality, I was not prepared to find that we were politically at odds with one another.

It was around the first election of George Bush, then, that I found we had our differences in perception about candidates, issues, and both the lessons of America’s past as well as our vision for the country’s future.  And at first, both of us were in disbelief that we could be so attracted to one another on so many levels but where politics and issues were concerned, it was as if we spoke foreign languages to one another other than Greek.

We likened ourselves to the everyday-people versions Shriver and Schwarzenegger or Matalin and Carville, regardless of which sex leaned which way. And if they could hold firm to their convictions on such a public stage, we decided that there was no reason we couldn’t learn the same sense of civility. But I can tell you that the road to this fragile sense of peace and respect we now hold dear was not so easy to accomplish at first.

Loud, slanted ‘discussions’  took place in our early days.  Although we were never reduced to name-calling or heavy insults, it became clear which news stations we watched, which blogs we read, and who we considered to be the ‘expert sources’ on things all came into play.   For a while we walked on eggshells with one another, trying hard not to let it affect the rest of what we found delightful in our couple-dom.

Let’s face it; verbal sparring can be so draining. A spirited debate with a stranger or casual friend might actually be fun, but when you’re testy with the one you hold close at night, the person who hands you romantic cards and gives you flowers at all the right times and still talks about how great you are, it stops being invigorating. It  somehow turns personal and disrespectful and can begin to color everything you feel about him or her, instead of merely lending insight into who that person is.

Oh, we are not without our sense of humor about it, which more often comes into play when we are in the company of other couples, some of whom have the same ‘political-combatant’ roles with one another (it’s actually hilarious when that takes place, because then you’ve actually got a team mate.)

So what have we learned from all this and how did we come to this point of extreme civility?  We learned that despite our midlife belief system, wrought through the decades by our upbringing, our experiences and our environment, there was no way we could change each other’s mind anyway. No article, no TV program, no news broadcast recorded on our DVR and shown to the other would suddenly turn a progressive liberal into a staunch conservative and or vice-versa. We weren’t in our 20s, when we might be open to a completely new set of criteria. Our lives had led us down the paths in which we found ourselves at the time we got together romantically, and truth be told, why would we want to change that person we found so damned appealing to begin with?

It occurs to me that much of politics in the (far) past was conducted civilly and that the arts of compromise, negotiation and a meeting-of-the-minds was considered a mark of an intelligent society, willing to work out its problems as it evolved into a higher form. Although the people who supported each side of the spectrum had their vociferous puppet mouthpieces, politicians in general seemed to hold a great amount of respect for one another. In the ’60s, I don’t remember the disgustingly dirty politics, the name-calling and the direct insults being thrown around.  Oh, the feelings were there, but the expression of them was so much subtler. Perhaps that’s because we didn’t have 24/7 cable ‘entertainment news’ and ‘talking heads’ on panel shows that tried to convince us they were experts in those days – who knows? We had Huntley-Brinkley, Walter Cronkite, and our trusty newspapers to report hard news.  Those entities considered us intelligent enough to take the news of the day and interpret it. No one told us what to think (except, perhaps, our parents), and I liked that just fine.

As you may have noticed, I have not revealed which of us leans which way.  Sure, I could make this into a bully pulpit to tell you what I believe and why, but in the end, there is only one thing that is important.  We. Voted. And it is that one ballot cast that might either cancel out each other’s, or it might just take the place of thousands of people’s votes — those who held the same beliefs we did but didn’t bother participating in the electoral process.  The amount of weight attached to that one vote for either team might have made a big difference in the big scheme of things.

And so we remain friends, lovers, and political opposites. By now I think anything else might be boring.  Besides, if one of us ends up being wrong about what we believe, we can honestly say that we did not get to that point by having been browbeaten by the people we cherish most in life.

Greeks are lovers, not fighters.  And we didn’t invent democracy for nothing, you know.