Posts Tagged ‘Mark Zuckerberg’

A Valentine Bear’s Wedding

Saturday, February 19th, 2011

For those of you who don’t follow society events, you’ll be kicking yourself that you missed the major event of the season, if not the century!

Teddy Tedaloo and his lovely bride Ninny

Teddy Tedaloo and his lovely bride Ninny

I refer to the recent Valentine’s Day wedding of my beloved bear and the co-star of Mitzi TV, the famous Teddy Tedaloo. Just about everyone who was anyone was in attendance (except for Facebook’s Mark Zuckerberg, who was not invited due to his species-ist beliefs and his continued inability to get the site functioning properly). All the socialite bears were there, not to mention HRH herself, Queen Elizabeth II. Man, there was so much bling in that church you needed sunglasses!

Family portrait

Family portrait

The Queen, sweet old dear that she is, gave a little speech after the Archbishop of Canterbury did the whole formal nuptials thing. (Judging from HRH’s expression, I’ve a suspicion she was hoping her grandson and future granddaughter’s wedding this spring would at least equal in prestige and grandeur that of Teddy and Ninny’s.) Liz is a huge fan of Ted’s and even has a paw-print autographed photo of him in her private quarters at Buckingham Palace, so of course she wouldn’t have missed his wedding for the world. And with a bit of tinkling of the ivories by that other famous queen Sir Elton John accompanied by the delightful tones of Kylie Minogue, how can anything possibly go wrong?


You just had to ask, eh? Well, the champagne was a-flowing and Ted was a-drinking… so much so, in fact, that he passed out in the coatroom just after the wedding cake was sliced up and consumed (he had three pieces). His bride thought he’d done a runner, only to discover that he’d fallen asleep! Apparently someone’s coat had fallen on him and – bears being bears – Ted thought it was time for hibernation. Poor Ninny was in a right state, until the groom resurfaced some time later, wanting to wrap up the evening as quickly as possible so that he could hurry home to change into his pajamas and watch Coronation Street featuring Leanne and Peter Barlow’s much-publicised “blessing.” (Unlike Teddy and Ninny, things didn’t turn out so great for Leanne and Peter.) Ninny, however, managed to convince Ted to take a quick spin around the dance floor first, though he still managed to get home and in his PJs in time for Corie.

Mitzi Szereto and her date Caramelo

Mitzi Szereto and her date Caramelo

To say it was a bittersweet moment for me, as a mum, would be understating the fact. You see, Ted’s an only bear, and to watch him taking his vows in front of all those people, well… I shed quite a few tears, believe you me. Thank heavens I had the comfort of my date, the very handsome Caramelo, who’d flown in all the way from Dubai to attend the wedding, along with his mum, who was Ninny’s Maid of Honour. Sure, it’s early days yet, but I think it’s safe to say that things with Caramelo and myself are progressing along quite nicely. I just hope that I’m not his rebound girl, because he was sort of interested in Ninny first.

Sexy Ninny

Sexy Ninny

As  for the happy couple, the last I heard they were heading off to enjoy their honeymoon, which, if this glamour photo of the blushing bride is any indication, should be a red-hot one, indeed!

Ian Somerhalder, Where Art Thou?

Sunday, May 16th, 2010

Ian Somerhalder with his mate Teddy Tedaloo

I’ve been invited to speak at the upcoming Social Media in Business Conference in London on the subject of social media for creative artists, and it’s really got me thinking (I do indulge in this on occasion). As the “Queen of Facebook” (according to Wikipedia and my hapless suitor Mark Zuckerberg), not to mention author and editor of numerous books, blogger for “Errant Ramblings” (you’re reading it now!), creator and presenter of Mitzi TV, and the mother to my famous bear Teddy Tedaloo, it’s probably safe to assume that my name carries a bit of clout. You can find me pretty much everywhere on the internet. Heck, I’m a social media goddess!

I have thousands of fans, friends, followers, tweeters, and stalkers from nearly every country in the world, running the gamut from authors, poets, tech geeks, musicians, pensioners, estate agents, educators, students, actors, film producers, social media gurus, doctors, lawyers, Indian chiefs, journalists, politicians, pervs (see “politicians”), exiled Communists, serial killers, PR people (see “serial killers”), dead rock stars, and teddy bears – to your aunt Tilly from Temecula who no one ever talks about since the cops dug up her back garden and discovered all those bodies. (But hey, they got great wi-fi at Quentin, so she’s always wired and ready to go – well, at least until they strap her in the chair.)

Sounds like I pretty much know everybody, right? Then why is it with all my contacts, not a single one has responded to my request to fix me up with Ian Somerhalder? Yes, I mean the very same Ian Somerhalder who plays the dishy but nasty vampire Damon Salvatore in “The Vampire Diaries“. What exactly is going on here? Where are all these people I’ve cultivated and made so happy with my many posts, tweets, rants, and raves? You know who you are, so don’t even try to wrangle out of it.

Fine, so you retweeted me a few times – big deal. But what have you done for me lately? Where are you when I really need you? I’m beginning to get Jewish mother syndrome here. I do so much for you, I sacrifice, oy oy oy.  Yet the minute I ask for something, everyone runs to the hills. (Hey, wasn’t that a really bad Iron Maiden song?)

Am I supposed to believe that with thousands of people at my electronic beck and call, not one of them will show their appreciation for all my hard work and sacrifice by having a word in Ian’s shell-like? Okay, I do expect flowers, but he doesn’t have to go all out and blow his entire pay packet on them. (I’m not one of THOSE girls.) But heck, if I’m willing to offer up my tender neck, I expect him to be enough of a gentleman when he sinks his teeth into it. On second thought, tell him to ditch the flowers. Some nice chocolate will suffice. Let it not be said that I don’t have my priorities right.

I’d always vowed never to get involved with an actor. Having served some time in Los Angeles, let me tell you that you can get weary of actors very quickly. And they don’t necessarily make the best waiters either, despite popular opinion. Could be one reason why there are so many sushi bars in LA – you don’t need that many waiters to staff them. The thing is, you can’t always predict or control whom you’ll fall for. Actor, bus driver, binman… It’s in the lap of the gods.

As for Ian, I think we’d be really great together. (Sorry, Mark!) And, even more importantly, Ted likes him. Ian’s a big animal lover and, although his love seems to focus more on cats and dogs, Ted’s pretty certain he can win him over with his ursine charm. In fact, judging by that photo of them together, I’d say it’s already working! (Mind you, I just hope that Ian’s not trying to use him to further his own career. You tend to get that with these artistic types.)

So Ian, what time are you coming to get me?

Interview with Mitzi Szereto

Wednesday, April 14th, 2010

Check out my latest interview at Eden Fantasys, where I discuss writing, blogging, Mitzi TV, erotica, my new book In Sleeping Beauty’s Bed: Erotic Fairy Tales, the publishing business and, of course, being a social media maven! There’s even some advice for aspiring writers.

Mitzi Szereto is best known for writing which mixes classical elements with current trends. How does combining the past with the present inspire Mitzi’s creative process? How does she see the erotic genre evolving in the future?”

Click here for full text of the interview.

Screwy Rabbits: The Dangers of Twitter

Thursday, October 8th, 2009
Me and Mr. Bunny

Mitzi Szereto with bunny

I know what you’re thinking: that Mitzi, you just never know what she’ll get up to next. Now she’s dating Bugs Bunny!

Okay, I admit he’d be one hell of an improvement over any of the male members of the human species I’ve known and loved. But before you go getting all excited and churning up the rumour mill, let’s put a bit of perspective on the situation.

On second thought, why bother? Who needs perspective and logic and all those other things that take the life out of life (and the love out of love)?

I have a confession to make: as a kid I used to adore those wonderful old classic Looney Tunes cartoons. Elmer, Bugs, Porky, Daffy (are you thaying I have a thpeech impediment???)… I wanted to live in those cartoons. In fact, I still do! And judging by the above photo, you’re no doubt assuming I got my wish.

Me and Bugs, walking off into the sunset together. Oh, and Teddy, of course! I won’t go anywhere without my beloved little bear by my side. You’d have to pass muster with him before you get anywhere near me!

As for meeting screwy rabbits…

I use Twitter.

Therefore I can only blame Twitter for landing me in the furry arms of a lascivious rabbit the other evening. Yes, I said lascivious! Bad enough he shed all over my black top. People were plucking his fur out of my hair all night long. It was as if I’d suddenly gone white, like what you hear happens when someone’s experienced a traumatic shock. Hmm… perhaps that wasn’t too far off the mark.

You see, I’d innocently headed out to London’s famous Carnaby Street for an evening of networking with other like-minded Tweeters, only to end up fending off the amorous attentions of a Tweeting bunny. All I can say is, he might have been hearing “Some Enchanted Evening” playing in his big white floppy ears, but I sure as hell wasn’t. The truth is, I never really fancied hairy guys, especially sweaty ones. As for a sweaty hairy rabbit…

…It just wasn’t going to happen. Besides which, he was too tall!

I guess this is what I get for being a social media maven. I’m terrified to think what might happen if I ever went to a Facebook event. Aside from being the officially recognised Queen of Facebook (and Robert Scoble thought he was popular? – no one even knew who he was till I friended him on Facebook!), I have enough trouble with Mark Zuckerberg as it is. The Silicon Valley boss man of Facebook simply refuses to let go. There’s something terribly heartrending about seeing a man cry – especially when you’re the cause of it. I tried to let him down gently, I really did. I mean, could I help it if Teddy didn’t take to him?

As for my floppy-earred suitor, I have serious doubts about it going anywhere. He just came on too strong for my liking.

I’m sure Bugs Bunny would not have behaved in such an ungentlemanly fashion.

Molested by Bunny

Mitzi Szereto molested by bunny

Get Your Tractor Off My Lawn!

Sunday, March 15th, 2009

soup mix

“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:

And give this one a listen too:

Facebook: The Anti-Social Social Network

Friday, November 14th, 2008

You know that expression “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”? Well, how about “Hell hath no fury like a social networker scorned”?

A couple of weeks ago I had my Facebook account disabled with no warning or explanation. I’d been online in the evening and had left the page open while I took an overseas call. When I returned to the computer – BANG!! No more Facebook. Needless to say, I was not amused. I figured it was yet another of their multitudinous technological glitches – the very same glitches that have prevented me from accessing many of the applications I have loaded. I mean, I can receive Poke Pros, but I can’t seem to send them back out. What’s the world coming to? I figured this time something truly major had malfunctioned. However, when my bear was able to get into his Facebook account, I realised that things were definitely not kosher.

For several days running, I sent copious emails to copious Facebook email addresses, as did many of my Facebook friends, who wished to lodge their protests over my apparent and tragic assassination. I hadn’t done anything I could think of to bring the wrath of the Silicon Valley gods down upon me. My only consolation that it had all been some dreadful mistake was down to the fact that on the very same night my account went missing, so too did my mother’s. Now this was truly bizarre, especially since she uses it nowhere near to the slavish and fanatical extent in which I do. I smelled conspiracy. And I was out for blood. There was more at stake here than simple social networking. I had things on my Facebook of great sentimental value to me – and perhaps this was what hurt the most: losing them forever.

To say that I was ready to recruit any surviving members of the Weathermen (or those not still in prison) to come with me to Palo Alto and do some major sorting out would not have been an understatement. (I should add that I’ve been told I look pretty hot in khaki too.) Had I actually boarded that flight to Northern California, well… let’s just say that Mark Zuckerberg (can we think of anything that rhymes with “Zuckerberg”?) would have been wise to pack up his cojones and head for the Mexican border. This was NOT how The Queen of Facebook should be treated!

When I received an email containing a Washington Post link from a friend about what can only be described as an indiscriminate cull by Facebook against its users, I really freaked out. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but there definitely appears to be a discriminatory policy in operation here. My bear has been the victim of it; so too have a number of his mates who, like him, don’t qualify as sharing the same species as you and I do. Having said that, I know plenty of homo sapiens who have likewise been treated unfairly, having their accounts randomly and bizarrely disabled for reasons known only to some anonymous entities hiding behind a computer screen whose sole source of social interaction is derived courtesy of their own hand. Bad enough to get scolded for adding too many friends or joining too many groups, but where will it end? Delete accounts of people who have a big schnoz? (Guess Babs Streisand will be shit out of luck on this one!)

To make the situation even more bizarre, only a few weeks before my enforced disappearance from my favourite social networking site I received an ominous message from the Facebook gods that a photo I’d uploaded had been removed due to a “violation of terms of use”. Now that puzzled me. What could I possibly have posted that could even remotely have violated anything? A photo of me at a book launch? A photo of me at my mother’s house? A photo of me with my bear? WHAT? Hell, I’ve seen stuff on Facebook that’s downright pornographic, to say nothing of the kind of groups they allow to proliferate – groups which should only be allowed on a subscription porn site, not on a mainstream social networking site. Hell, I’ve seen profile photos of women who look as if they’re plying their dodgy wares on a street corner. But who gets a threatening message about violating terms of use? Me! So I combed through my various photos, trying to figure out which one had been excised out of existence. And guess what? It was the book jacket for my anthology Wicked: Sexy Tales of Legendary Lovers. I nearly fell off my chair. Okay, it’s got nudity, but it’s artful and subtle nudity, not pornographic nudity. You see raunchier stuff on a postcard from Miami Beach. I couldn’t help wondering who in my circle of 4,000 plus Facebook friends would have complained about the cover of a book I’d done, especially if they were interested in having me as a friend in the first place! Ironically, Wicked has been and still is being sold by major booksellers – and placed out on the front tables, not relinquished to some unreachable top shelf in the rear of the store next to the toilets. Clearly, Borders and Waterstones have no objection to the book jacket. Go figure.

Anyway, my story has a happy ending… at least for now. I’m back online at Facebook and, I am pleased to say, was apparently sorely missed. In fact, I received a number of messages and wall posts from people I’d never even spoken to before, welcoming me back and saying that it had been really boring without me. Gosh. Perhaps there is something to this social networking gig after all. I mean, a little bit of mass adoration can go a long way.

And who knows? That random poke you receive might develop into the love of your life! (If it doesn’t lead you into the arms of a serial killer first.)