Errant Ramblings: Mitzi Szereto’s Weblog

Mitzi Szereto in Rhode Island

My bear (the famous Teddy Tedaloo) has recently decided that he wants to move to Vermont. Why Vermont? Well, we hear there are plenty of bears there and, being the single mother of a young bear, this sounds like just the place (providing we can afford American health insurance, which looks increasingly doubtful).

Indeed, I can envision us living in a cosy little upmarket log cabin-style house with high-beamed ceilings and wood-burning fireplace, located on a nice parcel of gently rolling land, and not a neighbour within sight or hearing distance. Apparently the price of real estate isn’t too bad there either and as long as I have high-speed broadband, who cares how far away things are? Now if there are any cute quirky little lads who happen to be single and within driving distance (bonus points to those who own a nice motorbike), we might be in business! (Note: I’m willing to put up with an American accent if said lads tick the right boxes. Hey, what can I say? I’ll make sacrifices for love. Besides, Ted needs a positive male role model who’ll take him to ballgames and such. Okay, nix the ballgame shtick, we can’t stand that crap.)

As for why we’d settle on New England, well, why not? It’s somewhere neither I nor Ted have ever lived. In fact, I recently returned from a visit there, though I didn’t make it over to Vermont, but spent my time in Rhode Island and Connecticut. Rhode Island is nice, but it’s in the hurricane zone. Connecticut is nice, but it’s too expensive and too full of New Yawkers. As for Massachusetts, forget it – that caw-caw accent would make me suicidal (please, no hate mail from you Bostonians, okay?). So it looks like Vermont is top of the list for now. I’m sure I can root out enough quirky content and characters to keep Mitzi TV going. And there’s bound to be a novel in it somewhere, too (perhaps even an erotic one, if things go well). If it’s anything like Rhode Island where I walked into a random Barnes & Noble and found a copy of my new book In Sleeping Beauty’s Bed: Erotic Fairy Tales, then it must be a good place.

Mitzi Szereto in Mystic, Connecticut

Would I be willing to leave behind the bright lights of Londontown for the peace and quiet of New England? You betcha! Would I be bored silly? Heck no! I tell you, it’s all happening in New England. Take Providence, for example. Providence has the best falafel I ever ate – and I don’t even like falafel! And there are adventures galore to be had at Providence Airport – or, should I say – Theodore Francis Green International Airport or whatever in heck they’re calling it this week. When it comes to ferreting out potential terrorists, they make the Heathrow security team look like a bunch of squealing girlies.

Last week I was minding my own business waiting to board my flight for Fort Lauderdale when along came this security dude armed with a really butch-looking test tube and some kind of pH stick he was waving about in a threatening manner. Oh, man, he was tuff stuff. All I know is, the bloke sitting next to me in the departure lounge must’ve been on some no-fly list, because that bottle of water he was hanging onto was confiscated and given a right going over by Mr Security Dude. Apparently, this test tube paraphernalia wasn’t intended to get people high (as we’d hoped), but was there to test if any suspicious vapours were emanating from our bottled beverages. It appeared that my fellow passenger Mr Vapour Man had set off some alarm bells, because that pH stick became intimately acquainted with the contents of his plastic water bottle. Talk about rude!

The point is, excitement can be found most anywhere. Or maybe not…

Right, well, I guess I need to start contacting some real estate companies in Vermont (and setting that plan in motion to rob a bank to fund this venture). As for the other part of my master plan, interested parties – that means you cute quirky little single lads in New England (or elsewhere, if you can convince me that you’re what I want/need/desire) – may apply for the position of being Teddy’s positive male role model by sending a CV to me care of my website. Photos and gainful employment required.

Mitzi Szereto on a frozen Watchaug Pond, Rhode Island

An evening of tech networking at a trendy bar in Brick Lane last Friday evening kicked off to a resounding start when I had the pleasure of being searched as part of a terrorist operation by London’s finest. (Or should I say the pleasure was all theirs?) Apparently what transpired is officially classified as a “Stop and Account” – and I’ve a souvenir to prove it. Okay, I know I can get a bit intense sometimes, especially in romantic situations, but to be stopped by the police as a possible terrorist suspect? Bad enough my poor bear had to contend with a body search last September at San Francisco International Airport, but now me? Is something wrong with this picture?

I know; you probably don’t believe me anymore. Hell, I don’t believe me either. My life just seems to get more and more ridiculous by the day – and these are just the little tidbits I choose to actually tell you about. Can you imagine the bits I don’t disclose? Why, it doesn’t bear thinking about! Now before you go getting all hot and bothered, let me clarify the situation: it was not a body search. There was no patting down of my bits (they just love doing this to me at Heathrow!), and no bodily orifices probed. (I prefer to reserve that for special occasions.) Besides, it was too bloody cold out to strip off for the London Met. No, it was more of a handbag search – and a superficial one at that, as if we were just going through the motions…

…As perhaps we were.

Why me? That’s a question I always ask myself – a question for which I never receive an answer. I can only conclude that it’s my aura. It was all my fault, I realise that now. I saw people being stopped left and right, and wondered why there was such a huge police presence on Brick Lane, especially at only half past six in the evening. I’ve been there many times and never have I seen this. I mean, had someone stuck a bomb in a curry? Had one of the Bangladeshi sweets exploded with nails? Maybe I should’ve taken the hint and gone off in the other direction, but I couldn’t find the venue where this geek and meet was supposed to be held and frankly, I was getting annoyed.

I noticed one officer standing about with nothing to do, so I went over to ask him for directions to the bar, which to all intents and purposes either didn’t exist or didn’t want to be found. Well, not only did he give me completely erroneous information (guess he wasn’t from around these parts), but he glommed onto me for this terrorist schtick. I told him that I’d always thought London coppers were supposed to be nice, not like the big bad mean ones in America with their big guns, whereupon he assured me that London coppers are nice, and they don’t carry guns. (Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?). He then proceeded to take down my vital statistics (well, those I chose to give), even asking for my address. I should have lied. For all I know that cheeky copper will be coming round with a dozen red roses and a box of chocolates on Valentine’s Day. I mean, you can never tell these days.

Now I don’t want to get all controversial here (or maybe I do), but it seemed odd that in an area of East London so heavily populated with ethnic minorities I saw not even one member of an ethnic minority being stopped – only those who were clearly not members of an ethnic minority, just pasty English folk (or, in my case, pasty Hungarian-American folk). Granted, perhaps if I’d hung about longer it might have happened, but I was there long enough to suss the setup, and thereby conclude that what was purported to be an all-inclusive “Stop and Account” did not appear to be so all-inclusive.

Was this a case of reverse-discrimination tactics by the police to prove a point to those in the local community who are generally the targets of such discrimination? Because I can’t help thinking that if someone from a minority had been stopped for a terrorist search (and possibly detained), all hell would’ve broken loose – especially in this part of London. The incident would have hit every television channel and newspaper in the country, with every solicitor in the country fighting one another tooth and nail to take on the case pro bono. Hey, I can only go by my observations, and that is what I observed, so please don’t lay any accusations of racism on my doorstep (though I’m sure someone will still have a go at me). I had a long-term relationship with a man from a country on virtually everyone’s shit list – a country accused of sponsoring terrorism; I doubt the BNP will be welcoming me into their ranks anytime soon!

As for my new career in anarchy, despite the very respectful and friendly demeanour of the officer in question, I wonder if I should have kicked up a fuss. I mean, how often do you hear about expat American authors being “profiled” by the police? I might start a whole new trend. In retrospect, however, it was probably a wise move on my part to omit the fact that I write and edit erotic fiction (including the hair-raising M. S. Valentine novels) when speaking to the officer, even though I could have gotten some book sales out of the deal. And it was probably wiser yet to keep stum about my foray into crime fiction with my anthology Getting Even: Revenge Stories. Think what might have happened to me then!

Mind you, don’t most prisons have WiFi access these days?