What is a Nazi? (part 1)

Recently I gave up three vices- alcohol, caffeine and the news. The first two are more important, because they are linked. In the morning I usually drink a cup of strong coffee or tea. In the case of tea, I extract its maximum potential using the following method: I put the tea leaves onto a small sieve and pour the still-boiling water directly onto the leaves, occasionally stopping and pressing with a spoon on them to squeeze out more 'juice', then I start to pour again, until the glass os full of very strong tea. Then I pour the tea into a second cup, letting the tea pass throught the nearly exhausted leaves once more. I leave the last inch or so of drink to be poured directly into the second cup, without the last bit of tea coming into contact with the tea leaves again, because the tea at the bottom of the cup is stronger and by letting it pass through the already used leaves again, you lose more caffeine than you gain. This wakes me up quite thoroughly, but by no means guarantees a cheerful mood. During the day, I drink more tea or coffee at all of the places I give classes. The result is that at the end of the day I am completely wired, and unable to sleep. Unless I drink alcohol, particularly red wine, which tends to put me right away into a sleep so deep that the next day I require caffeine.
This is the result of a schedule which is difficult without bearing any resemblance to a routine. Every day my schedule changes, and because I am a serious, on time kind of guy my only choice is to be able to wake up completely at a moment's notice and swing into feverish action. And afterwards it is impossible to turn off and go to sleep.
I can see the results of all this on my face. When I arrived in Moscow two years ago at the age of 26, people thought I was 19. People now more regularly guess my age. Some say that that is because I look more sure of myself, one positive result of my experiences here, but I think they are just being nice. There are incipient exhaustion wrinkles around my eyes, and I plan to stop them by avoiding alcohol and caffeine completely.
A few months ago, I had a student at a big accounting company far from home early in the morning, and after a long metro (tube/subway) ride, I had about a 20 minute walk, from which I was occasionally spared by the company's minibus service. On one particularly sour morning, the driver was listening to Dire Straits, and asked whether I liked the music. I said yes, and he asked whether I liked only sad music. I said not necessarily, which he didn't believe, and asked why I always look so pissed off. Afterwards we chatted a bit and got acquainted.
A few weeks later, when the weather was better, we met and he brought his 10-year old son. We first went into Moscow's most crowded shopping mall, which has a little food court, and he offered me beer and pancakes, refusing to let me pay. Afterwards we went for a little stroll near the Kremlin. He pointed out the Russian Historical Museum, which previously was the Museum of Lenin. He recalled, in 1990, reclining on Lenin's old couch and having a smoke with the cops, who by that time had ceased to care about the upkeep of the old idols. As we continued past the museum, I asked him whether he thought such a system could return, and he said yes, and even hoped so. I had noted that he was religious, and told him of my surprise. He said that food was much cheaper back then, and that everyone had a chance to do what he wanted. Unable to really counter people's thoughts when speaking Russian, I just listened. I asked him where he was going to draw the line between not enough, enough and too much property and added that I was thinking of getting a new bike. He said there was nothing wrong with that, until I added that I already had four. He looked at me in shock, pointed across the street to a fashionable 19th century flat, and asked whether I thought it was fair that one person can own such a building when so many in Moscow are homeless.
I said no, and he replied that my fifth bike was the same thing, and that that was the last he was going to say on the topic. I took this for the tactic of someone who knows his arguments are vulnerable, even untenable, but cannot leave them. He does, after all, own a dacha in the countryside. Why doesn't he let some bums live in it?