Errant Ramblings: Mitzi Szereto’s Weblog

Teddy Tedaloo reads "In Sleeping Beauty's Bed: Erotic Fairy Tales"

No, I’m not talking about what you think (or hope) I’m talking about. Nor am I talking about Depeche Mode‘s Dave Gahan. As you may already know, I’ve blogged about Dave before – he was one of my very first Facebook friends! (Alas, our relationship has since gone pear-shaped, and we’re no longer speaking.)

No, I’m talking about Teddy Tedaloo, who’s one of my most devoted fans. Well, he’d better be, since I pay the rent. Though I really wish he’d stop singing that damned Pet Shop Boys song all the time; it’s beginning to get up my nose. I love you, you pay my rent, indeed! Mind you, when it comes to fans, he has plenty himself, if his Facebook group is anything to go by… and my long-distance phone bill. When my shipment of author copies for In Sleeping Beauty’s Bed: Erotic Fairy Tales arrived the other morning courtesy of my publisher Cleis Press in San Francisco, who do you think couldn’t wait to tear open the box?

You guessed it.

I didn’t even get a chance to make a cup of tea before Ted was already in the kitchen rustling about in the knife drawer to find something to slice open the box with. The next thing I know he’s happily ensconced on the fluffy white coverlet on our sofa with his little black nose buried in the book. How he managed to fetch his reading glasses from the upstairs bedroom without my seeing him is anyone’s guess. I suppose that’s one of the advantages of being diminutive in stature.

“Now Mitzi, are you using your blog to plug your new book release?” I hear you asking. Why, of course I am! After all, it’s my blog and I can do what I want with it. Having said that, don’t I provide you with hours and  hours of free entertainment? After all I’ve done for you – sacrificed for you, is it so much to expect a little consideration and support? (Insert Jewish mother guilt-inspiring voice here.) Haven’t I given you the best years of my life? (Insert nagging-wife voice here.) If my book is good enough for my bear, then it’s good enough for you! And take my word for it when I say that Ted’s not easily impressed. You’d be hard-pressed to find a more difficult critic to get past.

So if you want to make me happy (and you do want to make me happy, don’t you?), then click on one of the very handy Amazon carousels located right here on my website (you can select from three different countries – oy, how easy can it be?) and pre-order your copy of In Sleeping Beauty’s Bed now!

Do it because you love me.

And if you don’t, so lie.

(BTW, if you happen to be a book reviewer, drop me a note and I’ll put in a review copy request for you. But you gotta promise to be nice!)

Mitzi Szereto on a Mitzi TV shoot in London

A chat about my grand passion the internet, along with email etiquette, social networking, geekdom, and all things Mitzi TV; (broadcast on 4 August 2009, the Dave Monk programme, BBC Radio Essex).

Click here to listen now: BBC Radio Interview

Mitzi Szereto at Teddy Tedaloo's London Photo Shoot

What’s a girl to do when her own bear upstages her?

A bear who hogs the limelight – it’s a problem I’ve had a number of times. Bad enough he blew me out of the water on Mitzi TV, not to mention pretty much knocked me off the page in the Sunday Telegraph a few years back. And it’s getting worse. Who do you think received an invitation last week to do a photo shoot in London? No, not me, but – you guessed it! Teddy. Like, what’s up with that?

I tell you, it never ends. He even steals my friends on Facebook.

Of course I had to agree to this caper, since I knew I’d never hear the end of it. So I packed a few changes of outfits for him (at his insistence) and what does he do? – sticks to his favourite red jumper and jeans. Here I’d been schlepping this stuff all over the place, only to end up not even needing it! Okay, I didn’t want to make a fuss; I admit the colour contrast between the red of his jumper and the black of my little vest top worked out quite well from an artistic perspective. Hey, I’ll give credit where credit is due – Teddy certainly has an eye for what works from a design perspective.

Which brings me to the London Underground. (How’s that for a nifty segueway?) I realise I haven’t had a good rant about the public transportation system in Blighty for awhile, and I didn’t wish to neglect this fertile subject. There’s nothing like a summery Saturday afternoon in Londoninium: the sun’s shining, there’s a nice breeze, people are happy (or at least their usual dour expressions are brightened by the sun, giving the appearance of “happy”). You figure hey, it was a productive day, we had some great photos shot, and we can get home early enough to chill out and fix a salad for dinner; there’s even time to stop off in Brick Lane for some Bengali sweets, since it’s practically around the corner from Whitechapel Road. What can possibly go wrong?

Dare you ask?

Thinking I’d save myself the hassle of passing through Liverpool Street station with its teeming mass of manic commuters who take delight in mowing you down at warp speed, I opted for the District line to Mile End, where I’d change to the Central Line to Stratford. I’d done it on the way in – easy peasy! It made perfect sense to do the same thing on the way out. Well, there’s no fool like a fool who travels on the London Underground. An ominous feeling began to take hold of me as our train sat for nearly ten minutes at Whitechapel station, with swearing and shouting Chelsea supporters (I presume they won) in the next car. Finally an announcement came on saying that we were waiting in order to “even out the gaps between services.” (At least there weren’t any leaves on the line or – considering it was the Underground – dead rats.)

At long last we lurched back into service. I rose from my seat in readiness to propel myself and my important passenger out the door at Mile End. Alas, that ominous feeling returned in full force when we sped past what appeared to be a station platform packed with commuters, our train barrelling deeper and deeper into the darkness beneath East London. The electronic signboard inside our car claimed the next station was Mile End. Well, if that were the case, Mile End should have been renamed Ten Mile End. And then we arrived.

In Bow.

Did I want to go to Bow? No, I didn’t want to go to Bow. Did Teddy want to go to Bow? Not that I was aware of. Fine, whatever. I figured the driver was probably some descendant of Jack the Ripper and was tormenting us by skipping stops. Being resourceful, I climbed the stairs and made my way round to the other side so I could catch another train heading back in the direction from whence I came. Made sense, right? Well, it did until I finally managed to decipher a garbled announcement informing us that Mile End station was closed due to a “passenger incident.” Now this could be anything: a suicide, an attempted suicide, some nutter pushing someone in front of a tube train…

Well, if someone wasn’t dead, I sure as hell felt inclined to help them on their way.

An official (loose usage of the term) from London Underground told me I could walk to the Docklands Light Railway. “Two minutes!” he claimed. If so, it was the longest two minutes I’ve ever experienced – and I’m a fast walker, especially when I have the safety of my bear to consider. Bow isn’t exactly … errr… Holland Park. It’s amazing how many friends you can make in London when you’ve been done over by public transport. I found a kind young gentleman who escorted me to the DLR, and he too, was wondering why two minutes seemed to be lasting a lifetime. As we waited on the platform, we marvelled at the fact that the DLR method of timekeeping jibes with any form of timekeeping known to man (or woman). The electronic signboard claimed seven minutes to the next train, but by everyone’s watch, it was more like fifteen. Funny, that.

To pass the time of day, my new friend entertained me with a tale of how he’d been late for work because a pregnant woman decided to suddenly give birth on the underground train he was riding in. His boss wasn’t having it, however. It was only when an article finally appeared in a newspaper featuring a beaming London Underground worker holding a baby that he got back into his boss’s good graces. Soon others chimed in with their tales of woe…

… until the DLR train arrived to ruin our fun.

Ted and I got home safely, albeit hungrily. It was 9:30 pm before I sat down to eat my salad. (I’d been reckoning on no later than 8 pm.) To be honest, I was so exhausted I barely managed it. Oh, well, who needs all those faddish diets with weird berries when you have the London Underground? The problem is, I’m not even on a diet!

Mitzi Szereto hanging wiv some geeks

Random nights out in The Big Smoke…

Right, I know exactly what you’re thinking: drugs, booze, wild parties, The Old Bill, riot gear… Bet you can hear the sirens wailing already as a police van carts me off into the sooty London night. Booked, fingerprinted, tossed in the nick. Oh, the shame of it!

Well, think again.

How about a Turkish kebab with a bunch of tech geeks? Scary stuff, huh? And it gets better. How about a Turkish kebab with a bunch of tech geeks in a Turkish restaurant located across the road from a mosque? You guessed it, Habib – no booze! But what the hey, the meat was Halal and there was little chance of catching swine flu from anything on the menu!

You might well ask how our charming group of geek-kebabites hooked up in the first place. It was random destiny, my dears – “random” being the operative word here. It could be that we were all foreigners to some extent, therefore not confined to the Britishness of needing to have downed pints at the local with someone for a zillion years before venturing out for a curry together. See, I belong to a ton of groups – Facebook groups, Meetup groups – you name it, I belong to it. Ergo this whole mad kebab caper kicked off with a mass email via one of my Meetup groups inquiring if anyone was going to the TechCrunch party in London. I replied that I was, and that kicked off still more mass emails with others RSVP-ing that they were going too.

Anyway, I forgot all about it till the night of the party, when one of the mass messagers recognised me and came over to introduce himself and his mate. Riveting stuff so far, eh? Well, give me a chance! Three nights later I was at some geek networking event in Brick Lane and there they were again, along with some other guy who recognised me from the party – and soon we were all hanging out with our drinks and chatting about cloud computing (yes, I’m serious.). Then yet another character from this geek play entered our arena, and the next thing I knew we were chasing down the street after the elected Pied Piper of our party as he endeavoured via the GPS on his phone to lead us to an Indian kebab house that was so good everyone back in Delhi was raving about it.

As we ventured further and further away from the relative safety of Brick Lane and I became hungrier and hungrier, I began to wonder if the place truly existed. Had I stumbled upon (no pun intended) the geek version of the Manson Family? Was I going to be murdered and dismembered in a Muslim neighbourhood near Aldgate? If so, I could only hope it would be done under strict Halal guidelines. Suddenly I recalled a conversation I’d had earlier that evening with someone who stated that these people (as in tech geeks) shouldn’t be let out on their own. Indeed, the words rang ominously in my ears…

When at last we reached the holy grail, I breathed a sigh of relief. Aside from the fact that I would live to see another day (not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse), it had already gone past 10pm; I’d have eaten pretty much anything by then. Alas, the divine scent of our Mecca was so packed with people waiting for tables that we were told it would be at least an hour’s wait. I stared desperately at the sweets counter, having an hour earlier embarked upon a mad dash to my favourite (past tense) Bengali sweet shop on Brick Lane, only to find the shutters closed. I was NOT happy. It was clear we would have to take our patronage elsewhere.

And that’s how we ended up at the Turkish kebab place across the road from the mosque.

Was it worth it? Yes. However, I think the excitement of being in the company of so many geeks proved too overwhelming for me (I don’t get out much), because I got a bit carried away when, halfway through my ground lamb kebab, I took a bite of an innocuous-looking object on my plate, which turned out to be a chili. The nice young gentleman seated beside me appeared to be on the verge of ringing the fire brigade, but I persevered and downed a hearty gulp of my yogurt drink, attempting to put out the flames. I tell you, I never realised those Turks could be so sneaky!

We’re now planning to make this a regular gig. Furthermore, we might even allow newcomers to join our ranks, providing they can prove their worthiness. It’s been suggested that an initiation ceremony involving the chili should be used to separate the men from the boys. Hmm…. I wonder what Amnesty International would have to say about that?

If you’re a regular Facebook user (yup, I’m on about those guys again!), no doubt you’ve come across the endless barrage of quizzes aimed at pumping up your ego and making you appear to be a far better and far more superior human being than you actually are. Frankly, I’ve had about enough of these nauseating boosts for the ego. Just think, if we had this many wonderful, giving, loving, saintly, selfless people living in this world, it would truly be paradise – and we wouldn’t be in the big fat mess we’re in.

But we all know that we don’t, and it isn’t.

Let’s get real. The developers of these ego-stroking quizzes need to start making these apps more representative of modern-day society, rather than this barf-bag orgy of vomit we’ve been seeing all over the place. I say develop quizzes for REAL people, the people we meet every day, the people we work with, the people we drive on the freeways and motorways with, the people we ride on the subways and buses with, the people we live with or live next door to, the people we give our hearts to and take to our beds to love with.

I’m sure you’re going to accuse me of being a pessimist. Well, I prefer to say I’m a realist. I mean, there’s only so many times you can get kicked in the crotch before you finally wake up and smell the latte.

So here are some examples of the kinds of quizzes I believe more accurately portray the world in which we live (and they’re automatically copyrighted by having been published here, so developers – keep your geeky little hands off!):

♦ Which Kind of Nasty Sociopathic Neighbour Are You?

♦ Which Kind of Jealous Vicious Trouble-Making Best Friend Are You?

♦ Which Kind of Scumbag Cheating Husband/Wife/Boyfriend/Girlfriend Are You?

♦ Which Kind of I-Make-Everybody-Sick Soccer Mom Are You?

♦ Which Kind of Meddling Parent/Inlaw/Relative Are You?

♦ Which Kind of Skanky Trailer-Park Trash Are You?

♦ Which Kind of Lager-Lout Football Hooligan Are You?

♦ Which Kind of Sticky-Fingered Shoplifter Are You?

♦ Which Kind of Deadbeat Insurance Defrauder Are You?

♦ Which Kind of I’m-Too-Lazy-To-Get-Off-My-Fat-Ass Welfare Cheat Are You?

We can also extend this to those employed in specific professions:

♦ Which Kind of Shyster Pad-My-Clients’-Bills Lawyer Are You?

♦ Which Kind of Incompetent Never-Once-Cracked-Open-Gray’s-Anatomy Surgeon Are You?

♦ Which Kind of Crooked Raiding-The-Public-Coffers Politician Are You?

♦ Which Kind of Scamming Madoff-Loving Investment Consultant Are You?

♦ Which Kind of Embezzling Empty-My-Clients’-Pockets Accountant Are You?

♦ Which Kind of Thieving Overpaid/Over-Bonused Banker Are You?

And lastly, for those who hail from, shall we say, the more fringe elements of society:

♦ Which Kind of Fanatical Political Terrorist Are You?

♦ Which Kind of Psychopathic Serial Killer Are You?

♦ Which Kind of Dimwitted Facebook Application Developer Are You?
(Oops………………….)

Please feel free to add more!

Oh, for the good old days when I actually had someone say that to me! Now I’m rarely to be found on Skype. Out of curiosity, however, I ventured on fairly recently, logging on as “Away” just to see who was around. Well, let’s say that I got a lot more than I bargained for.

No sooner did I become visible than my laptop began to ring with that distinctive weirdy spacey Skypey ring – and it’s some strange name not even on my contact list, some guy from Slovakia. Well, I don’t know anyone from Slovakia, or at least not anyone who’s on my Skype. Figuring it to be a “wrong number,” I didn’t answer. The ringing stopped, only to start right up again. I ignored it, though I admit I wondered how this Slav could be getting it wrong twice in a row. The ringing ceased, then again it started back up. Three times unlucky? No way. Clearly someone really wanted to speak to me. Curiosity got the better of me, so I decided to plug in my headset and answer… because whoever this Slavic geezer was, he was not going away any time soon.

What next transpired had to be one of the most surreal conversations I’ve ever engaged in – and that includes all the surreal interplanetary ones I had with my former Skype partner. Since I was already logged into Facebook, I decided to update my status message to reflect my current activities, posting comments beneath my update to record for posterity all that was taking place.

Here follows the full Facebook commentary with both my comments and those of my friends (whose names have been changed to protect the innocent):

Mitzi Szereto who in hell is stefan from slovakia and why is he phoning on my skype? who IS this guy?
18 March at 22:47

Mitzi Szereto at 22:49 on 18 March
bardejov, slovakia. WTF???????
i don’t speak bloody slovak. he’s not even on my list.

Mitzi Szereto at 22:50 on 18 March
i’m gonna call him now. so there.

Mitzi Szereto at 22:51 on 18 March
shit he’s calling again.

Mitzi Szereto at 22:51 on 18 March
i am speaking to him now

Dougie Moorehouse at 22:51 on 18 March
at least he isnt a prince from nigeria:)

Mitzi Szereto at 22:52 on 18 March
he is in budapest.

Mitzi Szereto at 22:52 on 18 March
i don’t know this guy.

Wez Whitton at 22:53 on 18 March
that’s scary… skype stalking… that’s something new.

Mitzi Szereto at 22:53 on 18 March
he can hardly speak english.

Mitzi Szereto at 22:55 on 18 March
he found me randomly. just called on skype and got me.

Benjie Levy at 22:56 on 18 March
Chwat zchizz yuur zscname, chbabyiszsch?

Mitzi Szereto at 22:57 on 18 March
he knows my name.

Wez Whitton at 22:57 on 18 March
lol@ Benjie… dat’s funny shitnizsch.

Mitzi Szereto at 22:57 on 18 March
this is hysterical.

Wez Whitton at 22:58 on 18 March
get his number and hand it out to everyone you know with skype and have them randomly call him.

Mitzi Szereto at 22:58 on 18 March
he does quality control for chickens.

Mitzi Szereto at 22:58 on 18 March
this is scary.

Wez Whitton at 22:58 on 18 March
lol@chicken plucker….lol

Wez Whitton at 22:59 on 18 March
dat makes you grade A poultry Mitzi…lol

Mitzi Szereto at 22:59 on 18 March
he also does something with jacuzzis

Mitzi Szereto at 22:59 on 18 March
and meat

Wez Whitton at 23:00 on 18 March
hmmm..chickens…jacuzzis…this is bordering on illegal stuff now…lol

Mitzi Szereto at 23:00 on 18 March
and also fabrics.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:01 on 18 March
he also tests cameras.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:01 on 18 March
he is clearly a busy man.

Roberto Rachet at 23:02 on 18 March
Slovakia, Budapest is bloody Hongaria not Slovakia, and anybody doing quality control for chickens I woudn’t take seriously, but then again you never know.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:03 on 18 March
he has the old skype and likes it. he isn’t so crazy about new skype.

Cat Babinsky at 23:03 on 18 March
Like bees to honey (LOL)!

Mitzi Szereto at 23:04 on 18 March
i told him to call some chickens.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:04 on 18 March
he laughs a lot.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:04 on 18 March
he can’t understand me very well.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:04 on 18 March
bloody foreigner

Roberto Rachet at 23:04 on 18 March
where does he find time to stalk you!!!!

Mitzi Szereto at 23:05 on 18 March
we got disconnected and i am leaving it that way and not going to pick up. he is ringing again. go away.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:06 on 18 March
he is calling me again. he will not give up.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:07 on 18 March
he cannot even speak english why is he bloody phoning me back?

Murial Fountainhead at 23:07 on 18 March
what language is that?

Roberto Rachet at 23:07 on 18 March
I mean chickens and cameras and jacuzzis and meat and all the rest of the C..P well at least he has shown a good taste in people to stalk

Mitzi Szereto at 23:08 on 18 March
i have such a headache now.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:08 on 18 March
christ now he is messaging me.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:08 on 18 March
he is saying he’s sorry he knows i’m busy. lol

Mitzi Szereto at 23:09 on 18 March
what is it with these slavs?

Richie Szabo at 23:09 on 18 March
Roberto what da hell r u talking bout??? Budapest is capital of Hungary. Slovakia is a country which capital is Bratislava and they speak slovak. The Hungarians speak Hungarian obviously. Nd these 2 languages are completely different. Anyway, I wouldn’t take him seriously too.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:12 on 18 March
it’s all weird richie. totally weird. he has a slav name, he is listed on skype as being in slovakia, and he tells me he lives in budapest and does quality control for chickens, cameras, and jacuzzis.

Jeannie Dottie at 23:13 on 18 March
LOL. I needed a laugh so thanks for this – very funny (and thank Gawd I don’t have skippy-skype!) )

Dickie Corgan at 23:14 on 18 March
Sounds like a spammer. Block and report him.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:15 on 18 March
spamming what – that he has a million chickens that he needs to send me because he cannot leave budapest?

Mitzi Szereto at 23:16 on 18 March
stefan horniak. lol! surely that name can’t be kosher. HORNIAK? give over mate.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:20 on 18 March
now i got some guy stalking me from plaxo. he’s sending photos to my email. one is with his kid. you can’t be serious.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:23 on 18 March
OMG it’s getting even better. just had an invite sent to my yahoo calendar from roselyn kilpalya, who is a lovely young woman who wants to be loved and she apparently saw my profile and wants a relationship with me. hang on – i’ll paste it here.

Roberto Rachet at 23:23 on 18 March
of course the languages are different I know because I speak both of them an I do know geography as in where is what, but I am curious how do you know that not many here could see the difference.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:23 on 18 March
Nice to meet you, My name is Roselyn,i am tall,slim,fair,and a very good looking girl that loves travelling and dancing, a student,that loves to be loved,i really want to have a good relationship with you after going through your profile i want to find my Love, I am longing to find my soul mate and true love to share all my love and happiness, joy … Read moreand desire and sometimes even sorrow and sadness. kindly permit my contacting you through this medium i am compelled to contact you via this medium for obvious reasons which you will understand when we discuss details of my proposition.Please i will like you to reply to me through my mail address so that we will know each other very well,i am looking forward to your positive confirmation to enable us have an important discussion then we will start from there which will include my introduction,i will send my pictures later. Hoping towards a wonderful lasting friendship with you Thanks and God bless you,

Mitzi Szereto at 23:24 on 18 March
oh boy! could this be the mendiing of my broken heart???

Roberto Rachet at 23:31 on 18 March
oooo lord just dont send any money!!!!!
See how it goes first.

Mitzi Szereto at 23:36 on 18 March
money? lol – what’s that?

Mitzi Szereto at 23:38 on 18 March
hey if she wants to court me she’s got to treat me like a lady. none of this mates kinda shite.

Roberto Rachet at 23:41 on 18 March
Good for you, You go girl!!!!!!!

Roberto Rachet at 23:42 on 18 March
And just in case she says no give her my phone number!

Carla Pretti at 23:45 on 18 March
Mitzi, I find your wall terribly entertaining, I would swap it with an evening out at the cinema and definitely with some ehm… well cooked chicken ) hihihi….. LOL! El desperados are too many on earth to talk about them all, but watch your back from those scams girl because you are far above them!

Mitzi Szereto at 23:46 on 18 March
tell ya what – you can have her. i know already it isn’t going to work.

Carla Pretti at 23:48 on 18 March
As far as you keep it CONFIDENTIAL XXX!

Mitzi Szereto at 23:49 on 18 March
carla, i only live to see the next day in order to entertain everyone on facebook. i realise i have a responsibility to my facebook friends and my own selfish needs and desires are of no consequence.

Carla Pretti at 23:52 on 18 March
Sweet one, but yourself has still to come 1st 99% of the times!

Mitzi Szereto at 23:52 on 18 March
roberto, here is my suitor’s email address. give it a shot.
roselynkikpalya1@yahoo.com

Mitzi Szereto at 23:52 on 18 March
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=59Hj7bp38f8

Carla Pretti at 23:56 on 18 March
Ah, ah! Luvd it!

Mitzi Szereto at 23:57 on 18 March
carla dear one, a nice thought, but not entirely realistic. anyway, enough of such talk. when are we going for rose shisha?

Carla Pretti at 23:59 on 18 March
Yeah, we have to arrange. I have not forgotten…

Mitzi Szereto at 00:01 on 19 March
don’t wait too long! i am planning to go to california in a few weeks and will likely be gone for at least a month. x

Carla Pretti at 00:05 on 19 March
OK, will try and get in touch with the 3rd part as well.

Mitzi Szereto at 00:05 on 19 March
excellent. and lebanese food on edgware road. perfection! and if the weather holds out, all the better to sit outside and smoke like a bunch of old arabs just out of mosque. love it!

Carla Pretti at 00:06 on 19 March
LOL!

Mitzi Szereto at 00:10 on 19 March
inshallah.

Mitzi Szereto at 00:11 on 19 March
إن شاء الله

Carla Pretti at 00:11 on 19 March

Lana Rossie at 01:14 on 19 March
don’t kick the slovaks. I have very fond memories of a very fine Slovak…and DAMN, he was fine…

-fin-

I never heard from Mr. Horniak of Slovakia-via-Budapest again. Probably just as well; it would never have worked between us. Not really. I mean, a man who spends his time with chickens? I just can’t see it. I can’t help wondering though if the fact that I’ve not gone back onto Skype since that night might have anything to do with the fact that he’s dumped me…

Oh well…. Another one bites the dust.

If you’re a regular user of social networking sites such as Twitter and Facebook, does the following look familiar?

lying in pool of own vomit w/ @parishilton @britneyspears

cottaging in 4 seasons toilets w/ @georgemichael

caught massive dose of clap off @skankypantz

disembowelled outside palo alto starbux by @mansonlvr

I’m sorry, but I can’t take it anymore. No, I’m not talking about the man who done me wrong. I’m talking about this endless twittering, tweeting, and retweeting… So what was wrong with two cans and a string to communicate our news? Andy Warhol must be turning in his Campbell’s Soup can. I doubt even he could have imagined this kind of fifteen minutes of fame.

Hey, don’t get me wrong – I’m all for social networking, I think it’s great and it serves a useful purpose! I admit that I’m totally addicted to it. Just call me a social networking crackhead – if I’m near a computer I’ll be online, even if I’m at someone’s house. I’ve even done it at parties! I’ve stuck myself up on a ton of sites, and now I can update them all via a simple one-stop shop at Ping.fm. However, a lot of this social networking has gotten out of hand. Fine, keep people up to date, but don’t make us want to run out and buy and gun and go postal with it. There’s a huge difference between being informative and being excessive. And baby, the line has been crossed.

Perhaps I didn’t notice it that much before, or at least not until Facebook decided to sneak into Twitter’s back garden and grab their knickers from off the clothesline. Hello Mark? Does your “new” newsfeed not look just a wee bit familiar? Where’s that innovative Silicon Valley spirit? Or did it go careening off a cliff on a mountain bike? They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Frankly, I’m not buying it.

I admit that I try to exercise a reasonable amount of restraint when it comes to my own status updates. But how few are too few and how many are too many? That is the question, Hamlet, and it’s a bloody hard one to answer. Of course I want people to see my name, get involved in what I’m doing, follow my little exploits, be they mundane or exciting. Yet I’m also very aware of how I myself react when I see the same people continually posting, and I mean posting like a machine gun – rat-tat-tat-tat-tat – one after the other, like those butch Italian cowboys being shot down in a Spaghetti Western when you know there can’t possibly be any more bullets left in the gun. I mean, it’s not like these folk actually need to keep updating and updating. Often you’ll find the updates are nearly identical. They remind me of a student I taught in a university creative writing module who stubbornly refused to engage with the process of redrafting and thought she could get away with changing a couple of words here and there.

As for this ad nauseum updating business, I know several users who have deleted other users from their Twitter and Facebook accounts – and I’m talking very high-profile users (many even of celebrity status) whose updates were getting to the point of either being analogous to spamming or making everyone ill. Do they not realise how annoying this is? If you’re losing followers on Twitter or friends on Facebook, then maybe it’s time to acknowledge that your social networking methodology might be backfiring. Granted, you don’t have to be high-profile to spiral into overkill.

Can you imagine if we had Count Dracula constantly updating his status? (It would likely be at night, unless he was inside his coffin during the day sending tweets from his mobile phone.) It would probably go something like this:

chowing down flies w/ @renfield

taking a bloodbath w/ @dracsbride

hiking in carpathians w/ @jharker

debating wooden stakes v silver bullets w/ @vanhelsing

I’ve now reached the point where I’ll comment on people’s updates just to wind them up. In fact, I recently engaged in a bit of a Facebook fracas with a gentleman who was attending a convention (I won’t say which convention, though you might be able to guess). He kept updating his status every few seconds – yes, I am serious: SECONDS, so I thought I’d tease him about it, interjecting little jests under his various updates, hoping he might come to realise just how ridiculous this was getting. Alas, the point of my repartee was completely lost on the fellow, and finally I could take no more. I said, “hey, if you want to see some updates that are actually entertaining, take a look at my page.” And do you know what he replied? “Oh, I don’t really have time to look at other people’s updates.” Umm… excuse me? Needless to say, I clicked that little X alongside his updates, opting for one less nuisance in my busy social networking life. Hey, if I have to read your updates, it’s only fair you read mine, right?

Now before you hardcore updaters drag me off to the stake to be burned, realise that all I’m saying is this: before you update your status for the gazillionth time, ask yourself the following:

1. Do I really need to update when I just updated a minute ago?

2. Is it absolutely necessary when I’ve pretty much said the exact same shit in my previous update?

3. Will anyone be remotely pleased to see my update or will they pray that lightning strikes me dead?

I think you know the answer.

(By the way, it’s @mitziszereto in case you want to follow me on Twitter! xxx)

“I have to go on Facebook to find out you’re sick???”

Throw in an “oy vey” and yup, we’ve got mega Jewish Mother Syndrome at work here. (I knew there was an explanation for all those food parcels containing Manischewitz Matzo Ball Soup Mix.) This is pretty much typical of what I get on a daily basis from South Florida. Oh, the joys of social networking sites! Not only does the entire universe know your business (including stalkers, potential stalkers, serial killers and hapless suitors), but you get your mama nosing around to see what you’re up to. Not that I’m ever up to much of anything, but…

I actually posted a status update saying that I wished my mother would stop spying on my Facebook. And guess who saw it? Yeah, my mother. Just as I knew she would, which is why I posted the status update in the first place. It only took a few minutes and there she was, posting a maternal retort on my page, saying “you thought I wouldn’t see that?”. Well, of course I thought she’d see it. That was the whole point!

It’s all my fault. I’m the one who turned her onto Facebook. I’m no better than a schoolyard dope peddler. (“Hey kid, wanna get high?”) And what do you think mummy dearest does to thank me for my social networking kindless and generosity? Steal my friends. Not only that, she donates a bunch of her friends to me as if I’m some Facebook Johnny No Mates (hell, I’m almost at the 5,000 friends limit!), only to later ask who’s that crazy Hungarian woman who keeps poking her or who’s that lad in Moscow who wrote on my wall? – to which I have to remind her that SHE was the one who gave these people to ME! And if that’s not enough, I’ve even seen several of my friends go over to her camp. Then when I ask her about it, she goes all innocent and claims they sent friend requests and since she saw they knew me she accepted their add. Hmmm…

I’m now wondering if it’s only a coincidence that she got bounced off Facebook at the exact same time I did a few months back. That was when the site was changing over to their new security system, resulting in disaster for a number of users, myself included. Between the two of us (and a slew of Facebook friends I’d recruited for this purpose) we were launching email tirades at every Facebook employee we could find to get our profiles back up and running again. I’m sure there are photos of us on the walls of their Palo Alto headquarters that have been made into dartboards. In fact, I’ve heard Mark Zuckerberg‘s got a full-length one of me in his office – and I won’t even tell you where he aims his darts. (Let’s just say that if I ever do another volume of Wicked: Sexy Tales of Legendary Lovers, he won’t be one of the legendary lovers.)

As for my mother and her keen interest in my Facebook goings-on, I’m certain I’ll catch hell for this blog post, but in the words of former Prime Minister John Major, “Get your tractor off my lawn!”

♥♥♥

Seriously, you have GOT to play this video: http://www.youtube.com

And give this one a listen too: http://www.youtube.com

I guess it’s safe to say I’m now officially a social media tart. I’m on everything: Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, Plaxo, LinkedIn, Flickr, Tumblr, and probably some places I’ve completely forgotten about or would prefer not to remember. I even linked up my Facebook status updates to appear as my Twitter updates. Okay, I’m lazy, so sue me.

I recently joined Flickr and it’s been a right larf. I’m now being stalked on there by some Cossack who plays the balalaika (no I am NOT kidding). I’m telling you, he’s way out there, Russian Orthodox and single (oy vey). He looks like he could be straight out of Dr. Zhivago. (Ironically, I’ve a copy of that very tome given to me as a special gift on my bedside table – and I’m seriously considering setting fire to it.) It’s a shame the Cossack doesn’t float my boat, or else I’d be viewing dachas with Russian estate agents as we speak. There’s also a really hot Hungarian guy on my Flickr. And don’t ask me how, but even Robert Scoble got on there. And no, he’s definitely NOT hot. Well, except perhaps to Mrs. Scoble. (Sorry, Bobby! Kiss kiss!!)

Which brings me back to Twitter. I already had a very severe case of laryngitis (that has now developed into bronchitis) before I arrived well armed with Moo cards at their London networking event on Monday evening which was, by a curious twist of fate, called “Twinterval” (it’s got the word “winter” in it, get it?). So trying to shout above the impenetrable din at The Match Bar in Oxford Circus was a major challenge, as was the pushing and shoving by too many people crammed into too small a space. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) I was plied with mango Bellinis courtesy of a free drinks coupon and courtesy of some social media guy from Toronto. So rather than squawking like bird roadkill, I squawked like an injured hawk that hadn’t yet become roadkill. Mind you, the evening was only just beginning.

I ran into a few familiar faces from other networking events I’ve attended recently, including a blogger from France who remembered that I’d been about to take my “Life in the UK” test the last time he saw me. In fact, I’d forgotten all about it until he asked how I did. (If you read my blog post “How Many Chavs Does It Take To Screw In a Lightbulb” you’ll know that I passed.) A number of other people came up to me too, recognising me from Facebook and other sites, which was kind of cool in a rather friendly stalkerish way. There’s no anonymity on the internet; you’re out there naked for the entire world to see!

When it became clear that my oral communication skills were severely hampered and weren’t likely to improve, I set off trying to locate what was left of the free munchies (I have my priorities right). I tell you, that crowd chowed down nearly everything in the place, leaving only the tables, chairs and couches behind. I ended up parking myself at a table full of people I didn’t know or speak to just so I could eat the hummus and pita bread they weren’t remotely interested in but had somehow been fortunate enough to have ended up with. Talk about eat and run.

Now I realise that I tend to fluctuate between being a social star on one end and being a hermit on the other, but I find it rather curious that what was supposed to be a networking event consisted of several “networkers” sitting solo at tables typing into their laptops. Am I missing something about this social networking gig or what? Or were these people trying to demonstrate their geekiness by disengaging from the entire process of face-to-face networking and interaction with other human beings? I’d be willing to bet they were continually updating their Twitter status too – and updating it with snappy little tweets that made it sound as if they were really living the high life. (Sounds a bit like Facebook, eh?)

I don’t know if this is coincidence or not, but suddenly a slew of people are now following me on Twitter. I have no idea where they’re coming from or how they found me, but hey, if they want to follow me, so be it. I won’t complain. Isn’t that the entire point of this exercise? Unless there is no point, and I’m missing the point.

I suppose no evening out in London – or at least an evening out involving me – would be complete without its fair share of science fiction. Just as I was leaving the event, I was given a little gift bag, which thankfully I didn’t open on the underground, or worse yet, on the train back home to Oi Oi Essex. Mind you, I could have made some really good friends very quickly had I removed the contents of my goodie bag. What was in said bag, you ask? Well, try this on for size (ahem): condoms, massage melts, a “love ring” (yeah, there’s a ruder name for this and you damn well know what it is!), and something called a “Curlywurly”. (For some reason this makes me think of scissors and the importance of personal grooming.) I don’t even understand why this stuff was handed out. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the nature of the event, and as far as I know, the sponsors for the evening included the likes of Sun Startup Essentials and Openwave, not the Jiggy-Jiggy Sex Emporium. Unless I was the only one who received these treasures and everyone else was given a more respectable bag of Lotto scratch cards and cards for free international phone calls and packets of Maynards Wine Gums.

Hmm… I wonder if my dishy Hungarian might have had a hand in this?

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