Stewart:Embarrassing secrets include Angela Landsbury
Writer’s ‘Murder She Wrote’ fix developed over the summmer
By Ross Stewart (Contact)
Thursday, September 6th, 2007
I don’t want my roommate walking in on me watching “Murder She Wrote.” There, I said it.
Most males worry about their roomies interrupting other activities halfway through—activities like masturbation, the shaving of the “bathing suit areas” or sex. These things don’t worry me, for I have a lock on my door.
I, however, do not have a TV in my room, so to get my dirty cable-driven fix I have to go to our living room, where I can’t hide my shame.
We’ve all got our own dirty secrets, like my MSW problem. But upon transferring here I’ve been noticing groups of students on campus who seem to think they’re God’s gift to earth.
This summer marked the beginning of my MSW, or “Murder She Wrote” dependency. I lived at home in Wichita with my family. I would come home from a day of school (I was a full time student this summer and by no means recommend it), sit down with my mother and watch an hour of Jessica Fletcher solving mysteries without the need of a walker, which I found astounding. Fletcher is the main character of “Murder She Wrote”—in every episode she’d use her skills as a mystery writer to help the police solve a murder. Fletcher carries homicides around with her like a handbag; if I saw her on a cross-country flight I’d lock myself in the lavatory until we landed.
So, after two to three months of coming home to “Murder She Wrote,” I became a habitual viewer—I have a MSW problem. Now when I’m bored at my apartment, I can’t help but switch the TV over to (I’m shuddering as I type this) the Hallmark channel and watch some “Murder She Wrote” or, when in a bind, “Matlock.”
I think having a problem with cocaine and drinking is easier to admit then a MSW problem, Lindsay Lohan has nothing on me.
We’ve all got our own dirty secrets, like my MSW problem. But upon transferring here I’ve been noticing groups of students on campus who seem to think they’re God’s gift to earth. I don’t wish to rain on their parade, but I suppose I will, because someone has to and I’ve got nothing to lose (other than my reader base).
Everyone has something they do that is as equally, if not more, embarrassing than my MSW problem. That being said, it can be concluded that no one is better than anyone else. We all have something we don’t want other people to see us doing. It could be something serious like vomiting up your dinner because you think you’re overweight or something more comical like having to once a week sit down and eat an entire can of whipped cream while listening to Raffi. We all have our little quirks and problems, but these by no means make any of us less than the rest. If someone swears they have nothing to hide, which in turn supposedly makes them better than the common reader and myself, I suggest they live in a glass house.
All you high and mighty students on campus, I know you’ve got something on par to my MSW problem, so why don’t you come down a few pegs there on the old stuck-up ladder? It’s rather liberating to admit that you do have some flaws.
I’ve got to go though, “Murder She Wr—,” I mean “The Daily Show” is on.
Stewart is a Wichita junior in journalism.
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It's spelled Lansbury. Well proofread.
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