By Miss Parker
"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day in this neighborhood, would you be mine? Could you be mine? Won't you be my neighbor?" It's an idyllic scene of suburbia as the sound of lawnmowers fills the air. Parks department workers are cutting down tree branches and such. Carmela's silver luxury vehicle coasts down the street. An oncoming car honks; Carmela's car swerves into the grounds workers' trucks and screeches to a halt. AJ, not Carmela, gets out of the driver's seat as his various pubescent pals lean out of the windows and are all stupefied by the fact that AJ has managed to break off the right sideview mirror. This is not good. Ooh-ings and God-ings and what-did-you-freak-out-fors from the peanut gallery. "Shit," poor Pugsley manages to utter. He's in for a hidin', mark my words.
Sophisticated clubby music accompanies the New York City skyline. SoHo girls and Wall Street guys mix and mingle while sipping Blow-Pop-flavored flirtinis. Christopher and Adriana make their way through the club crowd. Adriana is wearing the latest in Destiny's Child designs: very naked, very purple, very gold fringe. Christopher's got his blood-red suit on that matches Adriana's nails. Christopher spots someone, calls him facha brutta (ugly face), and the recipient does that male bonding slapping-on-the-back-hug thing and calls him facha brutta back. "Adriana, this is my cousin Gregory, the ambulance chaser," Christopher announces. Nice to meet you, la di da, la la. Gregory introduces his fiancée, Amy, who's all Hollywood-industry suit-y with a voice lacquered in superficiality. "Pleasure, Christopher, to finally meet you in person. Greg is always giving me updates on his New York cousin." Adriana reminds her they're from Jersey. "My apologies, that's the red-eye talking. Your earrings are so excellent!" Okay, it took about four lines and I hate her. Wow. Consumed with loathing is what I am. She is so fake and condescending I could just puke. Kudos to Alicia Witt for graduating from Cybill and portraying a perfectly rancid character; let's hope she's not like this off-screen. Gracious Adriana thanks her for the compliment and asks how their flight was. Small talk for about a second, and a great big pause where everyone contemplates that they have nothing whatsoever in common and nothing to talk about all evening. The table makes loud frat-party drinking-game noises. "Morgan Stanley's night out," says Greg the lump. Adriana tries again, God love her: "Christopher says you're shootin' a movie, that must be so interesting." Christopher looks at her as if to say "shut your cakehole." Jerk. "This is the first project I've brought in to Jon," says Amy, Queen of Name-Dropping. Adriana asks who "Jon" is, and Christopher impatiently tells her it's Jon Favreau; he's all I told you, Amy's head of his development. Adriana screeches, "You told me Tarantino!" Hee. Who's the stupid one now, Mr. Smartyman? "I worked for Quentin, he's still a friend," Amy adds. Oh my God, Miss First-Name Basis is really bugging me. Greg chimes in, saying Favreau snapped her right up. Well, goody for him -- he can have her. Adriana gets all excited. "That movie he did, Swingers? Vince Vaughn is so cute." Christopher gives her the hairy eyeball. "So, Christopher, how goes the screenplay?" Amy asks. "It's one of the best I've ever read," Adriana says, and Christopher gives her a hairier eyeball. Leave her alone. The Morgan Stanley drunkards bump into Amy, and she chuckles and checks her hair. Adriana asks what "he's like" in person. "Incredibly funny, smart, Jon's totally accessible. You guys should come visit the set." Adriana corrects her sheepishly. "No, I meant Vince Vaughn." Hee. "Great, great, a friend" business from Amy. This is why there needs to be gun control. I don't know what I'd do to this girl if I met her in real life. She also keeps opening her eyes and mouth very wide when she talks, like a fish.
She asks when she'll get to read Christopher's "opus," and Christopher tells her he "flushed it a long time ago." Amy's all "Mob-themed stories are always hot," and Christopher's all playful "you should learn to keep your mouth shut." Christopher gestures to Greg with his cigaretted hand; there's some hardy-har-har snigger faces from the guys, a smug look at Amy like "what a catch I got" from Greg, and Miss Parker runs to the bathroom and hurls. Amy asks what Adriana does. Adriana's all stuttery and embarrassed and says she's in the food service industry right now. Oh, Adriana. We love you -- don't be embarrassed of your hostessing career, especially in front of these assholes. Amy's face does an incredulous pause and then she gets bumped pretty hard by the Morgan Stanleys. Christopher gets up and does his open-up-a-can-of-whoopass strut, disregarding Adriana's warning tone. He tells Mr. Bumpy to get on his feet. Adriana makes a worried "this is how Christopher is" face, and Mr. and Mrs. Suity are all bedazzled by him. Mr. Bumpy says, "Hey, Bridge and Tunnel Boy, chill out." Christopher whispers something in Mr. Bumpy's ear, and Mr. Bumpy becomes scared shitless. Amy's all hot and bothered by Christopher's power, and gazes open-mouthed at him when the Morgan Stanleys decide to leave for greener TriBeCa Grill pastures.
The Moltisanti love grotto. Back at home, Christopher leans back in his black pleather easy chair and smokes. "She seemed so down-to-earth for a Hollywood person," Adriana insists as she gets undressed in the living room. Christopher plays the "I'm not impressed" game. "What's with those clothes, is she in the fuckin' Addams Family?" Adriana throws her skirt at him and reminds him that Amy's suit was Prada. "If I was Greg, I wouldn't allow it. I mean look at you, you look like a fuckin' woman, not a bellhop." Adriana gets all excited and emphasizes with her stilettos. "Jon Favreau, he's great! He's also a writer. You should show him your script." "Swingers? He can suck my dick, that swings too." That's one of those funny yet disgusting quotes. Yuck. Adriana's prancing all over the apartment in her undies. "That acting class really rubbed you the wrong way," she points out. "I love movies, but I just want to be a player, I don't want to fuck around with all this other shit." You're in for a rude awakening, Christopher. Ninety-nine percent of the movie business is "this other shit." Adriana instructs him to be a player, then; go to the set and slip Favreau the script. "That's what they call it. Slipping the script." She's very jazzed to use the industry lingo. "Who knows? Would it be so fricking horrible to attend a premiere?" She gets her robe, finally, after what seems like hours of booty-cheeks programming. Christopher tells her he doesn't even have a script anymore to slip. Adriana's face gets all cat-that-ate-the-canary and she saucily swings her belt around. Adriana kept a copy. Christopher's all "I'm still not interested," but Adriana sits in his lap and is all "I believe in you." Thus the macking begins. Mack mack mack.
Fade into the Soprano Compound, just like the Bush compound except no Republicans. Pan over to the garage as birdies tweet away. In her car, Carmela puts her keys into the ignition, and the sideview mirror falls off. Hee. Cut to the parental wrath. AJ is in the kitchen, protesting it wasn't his fault. "You stole my car, where's the trust in this house?" Carmela is pacing back and forth in exasperation. Eep, I didn't know he was driving it without telling her on top of breaking it and not telling her. "When I get confirmed, I'm gonna be a man. So how come I can't drive?" AJ asks. Tony appears out of nowhere -- I guess he's bawling AJ out, too. "Oh, you really want to get into this, huh? Who was that man that we had to pick up from camp last year for bedwettin'?" Okay, that's privileged information, Tony, and it's just plain mean. AJ reminds him that that was the year before last. Back to the subject at hand with slouchy Carmela's shrieking: "You could have killed those girls!" AJ chooses the road less traveled and muses, "Now that would have been interesting." The parentals are all in a tizzy. Hands on hips and "What did you say?" and two, and three, remember to breathe. AJ continues, "Death just shows the ultimate absurdity of life." Carmela has to regain her composure; she turns her back on him while folding her arms and making faces. Tony asks if he's trying to make him lose his temper, because he's about to put him through the window, et cetera. "See? that's what I mean. Life is absurd." AJ is so very Zen, calm and peaceful like a Little Buddha. Tony is shocked, and Carmela freaks out. "Don't say that! God forgive you!" AJ states, "There is no God." Both parents both yell, "Hey!" and look at him like he's a strange mutant fungus. "Where is this coming from?" Carmela hisses. "What, do they teach you this crap at school?" She tries to pin it on the new English teacher and forgets where he's from. Enter Meadow, who chimes in, "Oberlin," and gets a soda out of the fridge. "You want him to read something other than Hustler? Hello! He got assigned The Stranger. You want him to be an educated person? What do you think education is, that you just make more money? This is education." Miss Meadow, Princess of the Unprecedented Wisdom. Tony and Carmela are flabbergasted, hands firmly on their respective hips. AJ just won't let it go: "Do you ever think like, why are we born?" Meadow feeds the fire with "Madame de Stael said in life, one must choose between boredom and suffering." Tony tells her to go to her room. Her face falls and she leaves. "No, I'm serious, why were we born?" AJ asks. The parentals shuffle around and look frightened out of their wits. Mom offers, "We were born because of Adam and Eve, that's why. Now go upstairs and do your math." Nice one, Carm. "Algebra? That's the most boring." Dad tries, "Well the other choice is suffering; you wanna start now? Move your ass!" AJ sighs and looks rightfully disgusted and exasperated. He tried so hard to have an honest-to-goodness conversation here. Parentals lose big time. Pugsley flounces off, Tony looks bewildered, and Carmela screws up her mouth in puzzlement.
Pussy's back porch, which overlooks a cemetery. Creepy. Suited Lipari hands bathrobed Pussy a newspaper. "Jesus Christ, let me think. You wake me up, my head's all cobwebs," Pussy complains. The headline reads "Alleged mob figure victim of bomb blast." Pussy makes like he doesn't know the alleged mob figure's name. Lipari prods him. "Waldemar Wyczchuk. You had lobster fra diavolo with him in Atlantic City on the fourteenth of this month." "He got blown up? Fuck." Pussy puts the paper down. Lipari continues his FBI-speak: "We're not necessarily trying to pin this on Soprano, or anybody in your crew, Sal. We're drawing no conclusions. But whaddaya got for me?" Pussy feebly says some coffee might help him think, but Lipari's not in the mood for half-ass jokes and hedging. Pussy gets frustrated: "What do you want me to say? Philadelphia's been putting pressure on the shy business? That's been going on since Moses wore short pants." Lipari is surprised that Tony is still "resisting the Philly overtures" when Pussy gestures down to Angie putting out the trash. When she moves away, Lipari ultimatums with "Sometimes, Puss, you don't act like a guy that's facing thirty to life for selling H." Pussy's gets all "you're on my turf" and bellows, "Come on, don't get heavy with me. You come to my house 'cause someone's leaning on your ass? Eight o'clock in the morning you come to my house? You know what this looks like? I'm doing all I can to help you guys." A moment is taken, and then Pussy concedes. "One time Tony bought a pool table from Wyczchuk." Pussy turns his back on him and leans on the railing. That's all he's saying for now. Good, because Lipari's got nothing to say as well.
Tony in Melfi's office, and his pants are doing that unfortunate bulge thing again. The bit Larry David did about that bulge on Curb Your Enthusiasm sent Miss Parker into gales of gleeful laughter. The scenario was that a friend of his wife's thought he had an erection, and it was oh so tragically humiliating for him. Hee. Back to our regularly scheduled program. Tony's telling Melfi the saga of AJ asking him if there's no God, why was he born, how he feels that he has no purpose, everything's absurd, existentialist philosophy et cetera. Melfi asks what his response was. "I told him it cost about a hundred and fifty grand to bring him up so far, so if he's got no purpose I want a fuckin' refund," Tony quips. Melfi asks if he's angry about AJ wrecking the car. His response is, "You can't put shit back in the donkey, boys will be boys." That's a vivid picture I'd rather not have in my brain, thank you. Melfi starts in on how normal adolescent angst is and asks him if he went through it. Tony reminds her what kind of people his parents were, and that they never would have stood for that kind of behavior. Melfi asks after Livia. "She's dead to me." Wowsers. That hatred has progressed. Melfi is also taken aback, and appears to not be breathing as she opens her eyes very wide. She asks how AJ's been handling his non-relationship with his grandmother. If she even implies that AJ is having troubles because Tony's deprived him of his grandmother, a certifiably psychotic grandmother who tried to kill his father so now his father understandably doesn't want anything to do with her anymore, I'll scream. Melfi continues to misinterpret and misguide her patient: "How is he supposed to understand that? And in general the whole strain of the current atmosphere in your household." Well, how about saying, "Son, Grandma tried to have me killed after torturing me my entire life with her evil dysfunctional excuse for parenting, and I'm a little miffed with her now, okay?" I think AJ could deal with that if he's dealing with Nietzsche.
Tony says that just because the situation may be difficult doesn't mean he has the right to be a sassafras. Melfi says AJ has stumbled upon existentialism. Eureka, Melfi! We all knew that twenty minutes ago. Tony blames the internet for existentialism -- hee hee. Melfi launches into a long-winded explanation of European philosophy. It goes something like chatter chatter World War II, blah blah disillusionment, blabber blabber weight of the horrors, ramble ramble no absolute truths. Tony asks if she believes in what she just described. "In your family? Even motherhood is up for debate," she replies. "I teach him to love and respect and appreciate his mother," to which she asks, "What about your mother?" Tony sighs. Melfi whines that they need to talk about Livia and what she did. "She showed her true colors, that's all." He looks like he might cry, puke, or smack Melfi. She should sit back, because none of those are going to be very pretty. She asks if AJ has heard him say "she's dead to me" in reference to Livia, and that hearing that could have lead AJ to embrace these philosophical ideas. Tony's all defensive, and Melfi goes on loving the sound of her own voice. It's something like blah you realize you're solely responsible for your actions and decisions, blah blah death is at the end of every road, blah blah blah feelings of intense dread. She even defines intense dread for Tony: "A dull, aching anger that leads them to conclude that the only absolute truth is death." Beat. "I think the kid's onto something," Tony admits. Oh, jeez. Depression can be hereditary. So watch out, Pugsley, you're in for a bumpy ride.
Amy and Christopher on the set of Favreau's movie, which looks like the Sixth Avenue basketball courts in the West Village. Amy's having way too much fun with her headset and saying thing's like "we're ready to roll." Christopher's all in love with the scene. "Holy shit, that's a, she was in Kings of Comedy, and the other one too, I seen her, in that movie my girlfriend likes with Uma what's her name." He has such a way with words. Christopher points at Sandra Bernhard and Janeane Garofalo, and Amy's cool as a "been there, done that" cucumber. She introduces him to Jon Favreau, and he mistakes him for a reporter from Los Angeles Magazine. Amy corrects him, and he apologizes, saying a guy from LA Magazine was supposed to come and do a story on his favorite place for breakfast, isn't it all so lame, hardy har har. Disclaimer: Jon Favreau is the shit. Unfortunately, he plays himself as a complete jerk-off in Hawaiian printed shirts in this episode, which also makes him the shit because he's not all concerned with maintaining a pristine image. He's got balls, this guy. However, I may have to crack on him for the heinous things he does in this episode. I just want to say that my love for Jon remains unscathed and pure. That is all.
Anyways, Jon says, "You're the guy from Jersey, right?" with much prompting and mouthing from Amy of the prefix Jer-. Jon apparently thinks being from Jersey is very cool, because he says "very cool" more than once. Jon Favreau portraying self as very lame in this episode, Exhibit A. Jon points out the director of the movie, because she's from Jersey. Cut to Michelle (or is it a Lori Petty clone?) crouching down and talking to the gals with her black thong underwear hanging out of her cargo pants. Nasty. Jon's all her first picture got the Sundance audience award, and Christopher's all Madon'. Amy adds her wide-eyed pretentious two cents about how it was a hilariously funny lesbian romantic screwball comedy. Did I mention I hate her? Apparently Jon does too, because he cuts her off mid-flow. He tells Christopher what's going on in the scene they're shooting, which entails murder, mayhem, lesbians from Brooklyn, all that good stuff. Amy behaves like an eager chipmunk trying to get a word in edgewise. Christopher realizes who Janeane Garofalo is and exclaims it at the top of his voice. Jon sums up the scene they're shooting for Christopher, and various crew members mill about, shouting movie-speak phrases like "lock it up" and "rolling." Jon puts on a headset and looks into the camera. Sandra Bernhard is covered in fake blood and is putting a silencer on her gun. Amy whispers some bullshit to Christopher about the silencers "underscoring their voiceless place in society." Christopher is awestruck as the scene begins. Janeane's dialogue is about egg creams, and soon Sandra points her gun at Janeane (Zephyr is her character's name, but that's so ludicrous) and says, "It's over, you bitch!" Janeane stops the scene, yelling for the director. Hubbub. People are ripping their headsets off and looking confused and exasperated as Janeane says sorry a million times. They fight over the level of appropriateness and interestingness of the word bitch. Michelle's all "we discussed this, we're losing light," and there's a big discussion over Janeane's character's strength being her passivity here, whereas in the rest of the movie she has "testes to burn." It's all very silly. "Is there anything other than bitch?" Janeane finally asks, after Jon and company bullshit their way into oblivion. "Buchiach," Christopher offers. Everyone looks at him; the stranger with the Dunkin Donuts bag. "Let that one call that one buchiach." Janeane says it sounds more interesting. Christopher reiterates that if she's from Brooklyn, she would say that. Jon asks what it means. "Cunt," Christopher says. Jon says he likes that. Eew. I bet you do, you dirty monkey. Janeane rolls her eyes, like that's much better than bitch, not. Roll sound, roll camera, et cetera. Jon lets Christopher put on his headset and look through the camera. Amy's all proud of herself, but I'm all proud of Christopher. He's growing up so fast.
Surly Tony and surly son in the car. Surly silence. Tony asks what's going on with him: "That 'no God' shit upset your mother very much." AJ tries to explain to his father, "It's not no God, it's just God is dead." Tony asks who said that. "Nitch," AJ says, meaning Nietzsche. "He's a nineteenth-century philosopher from Germany. Anyway, that's why I'm not gettin' confirmed." Tony puts an end to that kind of talk and says he is indeed getting confirmed this weekend. "That sucks my nut," AJ retorts, and I'm sent into fits of giggles. I just adore Pugsley sometimes. Tony promptly smacks him, telling him he's got a lot of balls, he goes to Catholic school, and his mother wants it. When you list those statements together, they don't seem to make much sense, do they? Does the possession of balls imply that you go to Catholic school? And does his mother want him to go to Catholic school, get confirmed, or have a lot of balls? But I digress. Tony continues to place the authority on Carmela's plate. "She knows that even if God is dead, you're still gonna kiss His ass." Kissing God's ass. Another vivid picture. AJ gets all agitated and bangs on the window. Tony scolds. Pissed Pugsley scrunches and squinches up his face so tightly that I reach the point of hysterical laughter. He looks like a pale raisin.
Christopher, Amy, and Jon enter a pizza place. A disembodied pizza man voice asks Christopher what he wants in a friendly, "where everybody knows your name" kind of way. He orders a Coke and a slice, tells his cronies it's "the best pie in North Jersey," and offers to buy them anything they want. He smacks his wad of cash on the counter for emphasis. Jon orders the same Coke and a slice, and Amy echoes, the copycatter. These two act like they're in the Museum of Natural History throughout this whole scene. Ooh, aah, look at the people who actually live in Jersey. Ooh, aah, this is how the other half lives. Blech. The Steve Miller Band plays while they sit in a booth. Christopher comments that the Laundromat across the street used to be Joe's Restaurant, and that's where Willie Moretti bought it. Jon identifies this Moretti person as Sinatra's guardian angel. Christopher says he "stuck his gun in Tommy Dorsey's mouth and bought Sinatra's contract from him for a dollar." Amy's all "you boys, the crazy stories you tell," but they're bonding and ignore her. Jon says, "That's the inspiration for Johnny Fontaine and the studio boss in GF1, right?" "GF1"? Meaning Mario Puzo's The Godfather, directed by Francis Ford Coppola? Is this guy a poseur or what? "Right," Christopher answers, and folds his slice and shoves most of it in his mouth, but continues to talk. "That's the one beef I had with Swingers. You guys patterned yourself after Frank and Dean, but there was like a pussy-ass-ness to it." Miss Parker enjoys the word "pussy-ass-ness" so much she adds it to her vocabulary. However, Jon's face looks like he swallowed a lemon. He's all defending Swingers, saying that was kind of the point of the piece, stutter stutter, hee hee, the bridge-and-tunnel boy made a call and pulled it off! Amy cuts Jon's whimpering off, sensing danger. "So, you brought us your script," she says. "C'mon let's see it," Jon chimes in. Christopher is humble for a moment and tells Jon, "No, you're Jon Favreau, Rocky Marciano, Deep Impact, Swingers." Jon responds well to flattery, so he launches into his pitch. "Here's the thing. Your script is set in a world that I'm interested in doing my project on. A picture on the life of Crazy Joe Gallo." Christopher isn't so enthused: "Joe Gallo? They already did The Gang That Couldn't Shoot Straight." Jon tries to sell Gallo to Christopher as this tragic, flawed figure who wanted to paint and read and stuff. Amy looks on, all faux inspired and understanding. Jon won't be quiet: "He had like this yearning, this hunger for -- fuck your mother, what's the word?" He is so incredibly lame. Christopher tells him he doesn't see him as Joey Gallo, but Vince Vaughn he sees. Jon protests he's part Italian, so I guess that means he's entitled to play any Mafia figure he wants, since innately he'll be able to understand them; after all, he's part Italian. Not. Christopher says he could play Joey Gallo, but he doesn't want to act unless he plays himself. "Which is perfectly understandable," Jon interrupts with a holier-than-thou face.
He's not sick of his own voice yet, so he goes on, "Listen, ever since Amy told me about you I thought maybe we could work together, you know, like you could tell me how shit goes down. You know like what makes sense, what people really say, you know what I mean?" A-ha! He wants free information. Throughout this scene Amy and Christopher are peering at each other like sexy specimens in a lab, and Jon is doing this really geeky thing with his hands, trying to be all down with his goombah. Christopher doesn't get it, and reminds him he was three years old when Joey Gallo got whacked. "Yeah, but speech patterns, you saw Swingers, whatever you think of that motherfucker, man, it's like you can tell it's extremely important to me how people really talk." Jon's saying "motherfucker" an awful lot. It's worrisome. Jon's all, like that buchiach thing, I remember that from when I grew up in Queens, la di da. Amy starts in on her vast expertise to tell Christopher that he wouldn't be betraying any "oath thing." Little does she know that he's betraying that oath about hanging out with supremely annoying redheads with overbites.
Christopher looks out the window, sees a street person, and says, "Holy shit that thing is still alive?" He goes on to say that she was a "piece of ass" fifteen years ago. Jon and Amy beg to hear the seedy story. Christopher enjoys the attention and says in hushed tones, "Wiseguy friend of mine would fucking kill me if he knew I told you." Amy gives a "yummy" look, and Jon gives a "tell me" look and licks his lips. Gross, both of them. As Christopher begins his story, the Muzak dramatically changes to Fleetwood Mac's "Rhiannon," and Jon and Amy sit back and enjoy the ride. "This made guy got the most discriminatin' eye when it comes to T & A. He's at a club one night and this broad's all over him, and she's got a really nice body, she's horny as hell, so they step outside and they walk over to this picnic ground, she starts blowing him to this swingset." Lovely. Amy sips her Big Gulp coyly, and Jon has a look on his face that worries Miss Parker. Beware of men who visibly enjoy blowjob stories. Christopher goes on, "He's about to shoot his load, he reaches down, you know, starts fingering, undoes her skirt, reaches in, grabs hold of a goddamn prick." Jesus Christ, Jon exclaims. Amy leans over and furrows her brow as if she's puzzling over some sort of conundrum, and says, "Crying Game." "This is a true story," Jon reminds her. Hee. Anyways, the guy in the story wants to "humiliate the freak as much as he was humiliated," so he gets some acid and pours it on her arms, face, and privates. "That's one bad motherfucker," Jon says, with a look of distaste. "That's how good this broad used to look, had this wiseguy completely fooled! She had to get a glass eye." Amy is way too enchanted with this story, and with Christopher, for my taste. Christopher finishes his pizza, and they're in complete ignorant awe.
Pussy inspects a copy of Waste News outside his auto body shop. Tony and AJ, both clad in black, pull up in Carmela's car. Wow, I thought just the side mirror was broken, but he scraped up the entire right side of the car. Eep. Tony's all "say hello to your uncle Pussy," and AJ says "hello Uncle Pussy." Ew, that sounded perverted. "Look what my little friend did to Carmela's car," Tony tells Pussy. Pussy tells AJ he needs to respect the value of things, then sends him off to get a soda. "Longest fuckin' car ride of my life," Tony moans, telling Pussy that AJ used to be happy-go-lucky and now he's moody and questioning the universe. "Like father, like son," retorts Pussy. Tony smacks him playfully and says he's serious. He asks Pussy to do something about it because he's AJ's confirmation sponsor. Pussy agrees, but reminds him that around age thirteen and fourteen kids start "getting broody." I've only heard that term used in reference to chickens. I don't think it means the same thing with humans. Hee. Tony says it's getting so bad he doesn't want to spend time with AJ, and jokes that he can use the belt on him if he wants because he's bombing out in school; he got a C, three Ds, and an F. Pussy asks the returning AJ how he's doing in school. "I got a C, three Ds, and an F," he replies nonchalantly, shoving chips in his mouth. Tony and Pussy make "what are you gonna do?" faces.
Cut to a lava lamp and a television set with some sort of alien-autopsy-rock music video on. Slow pan over to Adriana, in a smashing leopard print jumpsuit fit for working the corner, staring at the TV and smoking. As Christopher comes in, she looks at her watch and asks where he's been. "I was hanging out with Jon." Eep. Amy-speak. he'll be telling her, "He's a friend." Adriana asks if it was John Izzacupo. Favreau, he tells her. She asks if he went to the set. He answers yes and rolls his eyes. "Why didn't you call?" Adriana looks so hurt, the poor baby. Christopher makes excuses: "We were only there for like half an hour, and then him and Amy wanted me to give them a tour around Jersey." Adriana is shocked and appalled: "They did?" She gets up and stalks into the bedroom, giving him the "talk to the hand" and holding her head. "What? Vince Vaughn didn't come down there," Christopher yells after her. Christopher's such an idiot sometimes; but I must admit that Adriana spends most of her time stalking into the bedroom. However, the two aren't mutually exclusive.
Batting cages. Baseball-speak from Pussy directed at his son Matt. AJ's there, hanging out with his baseball cap on backwards. Pussy tells him he's up . AJ says he just wants to watch. "You gotta snap outta this, Anthony," Pussy barks, and All-American Matt chimes in, "C'mon, AJ, it's fun." AJ insists he just doesn't feel like it. Pussy tells him that sometimes you have to do things you don't want to, because it's part of your tradition and your parents say so. AJ says baseball isn't part of their tradition, and Pussy says he talking about his confirmation. But Pugsley still doesn't want to get confirmed. "You want a purpose in life, doing what's right is your purpose," Pussy tries to convince him. AJ protests that "Nitch" didn't say such things, and Matt corrects his pronunciation of the philosopher's name. He takes him aside in a very man-to-man way, and gives him the scoop. Nietzsche ended up talking to his horse, Sartre got all his ideas from Heidegger, et cetera. He shoves AJ in the batting cage, telling him he should start from the beginning with Kierkegaard. "Whatever," says pouty Pugsley. Matt quotes Kierkegaard: "Every duty is essentially duty to God." "Nigga be a leader not a follower," AJ responds, quoting Master P. "Wait, you still listen to rap?" Matt is surprised, and tells him that rap music is "all about marketing now." AJ hurts his hand on a swing and drops his bat. Shake it off, Pugsley.
Christopher, running upstairs to the reception desk of the SoHo Grand Hotel. He tries to ring Jon's room, using the alias "Jerry from Newark." I love Christopher's unsolvable aliases. However, Jon has requested not to be disturbed. Christopher's annoyed, so he has them try Amy's room. The vixen is apparently available, for she opens her door as she fastens her bathrobe. How subtle. She's way too excited to see him. He explains that he was supposed to meet with Jon to talk about the script. Amy says that shooting went very late, and they didn't wrap until 5:30 AM. Christopher offers her Jersey's best sangweech; he brought it for Jon. She declines because she has brushed her teeth. What, you don't eat for the rest of the day because you brushed your teeth? That's like never making your bed because you're just going to mess it up that night again, but weirder. She is so lame, she's, like, 3-D lame. She offers him coffee, he says no thanks, I have some business to attend to, but he sits down anyway, and she runs around in her robe, tidying up. Christopher blurts out, "This sort of thing is unacceptable where I come from." I'm assuming he means spilling your Mafia secrets to strangers who have everything to gain by capitalizing on that information, but he may be talking about her bathrobe, or perhaps her refusal to eat the sandwich. The latter is unacceptable to Miss Parker. "Do you know if he read my script yet?" Christopher asks. Amy says that she has his script. "Jon asked me to give it an official read. Don't take it personally. Billy Bob had something he wanted to do with Jon, and Jon had me read it first." I'm just going to let that one lie, because my response has too many expletives in it. The phone rings as Christopher sits there looking miffed. Amy answers, "Hey honey, your cousin's here. Okay I will -- Gregory says go fuck yourself." Christopher silently chuckles "go figure." She says she'll meet Greg at Union Square Café, and I say to myself, blech -- they're such millennial yuppies.
Christopher asks her what she thought of his script; he mumbo jumbos about having trouble with the picture arc, the conflict, et cetera. Amy bullshits about it having "raw emotion" and "real heart" as she nods and gives her best impression of a person who knows what she's talking about. They discuss the script in screenplay lingo, delving into the deeper meanings of the expression "shit or go blind," as Amy plays the "oops, my robe is falling open" game with a goofy smile plastered on her face. She gets all formula on his ass and tells him that his "inciting incident" has to happen on page three instead of twelve. "Here, sit, I'll show you," Amy the pseudo-seductress says as she leans into his space, robe falling open, knees apart, hair falling in her face. She starts talking about the hierarchy of human needs that "explains and clarifies what drives us," using husky tones and elaborately flipping her hair so he'll brush the hair out of her face. I wonder if screwing your cousin's fiancée is one of the seven human needs. Apparently Christopher is pondering the same question. There's lots of robe opening and heavy breathing and grunting and naming the seven needs and stupid stuff like that, and finally Christopher shoves his tongue as far down her throat as it can go. Blah blah blah, mack mack mack, pulling down of the pants, and some dirty monkey mattress dancing which leads to probably the quickest orgasm (if that's what it was supposed to be, I'm really not sure what their motivation is here) ever known to man. Miss Parker sings the alphabet song and plugs her ears to block it out. Fade out as Amy descends upon Christopher like a vampire.
Greener Pastures, or Graves, or Groves -- whatever Livia's retirement home is called. Livia lying around in her bed. AJ comes in, Livia's all passive aggressive "I didn't know I had a grandson." He tells her he misses her (cute), and she says he should miss her because he never visits her (not so cute). AJ makes excuses, and she starts yelling that he shouldn't lie to her, because she knows Tony forbids him to see her. AJ protests that that's not true, we're just not supposed to talk about you in the house. "Ah, he can go shit in his hat." Lovely. AJ tells her that Tony's mad at him. Livia does her standard "I shouldn't use that kind of talk, don't ever let me catch you talking that way" speech and then asks him what he "did bad." "My dad doesn't like my attitude, so Uncle Pussy said I should come out here and talk to you, 'cause you're old and have wisdom and stuff." Livia blathers something about his mother in her dysfunctional stupor, then asks again what he did, and he tells her about the car fiasco, and she tells him he should be ashamed of himself. There's a juicebox on her tray. Hee. She grills him on the details and launches into a story she read in the paper about a bunch of teenagers from out near the Delaware water gap who overcrowded their car, hit a tree, and were trapped and incinerated. AJ scrunches down in his chair and rolls his eyes as she continues. "People could hear them screaming, they couldn't get out -- the safety belts did it. Buckled them in." AJ slinks further down. "See? That's what I mean, what's the purpose?" Livia asks what he means. AJ mumbles what's the purpose of being on the planet earth. "Why does everything have to have a purpose?" Livia finally sits up, all scraggly and invigorated. "The world is a jungle -- and if you want my advice, Anthony, don't expect happiness. You won't get it, people let you down, and I'm not naming any names, but in the end you die in your own arms." AJ's all upset by this thought, and continues to scrunch down in his chair, probably due to the high manipulation level in the room. Livia's on a roll: "It's all a big nothing. What makes you think you're so special?" This woman lives to be a downer, I tell you. She seems almost energized by the negativity, and digs into her big mound of cottage-cheesy-looking food.
Goldfish bowl, swanky hotel room. Christopher leans over and does a line of coke. A terrified Jon Favreau jokes, "I guess I won't order us any espresso." Hardy har har --coke jokes. Christopher tells him he took an acting class once, but "as far as movies go I want to be a player not an actor." Like Bugsy Malone. Christopher tells Jon the acting blew in Swingers, "not like Hanks in Private Ryan." Flattery might be a better route, Chris. Jon says it's unfair to compare the two films; one is about young guys storming the beaches of Normandy and the other is about young guys looking for blowjobs in Vegas. Hee. They exhaust that subject, and then Jon asks him in hushed tones whether he's "strapped" right now or not. Christopher gets a huge kick out of this and laughs, lifting his pants leg and throwing his gun at Jon. Jon is all Jesus fucking Christ, holy fuck, and so on. He can hardly bring himself to touch the thing. Speaking of which, Christopher touches Jon way too much in this scene. Lots of knee patting and grabbing. Not that there's anything wrong with that. The testosterone level starts to rise, and Christopher tries to do that male-bonding playful-fighting thing guys do, but Jon is all sissyface and weirded out. Christopher doesn't know when to stop, puts him in a headlock, Jon's screaming bloody murder, and it finally ends. Jon tells him that's not cool because he's got dialogue tomorrow and his voice will be scratchy. Wussy little fraidy cat. Although Christopher is pretty frightening sometimes. Back to the issue at hand, as the unfazed Moltisanti asks Favreau what he thought of his script. Jon furrows his brow and tells him that Frankie is a contradictory character, but in a good, complex way. They discuss whether Frankie should wear taps on his shoes as a trademark, blah blah blah. Jon decides he needs to butter Chris up and says, "Like all scripts, it begs to show more of the author in it. Your life, your vision." Christopher eats it up, smiling like a Cheshire cat, and starts screaming about the roof being soft tar. Don't ask me where that comes from. It's just happens. He leans over Jon while continuing to scream about soft tar and writing down notes. Since Christopher is begging for more feedback with his eyes, Jon goes on about how the father could go blind sooner, smell the tar on Frankie's shoes, and know his son is the killer. He carefully picks up Christopher's gun and gingerly polishes it. Christopher gets all excited, screaming how great and brilliant that idea is, that then Frankie would have to put a bullet in his old man's head. Then he makes "Blam!" sound effects and gleefully simulates shooting Jon in the head. Jon tries not to cry. Christopher kisses Jon's temple. Whatever.
Adriana, Carmela, and Tony at an elegant restaurant for dinner. Adriana is talking about picking out bridesmaid's dresses with her best friend Anna. Carmela (the make-up theme today appears to be frost) notes that she still hasn't found anything to wear to AJ's confirmation. "With all the flowers coming into bloom, I would love to be a June bride." Don't count those lovelorn chickens before they hatch, sweetie. "Yeah, here's your June groom," Tony guffaws, as Christopher enters and does that "excuse me" back and forth dance with a waiter. He apologizes for being late, and Adriana tells him she ordered him pasta fagioli and a plate of antipast' to share because they have some rare imported salami. Silently, she's all "wouldn't I make a wonderful wife and why haven't you proposed" and he's all "I'm screwing my cousin's fiancée and I'm not about to marry you." Adriana continues to play loving girlfriend and asks him if he's okay, putting her hand up to his head as if he's got a fever or something. He brusquely brushes her away and says he's fine. Tony and Carmela look at them quizzically. "We were just discussing Anna's wedding," Adriana says. "What about you guys?" Carmela prods. "What about who guys?" Christopher retorts. Tony suggests making it a double wedding, grinning with his mouth full. Adriana not so subtly singsongs that someone has to propose first, a hint which Christopher sheepishly ignores. Adriana's face falls into her pasta fagioli. Tony is giving Christopher the evil eye, but Christopher doesn't notice. Carmela, Queen of Frosty Make-up, asks Adriana who Anna chose to cater her wedding, Adriana's all she chose Villa de Roma, Carmela's all Caravaggio's is slipping, Adriana's all they fired their produce guy, and Christopher blows a gasket: "I'm so sick and tired of hearing you people talking about food, food, food. That's all anybody ever talks about is prosciutto, cheese and fucking fava beans -- I'm drowning here!" Tony tells him to take it easy, emphasizing with his fork and knife. Christopher adds that they're not even engaged yet. Adriana looks hurt. Tony says, "Well, when you're married you'll understand the importance of fresh produce." That's the most adorable thing he's ever said. In fact, I think it's the most adorable thing I've ever heard any man say. Wow, that's sad. Christopher is not so easily charmed, exclaims, "Fuck the importance," and dumps his wine in his plate before stomping out. Eep, says Carmela's face, and Adriana's chin is quivering. "He didn't mean that," Carmela consoles. "Fuck him, I tried so hard to be so supportive of his art, and getting his screenplay made," Adriana whimpers as she covers her hands with her blood red talons and weeps. Zoom in on Tony. "His screenplay?" D'oh. Cat's out of the bag.
Night. Pussy, smoking near a gas station. Lipari and his Fed cronies circle him like prey. They're trying to get more information out of him, but he just insists he's got his ear to the ground. Lipari's Fed sidekick says they're wiring him at AJ's confirmation. Pussy says there's no way he's wearing a wire in God's house. The Fed sidekick says they don't care so much about the service, but rather the party afterwards at Tony's house. "You miserable motherfuck, I'm the kid's sponsor!" Pussy yells. Lipari reminds him that they're his sponsor. Then dorky Lipari calls him a motherfucker in this completely Hollywood Shuffle way that makes me giggle uncontrollably. Pussy's drowning in flop sweat as helicopters fly overhead.
Christopher in the SoHo Grand Hotel, lounging on a couch, smoking languidly, white gladioli behind him and soft jazz music playing in the background. A hotel clerk leans over him and informs him that he doesn't want to have to remind him again that this is a smoke-free environment. Christopher takes a last drag and puts it out. He runs over to an entering Amy. She's all dressed up in a really unflattering formal black number that makes her look like she has an eighteen-hour grandma brassiere on. She also has stupid pincurls in her hair that I haven't seen since An Ideal Husband. Yes, I hate her, and no, she can't do anything right. Christopher's all "Yo Adrian!" and she says, "Hey, you -- what are you doing here?" He says he was in the neighborhood, but really he was doing something closely resembling stalking. He asks her where she was, and after she does a double take she says "the big Chloe party" -- she sat across from Alphonse D'Amato. Waddling along very unattractively, she finally leans on Christopher and takes her shoes off. "I was thinking we could stop down at Umberto's," Christopher presumes, and with her other favorite phrase to "he's a friend," Amy says, "Excellent," and they get in the elevator so she can go quickly change clothes. The camera angle in the elevator is such that I can see Alicia Witt pumps iron and does not do Pilates. They're those bulky muscles, not the lean, elongated kind that Jennifer Aniston sports. Amy and Christopher lean up against the walls of the elevator and play sexual-tension-silence games. "I like your shoes." "Manolo Blahnik." Does Manolo Blahnik have some sort of deal with HBO? Sex and the City drops the name every five seconds, and Carrie Bradshaw is always carrying Manolo Blahnik bags. Christopher slinks over to Amy, and it's all let me see, you want to see these, yeah, my shoes, yeah, blah blah blah seduction game, you can look but you can't touch; he pins her hand holding the shoes up against the wall, and they play mack mack paddy-whack, give a dog a bone. I'm repulsed by them. They're dirty monkeys, and not in the good way.
Bedsheets and pillows and clothes strewn about -- the entertainment symbol for People Just Got It On Here. Naked Amy and Christopher sit on the floor and converse. He's asking her whether her father is a movie producer. She says he's a neurosurgeon at Cedars-Sinai. Christopher tries to show he's a sensitive male by caressing her shoulder and claiming he wants to know about her, to which she says, "I'm not usually an open person." Wow, you struck me as completely open and sincere, Amy. They're playing with each other's fingers. Gross. "How come he didn't pressure you to become a doctor like him?" Christopher asks. Amy says she was pre-med her freshman year at Yale. Yeah, but so is everybody, sweetheart. "Fucking Yale, I swear you Jews have your own Cosa Nostra hidden in that Ivy fucking League." Hee. Amy tells him that's "very funny, very imagistic," and laughs in the most dorky goofy manner possible, flipping her hair. All that's missing is a snorting sound. And..."imagistic"? "So, that blonde guy in the club the other night, what did you say to him?" Christopher's all "that's for me to know and you not to find out." "What, did you make him an offer he couldn't refuse?" She keeps poking and prodding, and he admits he said "be a good boy and I'll let this girl blow you afterwards." Ha ha ha, hee hee hee. Amy laughs like a dork again, baring her horsy teeth. She asks if he's ever slept with a member of the tribe before, meaning a Jew. Christopher says he has: "What do you think, I discriminate? I'm PC." She asks when; he says two nights ago. Hardy har har, she laughs like Ernie of Sesame Street, and he tickles her or something weird and then pours a bottle of Evian all over her back, which would annoy the hell out of me, quite frankly, and teases her about shagging another "skinny guinea." Foot, meet Christopher's mouth. Amy grows a conscience in one second flat, becoming a big sourpuss all of a sudden, and Christopher groans and falls back onto the rug as if he just remembered she's engaged to his cousin. "How are we going to tell him," Amy whispers, and Christopher tells her to not do this now, that they'll figure something out. She's all gathering sheets up to cover herself, and in a crying voice she insists she's not a terrible person and runs into the bathroom to hide.
Christopher puts on his undies and notices Favreau's screenplay on the floor. He starts reading aloud to Amy, who is gazing at herself in the mirror in the bathroom. She manages to scold, "You're not supposed to be reading that. It's limited distribution, numbered draft." He continues to read about cops, Copacabanas, mobsters and goomahs. "Jesus, you can see it from the words, this is the way you write a fucking script," he says with admiration, but soon he's on his feet. "Fucking shit," he exclaims as he reads something further along. Amy's face has gotten all guilty and distraught as she rubs her temple. Christopher bangs on the bathroom door. "He used it! What, just 'cause he gave me that tar smell idea? I could have come up with that!" He goes on and on about Jon using Joey Cippolina's "she-male" story, insisting that they can't put it in the script. Amy puts on her robe and calmly comes out of the bathroom. "It's not the same at all," she claims, because the location of dick-sucking has been changed. "Don't you understand where I come from, I explained it how many times!" Christopher's furious, and does his angry Joe Pesci walk out of the room and down the hall. Amy follows, as he proceeds to bang on Jon's door. Amy's all we can't take it out now, it's been faxed everywhere, how mad could your friend get? Just stupid, is what she is. I guess the moral of this story is that Hollywood types will screw anyone over, even a wiseguy. A passing hotel worker says Jon checked out. There's lots of screaming from Christopher and Amy tells him he's being absurd for getting so bent out of shape. Arrgghh.
Christopher doing the angry Pesci swagger at what appears to be a movie set. A huge black dude insists that he has to have a pass to get on the set, even though he's been there before and he knows Jon, et cetera. He spots Janeane Garofalo in a hockey jersey and backpack, calls her buchiach, she greets him, he asks where Jon is, and she says he flew back to LA this morning. Christopher calls Jon a "fucking cocksucking mezzafanucch'," and Janeane asks, "You got more stuff like that I can use?" Christopher presses his lips together and walks away.
Cut to Angie Bonpensiero in curlers and camisole, getting ready for AJ's confirmation. Angie's all agitated, trying to get into the bathroom to put her face on. Pussy's inside and won't let her in because he's dealing with the philosophical and physical issues involved in putting on his wire. "You've been in there all week!" she says. He still won't let her in. "The only goddamn mirror with any good light is in there!" He still won't let her in. Angie pulls her compact out and starts frantically patting her face. She pulls on the doorknob, he opens the door, and throws her mirror at her. The domestic disharmony escalates as Angie gets the key from the nightstand drawer and tries to open the door. Pussy's trying to shave an area of his chest to put his wire on, but has to throw all the stuff in the hamper so she doesn't see it. She finally gets in and throws the mirror back at him, but he attacks her, calling her a bitch and threatening to kill her. It's all very COPS Domestic Altercations Special. Matt, the dutiful son, comes in and pulls him off of her. "Jesus Christ, what the fuck's with you?" Angie looks terrified, and Pussy has blood on his wifebeater. "What, are you bleeding?" Matt asks. Everyone breathes heavily, and Pussy holds his head in his hands when he notices the blood on his shirt from shaving.
Amy, reading Variety in a very feng shui waiting room. Mr. Reception tells her Mr. DeCamillo will be with her shortly, and offers her water. Amy talks to herself. "Wow. Robert Rodriguez has signed on to do a remake of Viva Zapata with Harvey and Bob." Shut up, D-Girl. Christopher enters with the force of a hurricane. "What's this shit, you don't return my messages?" Amy tells him that "this is so not cool." That's not going to fly with him; he calls her a stupid bitch and tells her she can't use the story. She moves him away from reception a bit and quietly says that it's neither the time nor the place. He tries to be clearer: "You wanna see me clipped?" Appeasing Amy asks him if he's spoken with Jon. "What the fuck? I call, I spoke to his jerk-off assistant, she said I should take it up witchu'." Amy's all snotty: "I'm sorry, I don't even know who that would be, that assistant." Mr. Reception asks him if he's there to see David DeCamillo, and Christopher tells him to "get the fuck out of here." Amy attempts closure by smacking him on the shoulder and telling him they'll touch base when she gets back to L.A. She starts up the stairs, but he grabs her. "You were just going to leave?" Christopher asks. She stammers and plays dumb. "Christopher, based on Mickey Blue Eyes's first weekend foreign, there's a wait-and-see attitude toward Mafia-related projects right now, so we're going to have to pass." Cold as ice, she is. Christopher asks if those were Jon's words. "I speak for Jon, and if you'd let me finish, we want to assure you that we'll certainly take a look at anything else you write." Ice, ice, baby. Christopher says Paulie (Walnuts) doesn't lie as good as her. Amy closes her eyes and opens her mouth and shakes her head in dismay. A woman comes out and summons Amy to see DeCamillo. She starts up the stairs, but takes a beat and says, "Chris, it was wrong with us and Greg and all that." In a rare moment of feeling, Christopher tells her he really liked her. Pause. "This is getting kind of William Inge here, isn't it?" Amy ruins the moment and shakes off her remaining humanity. "Gotta go." He calls her a fucking D-Girl, and she venomously retorts, "Excuse me? Excuse me, I am a vice-president, you fucking asshole!" Ugh. That was a nasty scene.
Cut to the Bonpensieros arriving at Soprano compound for the confirmation party. Hugs, kisses, Tony comments that AJ did really well, Pussy agrees and says sabenedic'. Tony asks Angie if she was proud of Pussy, and she blows it off and seeks refuge in the kitchen with Carmela. It's all bitter between Pussy and Angie. Richie and Janice enter. Richie makes a big deal about Tony's house, calling it "resorts international," and Tony tells him to get a drink while joking that they count the silverware. Busting balls, busting balls. I'm so glad I'm not a boy. Janice goes off to socialize, and Pussy starts pumping Tony for information. "I heard we won't be bothered anymore from our neighbor Wyczchuk." "No neighbor of mine," Tony replies. Pussy tries some more, but Carmela asks Tony to get more ice. As he walks away, there's a close-up on Pussy's tortured rat-face.
Tony goes into the garage to get ice, when he hears muffled voices and smells something. AJ and friends are smoking pot in the garage! The friends scamper away, as Carmela comes in telling Tony to get Cokes too and asks what that smell is. Tony makes the international two fingers to the mouth gesture for smoking weed, and points at AJ. "What kind of animal smokes marijuana at his own confirmation?" she hisses as she approaches them. AJ's all "I don't know," Tony's all "enough." "What are you yelling at me for, even Grandma says the world has no purpose!" Carmela's not having it: "Get inside right now and join your guests! Be a good Catholic for fifteen fucking minutes, is that so much to ask?" Hee. The parentals shove him upstairs.
AJ sulks up to his room, and Pussy asks Carmela and Tony what's going on. Pussy goes upstairs to talk to him. AJ is all pouty-face in his pillow. Pussy sits on the bed and tells AJ he needs to listen up. "You know, you see your parents as these great big dictators, these disciplinarians. But I know your dad from the time he was younger than you." AJ is not impressed. "What difference does it make?" Pussy tells him to listen again and tells him this story about how, when his little sister was sick with spinal meningitis, Tony was really nice to them, and so on. Cut to Lipari and the Feds listening to the whole scene in their van. AJ says it pisses him off that Tony did all these great things before he was his dad, and now he's just an asshole. "Hey! Hey, listen to me, your father would catch a bullet for you, don't you forget that. He's a stand-up guy." AJ's not convinced: "Not to me, he's not." Pussy insists that he knows what kind of a man he is, and gets all choked up. Lipari is too. "Wiseguys are people too" moment. Pussy tells AJ to go downstairs and make his parents happy, because he's got his health and his family and he should enjoy it while he can. Hugs. Poor Pussy.
The party downstairs. Christopher approaches Tony. "Where the fuck you been?" Tony asks. "I got one son and you miss his confirmation ceremony?" Christopher tries flippancy: "I figured with all my sins I don't want the church caving in on everyone." Hee. Not. Adriana, in a polyester Diane Von Furstenberg knockoff, comes in, then turns around and leaves when she sees Christopher. "On the fucking rag again," Christopher says. Ew. Not cool. "I'm on the rag," Tony remarks. "She's just wondering who the fuck you are." Nice call, Tony. Christopher says he's not in the mood for a lecture, and Tony lets the ultimatums fly: "I'm going back in to be with my guests. In exactly ten minutes I'm going to look up, and if you're not here I'm going to assume that you went to look for whatever the fuck it is that's calling you out there. And I'll never see you again. If you are still here then I'm going to assume you got no other desire than to be with me, and your actions will show that every fucking second of every fucking day. Do you understand me? Don't answer me. Take the ten minutes. You think about it." Tony moves over to the other family members, and they file into the other room. Drama to the max as Christopher is left standing alone. He goes outside the house, down the steps, taps his cigarette, and contemplates his future with either the cutthroat Mafia or the cutthroat film industry. Opera begins to play, and inside they're taking a picture of the family. Except where's Pussy, the godfather? He's sobbing like a baby in the bathroom as Lipari listens. Making his choice, Christopher rises and goes back inside, and Miss Parker can't really blame him.