Sopranos Ends,* Thank God

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*Spoiler alert, you Tivo-ers–although I don’t know why you’d bother delaying viewing of a cultural event like this one; it’ll require serious strategizing to avoid hearing the outcome.

Is anyone talking about anything else at the office this morning? I think not, so let’s hash. Did anyone else hit rewind five times to make sure they didn’t miss something? Talk about jarring. Long after we’d gone to bed, I was noodging my husband Chris with questions: “So what was up with the parallel parking? And why that Journey song? And why’d that creepy guy go into the men’s room?”

Chris sighed, and said something about how the many red herrings in that final scene–the SUV roaring past Meadow as she crossed the street, the shifty man at the counter–pointed to the uncertainty of daily, modern life. Yes, this man and his family face real and mortal danger more often than most, but the point is that even those of us who lead “normal” lives brush against mortality every day.

At least I think that’s what he said. He used the word “manifestly.” Me, I didn’t even get till I read it this morning that the FBI agent gleaned Phil Leotardo’s whereabouts from that female agent he’d just bedded.

Anyway, I’m relieved it’s over. I loved The Sopranos, in the same way I love The Shield; at the beginning of every season, I swear I can’t stomach another–but after watching one episode, I’m completely and horrifyingly inured to the violence and sucked in to the plot lines and characters. I’m glad to be rid of Tony and bratty Anthony and psychotic Paulie. I’m glad HBO no longer holds my Sunday nights captive. I plan to make some new friends to hang with. Has anyone checked out that show about Army wives?

(For a genius analysis by an actual TV critic, go to Jim Poniewozik’s blog.)

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