Errant Ramblings: Mitzi Szereto’s Weblog

My famous furry sidekick and partner in crime Teddy Tedaloo (or McTedaloo) and I are recently back from a glorious weekend in the Shetland Islands of Scotland (aye, laddie), where I was invited to appear at the ninth annual Wordplay book festival. Though I’ve been to other parts of Scotland (see my blog posts 1, 2, 3), this was my first visit that far north, and I was warned of high winds that might blow me over into Norway, but instead I just ended up with my hair being blown the wrong way.

On the Saturday I did a talk and performed readings from my short story “Hell is Where the Heart is” from Getting Even: Revenge Stories and two selections from In Sleeping Beauty’s Bed: Erotic Fairy Tales. I think it went over fairly well, since I didn’t hear any snoring. On the Sunday morning I conducted one of my erotic writing workshops. The somewhat unusual fact that it was scheduled at 10am on a Sunday morning was pointed out to me by several people, and, though I worried that it might conflict with church services, I went ahead with it anyway, playing to a sellout crowd who clearly found some divine inspiration!

Mitzi Szereto and Teddy Tedaloo on the boat cruise

I tell you, it was all happening in Lerwick that weekend. Aside from Wordplay, there was Screenplay (the film festival), and even a blues festival taking place. Ted and I managed to squeeze in the screening of Requiem for Detroit from film director Julien Temple, who was in attendance. We even went on a boat cruise to Bressay and Noss, which left at least one person seasick (Ted was looking a bit green himself) due to the rough seas, though it was great fun when we went along at a swift clip. We were at the aft with some of the heartier passengers, hanging on for dear life to a pole, the wind in our hair (and fur), as we rode our watery roller coaster. It left me feeling unsteady and queasy for the next 24 hours, but hey, it was worth it!

Mitzi Szereto and Teddy Tedaloo with BBC Radio Shetland presenters Amy Fisher and Jonny Polson

When I landed in the Shetland Times, I figured I was a pretty hot commodity. I (along with Ted) was also interviewed by the presenters of BBC Radio Shetland’s arts and culture programme “Sideways”, and they were most impressed with Ted’s erudition and fine fashion sense. In fact, I suspect the young lady presenter quite fancied him (can’t say I blame her, Ted being an extremely handsome bear). I suppose with all this publicity it shouldn’t have been surprising that the entire town seemed to know who I was – from the local tourist office to the blokes who operated the tour boat (one of whom suggested I teach erotic writing to the other passengers). I tell you, I was feeling like a real celebrity. Until…

…I found out that Teddy had almost made the cover of the festival brochure. At that point I began to suspect that it might not have been me the festival folk wanted to grace their stages, but Ted. This wasn’t the first time I’ve been upstaged by him; however, things really became glaringly obvious when Julien Temple entered into a discussion with Ted about doing a film about his life, only to end up in tears (Julien, not Ted) when they couldn’t agree on a soundtrack. Julien wanted The Sex Pistols; Ted’s more a Temptations bear. He loves their song “My Bear.” (I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day…)

Mitzi Szereto and Teddy Tedaloo at Fort Charlotte

Which brings me to the subject of food. Did I mention the breakfasts at our hotel? You’d never get that kind of breakfast in London, EVER. I asked for a small kipper to accompany my other selections, and I got a kipper the size of a vintage Cadillac. And it was a real kipper, not some freeze-dried, shrink-wrapped, bargain kipper either. One breakfast was enough to feed me for an entire week.

Of course, no venture outside of my front door is complete without some mishap. My worst fear on returning home was the tube strike, which began at tea time on the day of the evening I was to fly back to London. When I arrived at Gatwick, it was pissing down with rain. However, the adventure had only just begun, for my suitcase had not arrived along with us. I suspect it had remained behind at Edinburgh airport (where we changed planes) to avail itself of the whisky-tasting table at the duty free. Note that I’d carried this piece of luggage with me for the two flights on the way up, but encountered a problem at Sumburgh Airport in Shetland, where my tweezers appeared to spark fears of a terrorist attack.

They searched my suitcase and everything in it looking for my sinister contraband – you’d have thought I had a bomb strapped to my back from the way they were going though my stuff. When they found the offensive item and threatened to take it off me, well… I wasn’t having it. I can’t buy those tweezers anywhere (and they never caused a problem before in a carry-on), so after a few minutes of discussion, they agreed to mail them back to me if I paid for postage. Then it was suggested (especially since the plane was a small propeller one) that I should just check the bag all the way to London. By that time I would have agreed to anything, therefore I hurriedly checked it, instantly regretting it and having an ominous sense of foreboding that it would not be arriving with me. All during the flight I feared the loss of my mobile phone charger, my camera charger, numerous items of clothing, my favourite black suede boots, the Shetland fudge and Scottish tablet I’d bought, bits and pieces from the festival…

Despite my scarily accurate sixth sense, my tale has a happy ending. The suitcase was recovered (and fully intact) and delivered to my home the next night, and Teddy and I are now making really quick work of that Scottish tablet and Shetland fudge!

If you fancy trying your hand (so to speak) at a bit of erotic writing, you can catch me at my Literotica workshop in the first weekend of October on the Isle of Wight.

(A bit of after-party merriment, featuring fellow Yank, Will Kaufman.)

Mitzi Szereto and Teddy Tedaloo enjoy some strudel

I bet you didn’t know that I was named after an Austrian countess (or rather my name was passed down to me by my mother, who was the one originally named for said countess). Okay, so I don’t think my ancestors hung out with Mozart (more likely Liszt), but it’s rumoured that the ghost of my maternal grandmother is wandering the streets of Vienna as we speak! She’s probably checking to see if anyone makes better apple strudel than she did.

Which brings me to Wien. What was initially supposed to be a short visit three years in the making turned into a whirlwind of activity and a combo work-holiday/food orgy. No sooner did I arrive at Vienna airport than Teddy and I were whisked off in a Fiat Panda  (yes, I said panda!) to Radio FM4 ORF to be interviewed on the “Reality Check” programme by Kerry Skyring, who turned out to be Australian rather than Austrian. Perhaps it was inevitable, since not only did the car I was riding in have a sticker in the rear window of a koala bear with an Australian flag, but my hostess for the weekend (Sylvia Petter) is herself Australian. I should’ve known the shrimp was on the barbie when I was treated to an authentic Austrian Australian breakfast of Vegemite on toast. (Why does Vegemite always conjure up Men at Work and their song “Land Down Under“?) Not even 24 hours had passed and already I was wondering which country I’d come to. Had I boarded the wrong plane at Gatwick? It was all becoming a blur: Austria, Australia, Vienna, Vietnam. Whatever. As long as I could get some nice cakes I was cool with it.

I didn’t even have a chance to recover from my journey (why does it take twice as long to get to the bloody airport here in the UK than it does to fly across Europe?) then I was up early the next morning (anything before 10am is perverse for me) and off on the Mutzenbacher tour – an interesting and rather unique walking tour of Vienna’s less than savoury past. Let me tell you, it’s a good thing I had one of those Viennese coffees to start off the morning with! Mind you, the heat of the day was proving unbearable, and as the tour reached its conclusion I was fearing I’d never manage my reading that evening at Shakespeare & Company Booksellers. I don’t “do” heat very well, and as morning turned to afternoon, it grew hotter and hotter. It might have been prophetic that one of the readings I’d planned for the evening was from my short story “Hell is Where the Heart is” (in Getting Even: Revenge Stories). Because it was definitely hotter than hell!

Mitzi Szereto partakes of a pre-author reading pigout

To keep me alive, just before the reading Sylvia took me to an ice cream parlour in The Bermuda Triangle area (no, I didn’t spot any sharks!), where I hurriedly indulged in a divine ice cream sundae topped with candied chestnuts (I say hurriedly because the heat was melting it), after which the three of us made our way to Shakespeare. Ted was keeping a low profile in his backpack. It’s a good thing too, considering we were greeted at the bottom of the road leading to the bookshop by a gentleman armed with a really butch submachine gun. As we headed up the hill, I noticed a police car blocking the top of the road. Seriously, I never expected my appearance to cause this much of a fuss. I’ve performed my work in such diverse locales as London, Los Angeles, and Wales – and there was never any necessity for armed officers and police guards. Then it dawned on me. The road housed the Stadttempel, Vienna’s main synagogue. Aside from the fact that this happened to be a Friday evening, the Stadttempel had been attacked by terrorists some years back – and clearly the authorities had no intention of allowing it to happen again. Talk about sobering. What a nasty world we live in when people can’t even go to shul without risking their lives.

Mitzi Szereto with Teddy Tedaloo outside Shakespeare & Company Booksellers

At the bookshop I consumed glass after glass of mineral water, hoping I wouldn’t melt into a literary puddle before the time came for my gig to start. The owners were beginning to look at me with concern, no doubt thinking I’d keel over dead right in the middle of their shop. In an attempt to cool off, I went outside (it wasn’t much better there either), where I struck up a conversation with a very nice lad, who’d been perusing the books before he had to head off to synagogue. Okay, so maybe I was chatting him up, if you want to know the truth! (After all, doesn’t every girl’s mother tell her to find a nice Jewish boy?) He seemed genuinely interested in my reading and wanted to attend, but being a Friday evening, the rabbi called. Not one to let a good opportunity pass, I did everything I could to convince him to skip out of shul, even suggesting he recruit the rabbi and anyone else he could find and bring them on over. Alas, our relationship hadn’t yet progressed to the point where he’d choose me over the rabbi, but I remain hopeful.

Anyway, the last I heard, my Aussie Austrian hostess Sylvia was getting the wedding invitations printed. Mazel tov!

(Stay tuned for Part 2 of my Vienna blog!)

A bit of Viennese craziness:

Mitzi Szereto with Teddy Tedaloo at her author appearance in Vienna

For those of you who were unable to be there in person, you can hear me read an excerpt from my short story “Odalisque” (from my anthology Foreign Affairs: Erotic Travel Tales), which took place at Shakespeare & Company Booksellers in Vienna, Austria on 17 July 2009. This had to be the hottest night of the year, but thanks to Teddy, copious glasses of mineral water, and a bit of unexpected inspiration from the synagogue next door (now that’s MY secret!), I managed to survive without melting away completely!

Watch the Video on YouTube:

Is it possible to love someone so strongly, so overwhelmingly, you’d be willing to sell your soul to the devil to have him?

That is the opening line to my short story from my anthology Hell is Where the Heart is from Getting Even: Revenge Stories. Having to repeat it again and again for the camera on Monday afternoon caused me to revisit a sentiment that has been amplified exponentially from the time of the story’s conception. But read it I did, for the planned filming of my performance reading was a year in the making. And, on a cold winter’s afternoon in London’s South Bank, it finally came to fruition.

It began over a year ago at the London book launch of Getting Even, where I planned to do a reading of my work. Because my story was so heavy on dialogue, I realised I needed to find a legitimate Cockney to perform the part of my character “Alf” the Cockney Devil, since I didn’t want to get any Dick Van Dyke comparisons being hurled at me (cor blimey Mary Poppins!). So I’d put out a notice on Facebook and voila, enter Bob Boyton – as Cockney as Cockney can get, and in possession of an accent that could slice through a jellied eel in milliseconds. Yup, I’d definitely found my Alf!

Judging by the reaction of the audience that evening, our performance went down a right treat – so much so that let’s just say I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse. Enter Paul Atherton from Simple (TV) Productions – a gentleman who kindly offered to film the reading. Well, I won’t say I got all starry-eyed and fancied myself as Lana Turner being discovered at the soda fountain at Schwab’s Drug Store (yes, I do realise I have star quality!), but I did imagine the video being watched on YouTube and anywhere else it was possible to upload it to.

Having lived for a time in El Lay, one tends to become rather blase about such creatures as actors. However, after an afternoon spent in various locations within the Royal Festival Hall – an afternoon consisting of back-breakingly hard work reading bits of my story again and again and getting them shot from various angles, I will never again be dismissive of those who have chosen or received the calling for the Thespian life. As if it wasn’t difficult enough trying not to flub our lines, we were forced to put up with Muzak playing in the background, espresso machines whooshing, cleaners banging and emptying bins, and individuals so stupid and inconsiderate that they couldn’t shut their mouths for two seconds when walking past what was clearly a film shoot. I mean, does the camera with the microphone sticking out of it not offer a tiny hint of what is transpiring? We were even interrupted by some daft old duffer asking why the door to the auditorium was locked. Um… probably to keep daft old duffers like you out! I nearly shouted. Instead I gave him my Hungarian evil (albeit myopic) eye, at which point he fell over dead with a heart attack. Well, okay, so maybe that isn’t what happened. But you gotta admit, it sounded pretty good.

After we finished the shoot, I went back with Paul to his flat to do some editing. Well, if the filming wasn’t labourious enough, just try editing it! To add insult to the injuries incurred courtesy of the Royal Festival Hall, the cable that was supposed to feed the film into the computer decided not to work. Fortunately another cable was secured – a nifty little red one – and after getting all the footage transferred into the computer and selecting passages to slice and dice, we found ourselves being further thwarted by technology when said computer, for some arbitrary reason known only to itself, decided not to automatically save the work it was programmed to save, and we had to start all over again.

By this time I was utterly convinced the project was cursed and that my tragic aura was having a negative impact on the equipment, and very possibly on Paul. I mean, the day had begun with a text message that pretty much shattered my universe, so why not have the film project shot to hell too? But Paul is nothing if not a consummate professional, thus when I left him late Monday night, he was still toiling away editing the video which, if no other mishaps occur, should be done and dusted by this coming Monday. And yes folks, I will post it on Facebook (including my group page and fan page) and MySpace and every conceivable place there is on this planet to post it, including here. I bet you can’t wait, huh?

Solo reading, Part 1: http://www.youtube.com

Outtake: http://www.youtube.com