come to prague for an excellent concert..

theories on vertical rotating meat

you gotta be smart about your rotating meat. there's a lot of places to choose from, so choose wisely.

1. if it looks like dog food, it's probably dog food. or dog.
look for discernable layers. the pate-ish ones are mostly filler, maybe cardboard. if you can see texture and pattern, you can rest assured the dog meat is mixed with other kinds of dog meat. or vegetables? even better.
2. the bigger the better
notice the width of the meat tube. if it's like a small hippo, or young american, it's fresh and good. if it looks like a skinny mangled sausage just clinging to the spit, it's been there for a while. go somewhere else, come back in a few days to see the fresh plump version.
3. it's apparently ok if the guy uses his hands
don't cringe when the dude picks up a stray potato or slice of meat with his fingers and puts it in your sandwich, or cuts open your bread with his fingernails. only us foreign americans are all creeped out by bad hygeine. keep your cool, blend in with the locals.
4. make sure it's sliced fresh.
don't get the pieces lying in the pan, sliced during the dude's last cigarette break. point to the meat tube, make slicing gesture. a good place will give you the pieces about 105 degrees clockwise from heat coil.
5. no electric knife slicer things!
that screams "shortcut" to me
6. say no to any tea from behind the counter
if you can water it down yourself (there's a little hot water spout under the tea ball thing) then you're ok. but if you're served it with no option to alter the potency, it's probably the battery acid variety, beware of immediate stomach cramps.
7. try, try again
for statistical significance, your sample size must be twice the standard deviation. you can't pick the best doner after only trying a few of the bigger places. you need to hit every single one, at various stages of progression (see #2). even the one in the u bahn station, even the one that no one else goes to. you never know where the best secret meat tube is hiding.

proof of residency

To: T-Mobile Customer Relations
P.O. Box 37380
Albuquerque, NM
87176-7380

Re: T-Mobile Account # 228132578

To whom it may concern,

This is a letter in response to your request to provide additional proof of residency to have my Early Termination Fee from my cell phone contract waived for reasons of moving out of the country. The person with whom I spoke to before leaving the US said a lease was all that was needed (a 58 page contract on an apartment, signed in triplicate seems pretty good proof of residence to me).

My utilities are included in my rent (see page 32), and my office (whose contract of work I also included in my previous communication) pays my cell phone bill, so I have neither of those to submit.

I am thus including my recent order confirmation for internet service at my residence, where I live, which is at xxxxxxx, Berlin, Germany. I am also including the Berlin registration document, which also has that address, and is legal proof of residency required for all residents, which I must carry with me always. To get this piece of paper, I needed a lease and formal address, a work permit, a bank account (which also requires residency) and 4 hours of standing on line at city hall.
Or, I can provide a recent photo of myself in front of the Brandenburger Gate wearing faded denim, a smug anti-capitalist look on my face, drinking bionade and licking currywurst sauce off the lips of a German guy if that would suffice?

Tschüss,

Aurelgrooves.

german appetizer

it's called a "snowstorm." cream cheese with chives and spices, lemon, and...pretzels. another place served it with red onions. always with a side of cold, stale rye bread.

tatort : boring german crime drama

i inadvertently walked into one of these "tatort" parties, just following the final credits last month and was wondering what the hell was going on in this weird place.

http://www.ichwerdeeinberliner.com/27-tatort
(probably one of the most long-winded bloggers to date. good stuff though)

my new boyfriend..

...is sabah, the septagenarian owner of the junk shop down the street. every day this turkish family sets up a little faux house on the sidewalk with hideous old furniture - rounded leather sofas, wood paneled cabinets with gold trim, tables with wheels.
i finally ventured to see what the inside is like - a sort of rough n ready with an eastern european grandma furniture allure. i found some nice 70's chairs that compliment what's already in my living room. i then discovered the downstairs basement which has an endless assortment of beer mugs, cups, small appliances and stuff arranged into categories: the broken umbrella section, the hardware area, the mismatched shoe collection.
i was told i could pick out whatever i wanted as an extra free gift, so i got a GDR teapot, some bowls. then i was offered some tea in a small glass that had the taste and consistency of battery acid.
we watched a little soccer, i admired sabah's wedding photo album. he was a little touchy feely with all the petting of my hair and calling me "princess." but, he offered me a nice ring and a bracelet so i guess we're legit now. as soon as the tea started wreaking havoc on my insides i had to quickly run home. i have to be careful when i walk by in the morning, because otherwise i'll never get to work on time, or, i might start coughing up blood on the u-bahn which could be uncomfortable.
i think next weekend if it continues to be rainy and grey, a fun activity would be to bring a bunch of friends and see who can find the weirdest item. then, then drink as many cups of tea to see who doesn't get sick. winner wins the items the others picked out.