Why Jessica Fletcher Must Be Punished
There are actually a variety of reasons. For those of you not “in the know,” Jessica Fletcher is the real name of Angela Lansbury. There was a lengthy (twelve years) biopic called Murder She Wrote, in which she played herself, but other than that, she’s gone by the stage name of Lansbury. Sort of like Mark Twain and Samuel Clemens.
Anyway.
Jessica has a lot to pay for. First of all, it’s because of her that I was a walking zombie this morning, slack jawed and out of it until I walked out into the brisk Maine air. You see, I stayed up past midnight watching the pilot of Murder She Wrote on Netflix–that whole watch instantly thing is pretty cool.* So this morning I was tired, and it was all Jessica Fletcher’s fault.
Secondly, her darn biopic portrays writing as this easier-than-getting-muddy-on-a-rainy-day-in-a-dirt-pit sort of thing. She wrote this little book in her spare time, and it just happens to become a best seller, and oh isn’t she so in shock that it is, because it was just this little book she wrote that she never even thought to think about publishing, it’s just that her nephew sleeps with a PR girl with a big publishing house, and he happened to read it and like it and pass it to her, who read it and liked it and passed it to her boss, the big wig publisher who loves it and makes an offer and now she’s doing Letterman and Donahue and who knows what, and I think this sentence has outlived its usefulness now and really ought to be put out to pasture and shot.
But I’m not bitter.
The pilot was pretty good, all things considered. 🙂
In other news, I had a nice weekend. Stacked some more wood, watched Utah beat up Alabama, saw that Philly beat the Vikings. Good times. How was your weekend?
*I liked the Netflix Watch Instantly feature–the only downside was that my internet speed was slow enough to make it a bit sluggish now and then. But I’ve since upgraded my internet speed, and we’ll see how that works tonight when I go home. (Went from 512kbps to 1MBps for $5 more.
