Does anyone remember that old 80s show Murder She Wrote? “Jessica Fletcher”? Just the sight of her upsets me. If someone died every time I left my house, I would start to worry about my effect on people even more than I already do. Every place that woman goes, someone ends up dying. No one seems to think that’s strange.
But, fine, someone dies every time she leaves her house. Okay. But then she manages to worm her way into the police investigation. As if they gave a shit about some old white woman’s opinion. She’s a fucking murder mystery writer for blood’s sake. And yet, every time, some member of the police force gags out in delight and honor that Jessica Fletcher is nosing around their crime scene.
And every time they end up asking her to help them with the case, as if she knows anything about real life. Oh wait, she probably does pick up some knowledge because someone fucking dies every time she goes anywhere.
I mean, if Agatha Christie or Stephen King wandered around a crime scene – even a crime of passion – I’m sure the police would not be welcoming. Most of them probably wouldn’t even know who these authors were beyond Unwelcome. They’d just know some nosy civilians were trespassing on their crime scene and they’d likely arrest them for getting in the fucking way.
In fact, I’m amazed at how every cop seems to know who Mrs. Fletcher is, even on the international stage. Some of the cops on the show didn’t really seem to be “book people”, so it’s strange that they would be able to recognize any authors, even shitty mainstream murder mystery writers.
I suppose I just dislike her because she’s a know-it-all and lords it over everyone else. If she was a little less abrasive and acted a little less like a stereotype, I may not have such a problem. My grandma passionately disliked Rose of the Golden Girls which was a show I only watched when I was… staying with Gram. So maybe it is simply in my blood to dislike old white women on network TV.
And omfg I KNOW YOU LIKE THE GOLDEN GIRLS I AM SORRY MY HATE IS HEREDITARY
It’s pretty sad that I am so passionate about an old TV show. I have no ill will to Angela Lansbury as I realize a woman often has to take the roles she’s offered due to How It Is.
But when I turned on the TV to escape my frustration over my inability to continue thinking in a helpful way, and I saw Jessica Fletcher, because, during the day, the five channels in Scotland played old American TV programs, and mother loving JESSICA FLETCHER was staring back at me… I just lost it. And I was inspired to express this though I couldn’t write a sentence on anything I was supposed to be writing about at the time.
Very sad. If my parents had not watched Murder She Wrote every Sunday night when I was growing up, I maybe wouldn’t have built up all this emotion about it. I don’t remember the name of someone I can call in an emergency, but I remember when there was a special Murder She Wrote episode and Jessica Fletcher was in Paris. All this brain matter wasted.
I had hoped I could use this anger for good and get back to working. But I probably just started watching music videos for another fifteen minutes. I remember not ever watching TV in my early 20s.
It obviously does rot the brain.