Big Girls Don't Cry

Woke up this morning, and the Soprano family suddenly relocated to suburban Minnesota. Go figure. I grew up in Minnesota, and Carmela's taste in decorating is suspiciously similar to the inhabitants of Wayzata, Excelsior, and perhaps Minnetonka, MN. Maybe there's a Nordic Mafia. My high school boyfriend mowed lawns for a Swede who owned a Confederate flag. Not that I condone that. Not that Tony supports the Confederacy. Not that I'm defending the mob. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Except everything. Eep. Oh, help.

Bahama Skies. An establishment the Church Lady might say offers cost-effective "tanning while your naughty parts are all a-tingle" business, complete with graffiti and fluorescent palm-tree accents. Christopher and Adriana pull up in the Lexus, and Adriana singsongs that if he's late, they won't refund her money. What, is she paying to have him serviced at this whorehouse? Ew. I mean, she looks pimpish in her endangered snow-leopard spandex, but really. But I'm wrong -- Christopher just has some business he must attend to. Or rather, some crap he must beat out of someone. Inside, various hoochies who I suspect were transferred from Bada Bing for this episode stand around looking bored in bikinis while frat-boy pituitary cases egg each other on. Ew again. An older Asian hoochie in a not tasteful hot pink dress with matching (and showing) hot pink brassiere leads Christopher into a back room. An ugly, more redneck-ish Sam Shepard on a bender tries to make small talk with him, but Christopher points out the coke all over Sam's upper lip, saying he looks like he's been "French kissing the Pillsbury doughboy." Snorting of nose, wiping of lip, Christopher demands his money, manila envelope exchange, Ugly Sam Shepard is short for the third week in a row and thus is in for an open can of whoop-ass. Except Asian Hoochie flares her nostrils pretty scarily and screams, "Business slow, we sell you!" Now, she apparently attempted to say "tell" or even "told," but I heard "sell." Love that stereotypical broken English.

Cut to Adriana's crusty blood-red talons, with cigarette and gold glob ring, honking the horn. She has French braids. Cute, if you're a gymnast or on a rural women's basketball team. She should spray her bangs up time. Anyway, Asian Hoochie blathers on, and her punchline is "we pay no more!" which makes Ugly Sam Shepard shove her out of the room and Christopher attack him with his paintbrush. No, I'm not mistaken. It's a paintbrush, and it's in Ugly Sam Shepard's nose. He squeals and pleads like a stuck pig that he's sorry -- all due to the prospect of paint up his nose, and I have to giggle fiendishly. Christopher yells that Ugly Sam Shepard has money for blow, but not for him, and that business is not slow, "half the fucking neighborhood's out there waiting for blow jobs." Then Christopher wins the hypocrite award by calling Ugly Sam Shepard a drug addict mofo, and sits him down on whatever the hell kind of model plane, train, or automobile he was making. Hey, Christopher, what is that stuff you've been known to smoke, snort, and inject? Eep. Issues. Scolding Ugly Sam Shepard, Christopher bounces out, and I'm reminded of George Jefferson. That makes Adriana Weezy. Hee.

New Vesuvio. "Big Girls Don't Cry" is playing, which always makes me think of the movie Hairspray, which makes me think of Ricki Lake, which reminds me of Carnie Wilson and how she's lost the weight of an entire other person! Wild. Anyway, Tony's giving Charmaine the "How you doin'?" and she's giving him her "Witchy Woman" hairy eyeball, as usual. She tattles on him to Artie, saying it's the third time this week he's done that. Artie does his impression of a wussy little fraidy cat and tries to make light of it with "you can't turn him down a fourth," while Charmaine rolls her eyes back into her head and sighs hard enough to knock two waiters over. Well, I mean. I know "How you doin'?" is a come-on in these parts, but a) he wasn't serious, b) he could have said "Nice tits, Char," and c) he's Tony Soprano. Knock it off, Mrs. Bucco. Except Paulie makes a "fuck you" gesture at her behind her back, and that's just mean.

Artie is so cute in his chef's outfit, especially with the collar turned up. Too bad he's been whipped by everyone and has no manhood left to speak of. He serves Tony, Paulie, and Silvio some scrumptious (as always) looking plates as Tony complains that he took too long, he was about to eat the drapes. Well, it sounded like "drakes" to me, so I thought he had some Drake's coffee cakes, and when I don't see them I run to the store for some. Maybe I need a hearing aid. Or better self-control. So Artie gives the boys quail "a la Bucco," and my mouth waters at the name even though I don't believe in eating quail or pheasant. Then my heart sinks as Paulie attempts humor and lands on his ass with, "Can I get AIDS from eating this?" Hearts break around the world, including mine. To which Artie says, "Yes, Paulie, my gay cooks touched everything with their cootie hands and you're going to die from AIDS in about two weeks." Well, he doesn't say that, but he should have. I would have loved to see a few episodes' worth of Paulie's AIDS paranoia and then everyone laughing and pointing at him for his homophobic ignorance, but hey. You can't always get what you want. Artie's remaining cojone shrivels up and dies as he swallows his sensibilities and chuckles graciously at the "joke." Silvio tries his own crack about seeing his quail take a dump on a statue this morning, hardy har har poop jokes. Artie says they should broaden their horizons, and Tony retorts that he should forget this "fancy shit" and get himself a master mozzarella cheese-maker like Furio, a relative from "the other side," meaning Italy. Silvio calls Paulie his own (wink wink) kind of master cheese-maker (gesture gesture) and I say "Ew" and "Hah!" simultaneously, because Paulie got deservedly slammed. Charmaine tells Artie he has to go to the bank, and Tony follows him into the kitchen. Paulie says she should go to the bank, since she'll need to get her broomstick's oil changed, and I begin sticking pins in my Paulie voodoo doll. Artie gives Tony big innocent cow eyes as Tony twists his arm into agreeing to hire Furio as a mozzarella-maker. Tony will pay him; it's to help out with the immigration. "Either do me the favor or not," Tony basically threatens, and throws in some guilt about being there for Artie since third grade. "Does he at least know his ass from his shamozz'?" Artie quips in what sounds suspiciously like Yiddish to me. Ha ha ha. Hee hee hee. Artie's self-respect screams from underneath Tony's heel.

Acting for Writers. An older, more thespian version of Natalie from Sports Night plays an acting teacher, giving a typical acting-teacher speech in a dark theater. Adriana and Christopher show up late; Christopher is sheepish, blames the tunnel, and Thespian Natalie scolds. Traffic is always such a problem on this show. What am I saying? It's Jersey, it's New Yorkanyway. Geeky classmate Mitch introduces himself, says he was born and raised in Hartsdale, but please don't hold that against him! Take his wife, please! I laugh and laugh. Well, not with him, but at him. He looks like 7th Heaven Christian Dad's evil twin -- if he had an evil twin, which we all do, you know. Mitch uses that newfangled Hollywood lingo, telling them he wrote a few "specs," but that he currently works at Chick-Brauer Porsche/Audi. Christopher's turn -- or rather, Chris Maccavidi. Good, Chris. No one will find out you're connected with that brilliant alias. He tells the class he wants to write for the movies, "GoodFellas, shit like that." Apparently this class is a present from Adriana for his birthday. Christopher explains he was having problems with his screenplay, so he bought the book How to Write a Movie in 21 Days, but that was a year ago now. Hee hee -- take that act on the road, Mr. Maccavidi. Oh, he's cute, I can't pick on him too much. A unibrow, but still cute. Thespian Natalie spouts some theater-teachery wisdom, but I tune her out because she's got a pashmina wrapped around her.

Shot of a television set, our favorite household item! News footage of Junior being escorted from the Federal Courthouse in Newark. Disembodied Anchorwoman Voice tells us about Uncle Jun's recent medical furlough from jail, where he was awaiting trial. Disembodied Anchorwoman says Tony remains the de facto boss of the New Jersey mob. There's something creepy about Disembodied Anchorwoman. Maybe because she's disembodied. That can't be comfortable. Tony watches the broadcast in one of his lovely sweatsuits, his protuberant belly spilling out from his pants, as he dips unidentified meat (let's hope it's at least a nice capicolla) into a family-size jar of mayonnaise and eats with his mouth open. God, he's sexy. I want to lick that mayo right off his face. Not. The television drones on, showing FBI surveillance photos of Tony and Pussy and reporting that Tony was the target of a botched murder attempt last year. Indeed. That's what mothers and uncles are for. Tony swears (did I just feel the need to write that? Duh.) and screams, "How come every piss I take is a fuckin' news story?!" Alas, Liliana, the maid, is the only soul to be found, and she ignores him. Tony grunts accordingly.

Cut to Lou Costello Memorial. Hee. We used to call a friend of mine in high school "Lou" Costello. I have no idea why. Teenagers are weird. Tony meets Paulie at said memorial, pulling up in what I like to call his "substitute"-mobile. And I don't mean teaching. Wink. I mean he's compensating for something. Wink. Something that needs to be bigger. Get it, get it? I knew that you would. Tony looks chubby in red silk, Paulie ever-so-stylin' in a blue and white tracksuit. Can't get enough of those gold chains and Aqua Velva. Paulie blathers about having coffee, railroads, cutting rails, sweet, whaaat? Doesn't matter. Tony orders him to pick up Furio at the airport. Paulie joke-guesses that he's coming to see the indoor plumbing. Hee. Yuck, but hee. Tony admits that he's making some changes, because he could "do a dime" for jaywalking these days. Paulie gets all adamant and paranoid, thinking he did something wrong. Tony plays into it, tricking him into thinking he's pissed over a box of his Mallomars that Paulie ate. Hee. Make Paulie squirm. Just kidding, Paulie, and Tony informs him of the new hierarchy: Tony, Paulie, and Silvio; then Christopher, Pussy, and Furio. Hugs and kisses as stone Lou Costello looks on.

Melfi's therapy with Elliott, who's played by Peter Bogdanovich. Bracco's hair and glasses are much better this season, by the way. Less round. She keeps squirming in her seat like she has a wicked wedgie or something. It's irritating. Just go get the antifungal cream and be done with it, Jennifer. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Melfi describes a Tony dream she had. Fun with reenactments. It's raining, he's driving, he has a panic attack, reaches for an empty Prozac bottle, crashes into a huge semi, and goes headfirst through the windshield. Her description takes a strange turn as she and Elliott play "Name That Tune"; during the dream, a song from The Wizard of Oz plays. Melfi attempts to sing while bopping up and down and making finger gestures. Sweet Lorraine. She sucks and she knows it.

Melfi and Elliott now play the psychology mumbo-jumbo game as she expresses her guilt over abandoning Tony, and Elliott makes seriously smug lip and eyebrow movements like he's Sherlock Holmes. Somehow figuring out that Tony is The Great and Powerful Oz to Melfi is perceptive. More shifting in her seat as Melfi admits she's gaining weight -- squirm, squirm. She does a lot of open-mouthed tongue and eye-rolling and hair-tossing as Elliott further deconstructs her desire for consequence-free danger. "I'm concerned treating a mobster provides you with some vicarious thrill," he solemnly states. Melfi gets her undies in a bunch again, protesting that she had to go into hiding, then pulls a Tony-esque defensive move and curses at Elliott a lot, calls him a "smug cocksucker," and flounces out. Sheesh. PB and no J raises his bushy bushy eyebrows again, and with good reason.

Tony's lookin' mighty fine as he hangs around the kitchen in his bathrobe. I mistake Carmela for a fluorescent pink flamingo with gold jewelry as she loads the dishwasher. The phone rings, and Carmela shoots daggers at Tony with her eyes that say, "You better get off your ass and get that, because I'm not doing all the friggin' work around here, you pig." But I'm just guessing. AJ (although he'll always be Pugsley to me) comes in with the intent of scoring some jam, but ends up staring at Tony through this whole scene, despite Carmela telling him to get ready for school. Tony begins to throw a world-class tantrum because the phone call concerned Janice/Pavarti trying to take out a loan on Livia's house. Tony attacks the phone and barely misses Carmela and AJ's heads as he throws it across the room. Carmela hisses at AJ to go get dressed, screeches like a harpy at Tony and tells him to grow up, and stalks off. Tony looks sheepish. He goes up to AJ's room and tries to make a joke about how he's doing product testing for Radio Shack, sinks into the quicksand of his unfunniness, and fails to amuse AJ. The parenting team gets no points this round.

Tony pulls up to Livia's house in his substitute-mobile and bangs on the door in a manner that indicates, in law-enforcement terms, that a domestic altercation is brewing. Richie Aprile opens the door wearing a wife-beater and boxers. Not the way to start the day, my friend. Tony barges in, his aim to make mincemeat out of Janice for the loan business, but she's at the store. Richie plays hostess and offers Tony eggs and coffee, but Tony tells him to put his pants on in a scary tone of voice my father has only used twice in my life and it scared the shit out of me. Nonetheless, Richie does not put his pants on, and the snippy conversation continues. Tony behaves like a maniacal father as he grills Richie on the situation between him and Janice. Tony: You're like Israel and Palestine, there are men in the can better looking than Janice, you better not be moving in here, you used to get blowjobs from her in high school on my mother's couch. Ew. Too much blowjob talk can sour an episode. Richie: We have a history together, I thought a lot about her in prison, it was late, I slept over, we're taking it slow, people change, we're adults, picking up where we left off. How romantic. Except it's Richie talking, so -- not. Then Richie suddenly forgets he's a third Tony's size, takes a fork, and yells at him to back off, all due respect. Tony reminds Richie that he put him back in business, and fists are about to fly when Janice comes swooping in in her Age of Aquarius way. She's all "who me?" and Tony's all "yeah, you" about the loan. Janice says she's perfectly capable of getting a job to pay it off. Tripping her up with her fake disability claims, Tony says she'll have trouble even being a beggar for a living. Janice says she's just trying to make the house habitable for Livia, and Richie chimes in that he'll give her the money. Problem solved. All Tony can do is call them Ozzie and Harriet and tell Richie that Janice is his headache now. Ah, the joys of sibling rivalry.

Omar, a classmate of Christopher's, drops his pretend bag of oranges during an improv, and Christopher calls him on it. Thus, Christopher is deemed Mr. Improv. He's Thespian Natalie's teacher's pet. Thespian Natalie assigns scenes. Christopher gets the role of the "Gentleman Caller" in The Glass Menagerie. Blah blah blah.

One of Carmela's open houses. I think she said once that she has one every week, or something certifiably Martha Stewart like that. Unfortunately, she's doused in Pepto Bismol and carrying an Avon cosmetics case. Oops, sorry. I meant to say, what a lovely pink pantsuit she's wearing. Pussy caps on Furio to Silvio in the corner, although the way they leer at him, you'd think they were checking out his ass. A clueless Furio plays with babies and charms the mothers. Silvio gets tired of Pussy whining and tells him Furio's a friend, chill out. James Gandolfini has too much eye-shadow on, and stands in the middle of the room like Frankenstein. When he beckons Furio over, Furio gushes about La Loren (meaning Sophia Loren), cable television, and NYPD Blue. Christopher struts in, complaining about the traffic on the Garden State, and greets Furio with surprise as Carmela steals Furio away to play with the children. Christopher asks if he's here on vacation. Paulie jokes that Furio saw a travel poster for sunny New Jersey and had to come. Hee. The redemption commences. Keep it up, Paulie. Tony tells Christopher that Furio's with them now, and inquires about Bahama Skies paying up. Christopher admits that he only got half, that he didn't know what Tony wanted him to do about it. Paulie chimes in that the problem lies with Rosie, a.k.a. Asian Hoochie -- well, he says she's a Chinese something that I never say if I can help it. Unidentified Associate contributes that she's actually Filipino, and everyone shrugs as if to say "same difference." How worldly this group is. Tony asks what Christopher thinks he wants done, and Christopher says he'll take care of it, but then Tony changes his mind and tells him to hold off. Something tells me Furio is going to get his wings this week.

Doorbell. Carmela finds Junior and Unimportant Sidekick on the doorstep, bearing a box of pignoli and a feeble excuse that he came to pay his respects to Furio. Carmela slams the door in his face and sucks in her cheeks so hard my eyes cross. Good for her.

Adriana and Christopher are running lines from The Glass Menagerie. Adriana looks like a Shih Tzu with her hair in a headband. They argue about whether the gentleman caller wants to screw the gimp. I'm not kidding -- that's what Christopher calls her character. Adriana gets all smarty-pants and defines "gentleman" for Christopher, whose definition is synonymous with douchebag. Hee. They sulk on the couch. She tells him to quit; he says he'll just get another scene. She gets all coy and squeaks, "I like you as an actor," as she chomps on her gum. Christopher launches into a never-ending impression of Joe Pesci from Jimmy Hollywood. Love those classic cinema references, Chris. Now do Kirk Cameron from Like Father, Like Son. Except don't, because I'll die from wasted film disease. Christopher sits in such a way in this scene that his package is clearly outlined, and I have to avert my eyes, it's so yucky.

Have you really taken the time to meditate on how enormous Hesh's estate is? It's mondo. It's mongo. It's all those superlative adjectives ending in "-o." How many of them are there, I wonder? Tony is at Hesh's pad. Hesh is wearing his customary silk robe, telling his black bombshell in a two-piece to go get herself a drink. I love that Hesh plays R&B slow jam music. Tony makes up some stupid story about fronting a guy some money, then cuts to the chase with his real reason for visiting. He asks Hesh why, when things are going good for him and his family, is he screaming at his sister all the time and pulling phones out of the wall? Hesh is not particularly helpful, and would obviously rather be doing the nasty with the black bombshell than listening to Tony unburden himself. Tony admits that he used to see a shrink, and talks about his panic attacks and fainting spells. Hesh drops the bomb by telling him that his father, Johnny Boy Soprano, had the same condition. Tony is jazzed to know his old man had anxiety attacks -- maybe it's hereditary! Hesh blabbers on about some New York Times article, MRIs, polyps, and fear center tests. Tony perks up at the latter -- a brain scan to see how adults respond to parents' criticisms. Hmmm. Are you there, Oedipus? Mommie Dearest? Tony tries to tell Hesh about a dream he had about being on the beach fully clothed, but Hesh is not such a good listener. Get thee to Melfi, Tony, please. I don't want to hear anymore about how doctors used Hesh's ass to invent new tests. Ew.

Christopher gets a new scene from Thespian Natalie after whining that he's not a gentleman caller, and she gives him remedial acting advice. His assignment: Rebel Without a Cause. She doesn't want a James Dean impression. Thespians everywhere cringe after seeing what he did to Joe Pesci.

Ducks. For a minute I think the infamous pool ducks from the first season are back with a vengeance. Then I hear the voice of the Russian goomah, Irina, crooning something to the ducks about peaches. Oh, poor creatures, the closed captioning tells me. However, the closed captioning can't always be trusted. It spelled mozzarella "moozadell" earlier. Anyway, Tony and Irina are on the boat. Tony yells at her for feeding them cheese doodles, offering her his wisdom on what ducks eat, since he had that aforementioned family of mallards in his pool and now he's an ornithologist. She calls him names in Russian; he calls her names in Russian. door, a Russian man in an outfit you might dress up in for Halloween if you went as a plaid banana shouts to Irina that that's what she gets for dating an American. She snips back that if she wanted a factory worker she would have stayed in Kazakhstan. Zing. Except instead of that, she's a Mafia mistress. That's much better. Tony overhears, demands to know what was said, and promptly attacks the plaid banana by grabbing him by the testicles. Eep and ouch. Tony asks him if he's got a problem besides his pants. Hee. Nice one. Tony continues to tell him to mind his own business, and the plaid banana's wife or mistress (who looks like Cheri Oteri as Tammy Faye Bakker) looks on in astonishment, but doesn't even put down her beer. She shrieks that she'll call the police over and over. Tony realizes he has to hightail it out of there quick as he sees the plaid banana waddling up the dock to shore, because the cops are looking to bust him for anything. Inside the boat, Irina has flotation devices on her arms and is fixing her make-up. That's not important, but it was a funny image to me. Packing, shoving Irina, clomping away in a big hurry.

Christopher and Adriana, trying out his new Rebel Without a Cause scene. After a lingering butt shot of Adriana in hot-pant cutoffs, she starts to laugh. Christopher gets all persnickety, gives up, does a line of coke. Christopher: "You said you weren't gonna laugh!" Adriana: "I didn't laugh." Then Adriana laughs. Hee. Christopher turns on The Jeffersons; Adriana chews her gum. I'm serious. That's all that happens. Although it does contribute to my theory that they're George and Weezy. Immediate segue into Christopher once again trying, to no avail, to wheedle his way out of the scene with Thespian Natalie on the phone. Blah blah blah. I'm bored.

Tony's back at Hesh's for some more free therapy. They sit in a study of some kind, in big leather chairs, and tell simultaneous stories, not listening to each other at all. Kind of like the elderly couples in When Harry Met Sally. Tony even bickers with Hesh when Hesh's advice entails getting more sleep, which he and I both would rather be doing. Hesh says, and I quote, "Easy does it, Laddy Buck," and I open up my big medical book to "senility and dementia." Tony's all upset about losing his temper with the plaid banana, because it would have been a big mess to get hauled in, Carmela would know he was messing around again, Junior would be full of glee, his kids would get generally freaked out, et cetera. Plus he's averse to his pool all of a sudden. Interesting. You see, Melfi would know what to do with that, Tony. Hesh just says Tony has some sort of complex, and launches into a story about some German dude he used to know. Tony's eyes roll back in his head and he settles down for a long winter's nap.

In the scene, Christopher has to interact with his character's father, played by Geeky Mitch. Everyone in the scene is really bad, except Christopher. Cynthia sounds like a mammy, and another guy does the worst reaction to being shot I've ever seen. I'm surprised he didn't stick his legs up in the air to indicate death. But Christopher flabbergasts everyone with his genuine tears, and storms out sobbing. Meltdown Maccavidi. It should be noted that Thespian Natalie's reaction to his performance was "Un-freakin-believable!" Miss Parker silently vows never to say that to any of her students, along with any usage of the phrase "the bomb." 'Nuff said.

Furio is making cheese, making cheese, making cheese! (To the tune of "Mary Had A Little Lamb." So I'm amusing myself, okay? Sue me.) Ick, he's making cheese and smoking. I mean, smoke 'em if you got 'em, but not around my cheese, please. Charmaine agrees with me and plunks down an ashtray in front of Furio, requesting he watch his ashes, please. Except she doesn't say it nicely. Furio goes out to the dining room and joins Paulie and Pussy. Big Pussy acts like a big pussy and mispronounces Furio's name "Foodio" on purpose, and then makes a crack about him stomping the grapes for the wine himself -- I guess to imply that he's a peasant. Whatever. Paulie gives Pussy a disapproving look, and Johnny Sack, the New York head honcho, appears.

Johnny (sorry, but calling him "Sack" seems too raunchy for Miss Parker) congratulates Paulie on his promotion and greets Furio. Pussy makes a fool of himself by being disrespectful to all, and Paulie punishes him by getting a waitress to take away his food and banishing him to the other room for awhile. Sneering all around. Boys and their easily bruised egos -- what are you going to do?

Of course, this certainly puts Sour Pussy in the right frame of mind to spill to Agent Lipari at a Shakey's Pizza look-alike eatery. Bitch, moan, rinse, repeat. Lipari enlightens Pussy to the fact that Tony doesn't care about what happens to him. This isn't exactly true, but Pussy's buying it. "This thing of ours," Pussy quotes Tony. "More like this thing of mine." Pussy emphasizes Tony's betrayal and reminds Lipari that he and Tony go way back, that putting Paulie and Silvio ahead of him is a major stab in the back. Lipari makes a crack about Silvio or Paulie being dizzy from all their hairspray. Skip made a funny. Hee hee. Then Pussy calls Furio a "geep." I have no idea what that is. I assume it's close to "guido," or the like. Lipari says Pussy should count his blessings, because at least Furio's Italian. He got passed over for promotion by a Samoan, blah blah blah law-enforcement bitching. Apparently an Italian cop named Paterno subsequently got transferred to Kansas City, blah blah blah Italians-get-the-shaft grumbling. Summary: They're both mad as hell, and they're not going to take it anymore. "It's like Tony says himself -- most of the guys in this life, there's no fucking honor. Forget your enemies, you can't even depend on your friends." How sad. Lipari chimes in by saying that half the society is on drugs and the other half are scumbags. "A world full of scumbags," they murmur, and I am filled to the brim with irony as the cop and the gangster berate society.

Back to Melfi's therapy. She confesses to Elliott that she's thinking of taking Tony back as a patient. He looks all worried and disappointed in her, reminding her that her life was in danger. Melfi says not anymore, and describes her temper tantrum during their last session as exactly what Tony would do. Your regression to childish behavior is a reason to take him back? I don't get it. Then Melfi starts to cry. What is going on? She admits she doesn't know what's up with her, and Elliott presses her about her overeating being linked to Tony. Thrilling discussion of sugar and sugar substitutes. He tries to reel her in with the Great and Powerful Oz "danger is my middle name" bit again, and Melfi steps in it as she whimpers, "I think seeing him again would be very therapeutic for me." Eep. That's just wrong, and Peter Bogdanovich gives his best impression of exasperation. Melfi, are you hot for Tony? I'm one step ahead of psychology as Elliott chimes in, "Do you have sexual feelings for him?" She denies it, then admits that she has personal feelings for him. Do you like him like him, Melfi? Or do you just like him? Or is it a love/hate thing? Then she says, "He can be such a little boy sometimes," and I choke down the bile. You have a son, Jennifer. Deal with him first. And ew.

Tony and Furio in the substitute-mobile outside Bahama Skies. "It's not just Dominic," a.k.a. Ugly Sam Shepard, "that's the problem, it's the wife too," Furio chants, and Tony hands him a baseball bat. This is going to get ugly, I can tell. I'm perceptive like that. They're "having coffee," if you know what I mean (nudge, nudge). Furio sweeps into the whorehouse, smashing everything and everybody, shooting his gun, and dragging Rosie, a.k.a. Asian Hoochie, kicking and screaming into the back. Naked people are streaming out of rooms squealing, and Furio beats Dominic with the bat, smashes Rosie's face, and puts a bullet in Dominic's kneecap. Furio venomously speaks Italian the whole time. I only recognized one word he said, and it was putan' -- whore. He spits on her and takes the money lying on the desk. Meanwhile, Tony's out in the substitute-mobile, smoking a cigar and giggling with glee. His cell phone rings. Melfi! Throughout this whole exchange, we see Melfi wandering around her room with a glass of wine like she's finally scraped up enough nerve to call a boy she likes. It's really strange. She says she has an opening in her schedule tomorrow, should she leave it open for him, hint hint. Tony doesn't bite, however, claiming that he's getting by without it. Lies! He pulls out the wise-old-adage card, "No cure for life," and Melfi responds in her husky, desperate way by telling him to think about it. Tony responds by hanging up on her. Hee. Not good for Tony, but satisfying. Melfi's been such the menopausal schoolgirl this episode and I can't take it.

Christopher and company are acting again. I love acting, but I hate these stupid exercises acting teachers make you do. Thespian Natalie is inflicting one such exercise on them right now. They have to have a conversation using what she calls the "words" A and B. First of all, they're not words; they're letters. Second, who gives a crap? One time I was instructed to roll up a newspaper and poke my scene partners with it. I don't like to talk about it. It's referred to as "the incident." Anyway, Christopher's paired up with Geeky Mitch, and as soon as Mitch utters "A," Christopher starts punching and kicking him. Simmer down, Maccavidi! "This is inappropriate! We do not hit!" contributes Thespian (kindergarten teacher on the side) Natalie as she drops her water bottle and descends upon the bloodied Mitch. Hubbub, hubbub, and Christopher stomps out again.

Back at home, Adriana plays nursemaid to his broken toe. Adriana and her partner in streaking Carrie Bradshaw need to trade the hairstyling tips they get from the dog grooming salon. She tries to figure out what happened, asking if Mitch flipped him off or something. Yes, Adriana. I kick the shit out of everyone who flips me off. Wait, she goes out with Christopher. Sorry, Adriana, I forgot your frame of reference for a minute. Then Adriana deduces that doing the scene from Rebel Without a Cause "brought up some bad feelings" about his father dying so young, and that's why Christopher attacked him. She starts blathering about acting and writing and feelings and stuff. He, of course, denies his daddy issues and calls her a smarty-pants who couldn't possibly know these things from writing down orders in a restaurant. Yikes, that's below the belt. Adriana guilt-trips him with the fact that she hated to see him suffering over his writer's block and couldn't wait to get him the class for his birthday, and goes into the bedroom all huffy and disgusted and sad. Poor Adriana. She's a good woman, even if she does look like a Shih Tzu. Christopher is all "I'm sorry," but that's just not good enough, young man.

Tony shows up at Melfi's office, thank goodness. Tony: Sigh. Melfi: Sigh. Once again, I can clearly see a package outline. Somebody buy these guys pants that fit or teach them how to sit properly. Melfi asks if Tony's taking his medication, he says off and on, she says take it or don't take it, he grumbles, and the surrogate mother-son relationship begins anew. She brings up the time when he passed out behind the wheel, and he's all passive-aggressive "seems like years ago," but she's all "you're angry with me for not agreeing to treat you again?" Melfi took a vacation and is back with firepower, and Tony knows it. Everyone grins at each other slyly, and Tony starts to get real. He tells her about his father having panic attacks too, and is less than pleased when she doesn't respond with "Eureka!" or something like that. "Anthony, what is it you want to achieve here?" she says calmly. Good segue, Jennifer. In order of importance, Tony wants to a) stop passing out, b) stop panicking, c) direct his power and anger at the people in his life who deserve it, and d) be in total control. Melfi retorts that there's no such thing as total control, and if he wants to be a better gang leader, he should read The Art of War by Sun Tzu. Zing. I'm liking you sassy, Jennifer. She must have heeded Elliott's sage advice to stay away from sugar substitutes. Tony zings back with a few choice words about how she knows he's a Mafia boss and yet she called him. Gotcha, Melfi. See where a weepy sense of responsibility gets you? He tries to freak her out by describing what Furio was doing (breaking into a whorehouse and beating the crap out of people who owed Tony money) when she called him. Melfi's eyes glaze over, but she keeps her cool by asking him how that made him feel. Tony wishes he had been in there. "Giving the beating or taking it?" Ooh, Melfi. Tony chuckles knowingly but doesn't answer. Melfi looks scared that she hit on something. Miss Parker raises her own eyebrows. Interesting

Christopher is lying in bed awake with his unibrow. Eerie and subdued electric-guitar-picking music plays. He gets up and goes to his laptop to write. He flips through his script, atrociously titled "You Bark I Bite," and throws it in the trash. He's like a man possessed as he takes all his disks and papers and throws them all in a garbage bag and goes out to the dumpster. In a wife-beater and boxers, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, Christopher bids goodbye to his screenplay. What a downer. I'm going to make some Mood Mender tea now; I'm all depressed.