Ingallside*

Today included a number of moderately frustrating tidbits which left me feeling a little antsy by the time I arrived at my final delivery.

When I went inside this guy's apartment to set up his mattress, I found him propped up on his hospital bed facing a gigantic front projection TV from the early 90's blasting Little House on the Prairie.

Before this evening I would have assumed that Little House on the Prairie would be a fairly innocuous show to have blasted at me while I set up a mattress after a frustrating day. But as I finished up, I discovered the mattress I had put down had a hole in the middle and I needed to get a new one from the van and start over. At that point the full weight of schmaltz and the melodramatic Ingalls came down upon me.

In this particular episode some kid had just died. I'm not sure whose kid he was, or how he managed to buy the farm, but I do know he had "the best newspapering instincts of any boy in town." And while I know losing a loved one is hard, "life just has to go on. It just HAS to!" While I don't know how he died, I'm pretty sure I know why he died.

I didn't remember until today how awful the show was. I think I used to like it, but I was young at the time and didn't know any better. Now I do know better and have one more reason to be glad I don't get the Hallmark channel.




*I couldn't come up with a good title for this post. I live in the Ingleside neighborhood of San Francisco, and the Ingalls were the family from Little House, and, well, sorry about that.