Where's Johnny?

Fade up on the Bing, basking in the afternoon sunlight. Inside, Tony sits at the darkened bar reading his paper, while Bouncer Bob does whatever it is he does all day back there behind the counter. Aww, I do love me some Bouncer Bob. Even though we all we know what's coming , of course. They're soon joined by Steve Buscemi, who is making his laundry pickup rounds. He's got a uniform and receipts and everything, and Tony is actually offended at the idea of his cousin's doing an honest day's labor. Bah. Recapping is way tougher than dry cleaning, and I can assure you the chemicals are at least ten times as dangerous. Flick...ahh. Oh, and Julio? Fetch Daddy some turpentine. This is gonna be a tough one. Just don't let Regina know you're here, okay? Bony Blundetto (tm Tulse) is all business, though, and doesn't even have time for a cup of coffee. He does, however, have time to quote the Grateful Dead, mentioning to Tony that he told Feech about what a "long, strange trip" it's been. Hmm. I honestly wouldn't have pegged Tony Lite (tm Hanna-Reetta) as a Deadhead. He strikes me as more of a Wham fan, what with those suits and all. Especially since we already know he likes Queen. The reference to Feech doesn't sit well at all with Fat-Bottomed Tony, and he's soon forced to start singing the Exposition Rhapsody and delivering some key details about the mysterious bust that sent MassAgita (tm missy.angela) off to the joint. It seems that Tony S. was also supposed to be in on the hijacking that got Buscemi busted, but he got jumped by a couple of thugs on his way to the meet, and ended up spending the night in the emergency room. Tony at least has the grace to feel bad about things, as he points out that he got sixteen stitches, while his cousin got fifteen years. "You always were a lucky fuck," observes Mr. Teal. "Well, that's not completely true," replies Tony. Heh. Bouncer Bob -- who wisely fled the scene earlier -- now returns with the Bing's dirty linens. (I shudder to think just how dirty they must be.) Tony happily takes this opportunity to deliver Bouncer Bob's contractually required seasonal beat-down, only this time it's really more of a seasonal feel-up. Is it just me, or is Tony getting a little handsy with the help this year? Tony Rubs (tm Sylvester) takes off with the dirty laundry, leaving Bouncer Bob to the not so tender mercies of a man who once beat him with a talking plastic fish. Man, Bob just can't catch a break, can he? I mean, the guy is just a poor boy, from a poor family. So please, spare him his life from this monstrosity.

Tony B. may not have time for coffee with Tony S., but he apparently has plenty for a nice leisurely lunch with Feech. And presumably a shower afterward as well, given Robert Loggia's increasing tendency to spray spittle with every word he growls. We catch up with the boys tooling around town in Feech's convertible, the Feechster himself busily trying to recruit Stevie B. onto his team. After some additional, oven-fresh exposition about Feech's running a bakery to help maintain his legit appearances, the old guy starts talking smack about Tony, calling him "the Boy King" and asking Piney B. (tm mickeyjace) if it's okay to talk "frankly" about the boss. The ever clever Mr. Buscemi, however, never says a word in response, thus keeping his options open for whatever endeavor he might be planning. And in any case, the conversation is soon interrupted when Feech pulls over and announces that he has to make a stop. Ahh, prostate problems. They always get you in the end.

Or perhaps not. It seems Feech has taken a sudden interest in the landscaping arts, because he heads over and strikes up a conversation with a pair of gardeners working on a nearby lawn. And by "strikes up a conversation" I actually mean that he shouts "The fuck you doin'?" several times and creates a localized Category 3 hurricane when his spit gets caught in the back-blast from a weed whacker. Heh. I'd pay good money to see the National Weather Service bust out "Hurricane Feech" year. I mean, come on. "Hugo"? "Floyd"? "Andrew"? Those guys were pussies. Feech tells the gardener that his nephew Gary La Manna will be the one cutting grass in this neighborhood from now on, to which the gardener replies with a succinct and spittle-free "Fuck off, I'm busy." But not, sadly, full. Because I do have a nice wafer-thin mint right here on my desk for him. Feech clearly doesn't handle rejection very well (which leads me to wonder if his prison fight story didn't actually occur after his cell-daddy dumped him for a fresh-faced young embezzler), because he hauls off and kicks the gardener right in the tulips. Ouch. And here's a sentence to warm the cockles of your heart: "You want me to fuck off? How about if I fuck off all over your stupid fucking face, you fucking mutt?" Feech's fuckfest is accompanied by the rhythmic smacking sounds of him pounding on the poor gardener, and you can tell that the foley guys really had some fun with this scene. Feech then caps off the beating by dragging the bloody and helpless dude over to the curb. By his testicles. Damn. Then he announces one last time that his nephew will be taking over the neighborhood, and jumps down on the gardener's right arm, snapping it like a twig that just got run over by a John Deere. Stevie B. finally runs over to pull Feech away, announcing in a concerned tone of voice that they're both still on parole. Hee! I have no idea why that line amuses me so much, but it does.

Junior's Joint. Junior and his friend are trying to figure out how to turn on the TV, and are apparently having problems remembering that the cable box has to be turned on first. Morons. I've got two cable boxes, two TiVos, a DVD player, an X-Box, a PlayStation, a video mixing board, and my PC all hooked up to my TV, and it still only takes one button to turn things on. God bless universal remotes. The guys who tabulate my electric bill each month, however, are all infidels who deserve to die. They eventually get things straightened out, and settle down for a nice afternoon in front of the all-seeing, all-knowing, life-giving God Box. They flip through the channels, passing one with the hilariously meta audio of a guy announcing, "Tony's whole life was horses." Heh. They finally settle synergistically on HBO's own Curb Your Enthusiasm, and an increasingly out-of-it Uncle Junior seems to think that he's Larry David, and that Bobby Baccala is Larry's fat friend whose name I don't know because I always end up watching that show on mute while I write my recaplets. ["Jeff." -- Wing Chun] This fortuitous bit of intramural mistaken identity is clearly supposed to demonstrate that Junior is beginning to suffer from Alzheimer's or something similar, but I'd have to think that a much more reliable indicator would be the fact that he doesn't even seem to recognize that the old guy who plays his only friend in the world here has been recast. Oops.

Bada Bing backroom. Tony is at his desk, doing the Newark Star-Ledger word jumble, which is already funny enough on its own that I don't even need to make the almost de rigueur "Marmaduke" joke. Bobby Baccala shows up for a sit-down, and after the small talk, he basically asks Tony for the opportunity to do a little more earning and a little less purchasing of "stool softeners" for Uncle Junior. Ew. But also, heh. I mean, can you picture anyone else on this show buying stool softener? Christopher would probably snort the stuff, and I don't even want to think about how Paulie would administer one. Tony is sympathetic to his new brother-in-law's plight, but also admits that Bobby is the only one he can trust to take care of Junior, presumably for the reasons I just mentioned. "And believe it or not," Tony adds, "it's important to me that he's cared for." Uh huh. Remember that one in about ten minutes. Tony also asks after Janice, and Bobby diplomatically replies that it's hard because "she sleeps a lot." Tony makes a crack about her purported travails with Epstein-Barr syndrome, and then softens his tone to confess that "marriage, or any partnership for that matter, is a give and a take." Yeah, because Tony is definitely the guy you'd want to turn to for help on this subject. On the other hand, it probably is true that the only person in the world pathetic enough to actually need Tony Soprano's advice on marriage is someone who'd be dumb enough to marry Janice in the first place. Tony promises to find something for Bobby, and the meeting breaks up. The best part of the entire scene, however, is totally the bear hug at the end, because both guys are so big they can barely reach around each other. Hee!

Elsewhere, Paulie is joining his beloved Ma for afternoon tea at an aunt's house. He's as doting as ever, and no one seems too disturbed at the fact that one of the old ladies' friends was just recently brutally murdered in her own home. I guess they must figure the Russian did it. After some chit-chat, Paulie notices that no one has been cutting the aunt's grass lately, and that gives her the opportunity to involve him in the budding landscaping-war storyline. We learn that the beaten-up gardener's name is Sal Vitro, of In Vitro Fertilization Inc (tm someone on the forums) and that he's an old acquaintance of Paulie. The old ladies all loved Sal, because he used to take their garbage out when he was done with the lawns, and as someone who has a near-vertical front yard with a half-dozen thorny rosebushes and two flights of steps to reach the street, I can totally sympathize. I hate taking out my garbage. The aunt hands Paulie Gary La Manna's business card so as to better advance the plot, and Paulie promises to resolve the situation. Then he orders Ma to eat her scones. Mmm, scones.

Brooklyn. Instead of a hip, squiggly expositional font, the show elects to go with a radio voice-over to let us know where we are. And that's appreciated, because we soon find ourselves inside a bar we've never seen before. Lorraine the Loan Shark shows up to make a collection with her Jeter-riffic boy-toy in tow, and the bartender claims to have only "most" of what he owes. Perhaps out of sensitivity to the accusations of racial insensitivity that are occasionally leveled against this show, David Chase elects to have Miss Lorraine use the N-word in the course of threatening the bartender, so that she'll better deserve the comeuppance she's about to get. Or maybe she's just supposed to be a bitch. Either way, Frank Vincent shows up with a couple of friends at this point, and things get real ugly real fast. Lorraine greets the newcomers with a fake smile, and Frankie immediately wipes that smile off her face with a backhanded slap. (Given the recent casting news, however, I'm apparently not going to be able to call him "Frankie" much longer. So there's your weekly assignment for the nickname thread.) Before Lorraine can recover from the slap, Frankie's friends wrestle her to the ground and start taping her wrists together. They also restrain Derek, who turns out not to be anywhere near as tough as he looks. That may, however, have something to do with the guns Frankie's crew keep waving around. Frankie chews Lorraine out for choosing to kick up to Little Carmine instead of Johnny Sack, and she tries to defend herself by saying that Carmine Sr. was a friend of her father's. That tactic lasts only as long as it takes Frankie to cock his gun, and then Lorraine immediately changes course: "I'll pay you, okay?" she pleads. "I'll do anything you want. I'll suck your cock, okay? I'll suck all your cocks." Oy. Lorraine hasn't had much screen time, but she's certainly made the most of it in terms of eliciting an emotional response. I actually felt for her here. That may, however, have something to do with the fact that I've watched a lot of Oz. Frankie asks Derek if Lorraine is any good, and then disdainfully observes that he's probably the one who taught her how. Heh. Frankie watches Oz, too. He places a handy telephone book against Lorraine's chest, and tells his pals that it'll help muffle the shot. Lorraine starts bawling, but he shoots her anyway. But not really, because the phone book is think enough to stop the bullet. "It your lucky day," laughs Frankie, who knew exactly what was going to happen. "time, there'll be no time," he adds, before leaving Lorraine to sob on the barroom floor.

Melvoin's office. I always forget how much I like Mel, and does me proud here by cheerfully giving up his office for a mob sit-down while he heads off to work on the New York Times crossword puzzle. I'm betting he does better than Tony did with the word jumble. Anyway, I spend a significant amount of time at my day job taking the minutes at various meetings, so I know you always have to start off with a list of the attendees. In this case it's Tony, Junior, Angelo, Lorraine, and Derek. After sending out for coffee, reviewing last week's old business, and setting up the PowerPoint projector, Tony asks Angelo how he's enjoying his new freedom, and Angelo replies that he loves being back home: "It's like paradise. I eat like a pharaoh, [and I've] got my own room with cable TV." Yeah. Welcome to my world, Angelo. Nice, ain't it? But how exactly do pharaohs eat? I'd think that "Walk Like An Egyptian" pose would make it pretty hard to hold a fork. They eventually get down to brass tacks, or in this case, brass shell casings extracted from the Yellow Pages. "The problem is that Carmine never named a successor," explains Tony. Everyone thought it would be Johnny Sack, but Little Carmine's return has complicated things. "There's a lot of potential for bloodshed," adds Angelo. And that's just the way we like it, right? RIGHT? "'Potential'?" whines Derek, like he's Simon Cowell and the cute girl just got voted out. "They almost killed us!" "[Derek], men are talking here," snarls Lorraine. Hee. Angelo asks Tony if he has any suggestions, because everyone knows he's close to Johnny. "What are you asking him for?" gripes Junior. "He never had the makings of a varsity athlete." Angelo and Lorraine are obviously baffled by this non sequitur (which understandable because they're new, but someone should definitely buy them the Season 1 DVDs), but Tony waves it off and suggests they try some sort of "power-sharing" arrangement. Lorraine thinks about this, and then acknowledges that the Sopranos have had success with two bosses. "That's not all it's cracked up to be," quips Junior, who's suddenly right back on the ball. Heh. Tony thinks the Lupertazzi family should have three bosses, or, as he puts it, "a triumver...thing. Like Caesar." Johnny and Little Carmine would split things up, and Angelo would serve as a tie-breaker when needed. So does that make him President Pro Tem of the mob? Everyone agrees that this is a good idea, because it brings peace and still lets Johnny Sack make more money than he used to. Now, does anyone have new business?

Cut to Paulie, visiting Sal the gardener in a bar. Sal is still pretty badly banged up, and his arm is in a huge cast with one of those truss thingies supporting it from his waist. When Sal whines about the beating, Paulie informs him that the guy who did it just got released from prison. "Obviously he wasn't rehabilitated," he adds. He also promises that if not for the fact that he lives in a condo now, he'd have Sal out there doing his yard with the "snippers" and his "bum wing." You know. Because if anyone can sympathize with bad wings, it's Paulie. I wonder if he's a Mr. Mister fan? Sal reports that his wife wants him to go to cops, and Paulie is absolutely aghast at even the suggestion of such a thing. "What are you talking about?" he asks. "Where are you from?" Heh. Paulie offers to resolve the whole situation, although it will cost Sal a few percent of his future earnings. Knowing exactly what he's getting himself into, Sal reluctantly agrees. Paulie then makes a show of dropping some cash on the bar to pay for Sal's drinks before leaving. I wonder if there's enough there to cover a tip?

Paulie heads straight from the bar to Feech's bakery, where he greets Robert Loggia by calling him "the King of Breadsticks." "I'll give you a breadstick up the ass," growls Feech. Oh, yeah. I'm sure he learned that one in the prison kitchen. They sit down, and as in every other scene in this episode, kick things off with a little chit-chat, this time about Tony. Paulie thinks he should have stayed with Carmela, and then both of them bond over their lifetime bachelor status. I'm right there with you, boys. Paulie finally broaches the subject of the landscaping routes, which causes Feech to launch into a lengthy story about some guy named Mr. Jerry who owns a hair salon and likes to bet on the Knicks. That seems like it would be a fairly rare combination, but we're told that Mr. Jerry is actually one of Paulie's customers, which is why Feech refused to take his bets. Feech then further wonders if "this fucking gardener" also "cuts the hair on [Paulie's] balls." Okay, you know what? We're three episodes in and still robe-free, so I'm instituting a new metric for this season. From now on, all episode grades with be based on StHG, or Start-to-Hairless Genitals. This week scores an 887, which beats out both of the first two episodes. Hence the A. Anyway, Feech is more than a little peeved that Paulie wants him to back off. "What's yours is yours," he sprays, "but what ain't is anybody else's! And before you get any big ideas, that glob of phlegm that just landed on your shirt is still fucking mine!"

Tony's car. He's driving Janice and AJ over to Uncle Junior's place for Sunday dinner, and Janice explains that Bobby will be joining them later because he took the kids to Mass. Yeah, and if he's smart, he'll take them to Massachusetts. Tony says that he didn't know Bobby was religious, and Janice replies that "at this point he'll try anything. Bobby Jr. started wetting his bed again, practically every night." Heh. I'm not as big a Bobby Jr. fan as some people are, so that cracked me up. But it's still nowhere near as funny as the expression on AJ's face, as he's practically cackling with gossip-fueled glee in the back seat. And I think we all know how AJ feels about Bobby Jr., right? Tony changes the subject by mentioning that Bobby Sr. stopped by the office the other day to talk business, and Janice barely even bothers to feign surprise. "Sometimes he needs a push," she explains, but then Tony suggests that she supply that push by doing more to help out with Uncle Junior. This launches Janice into one of her now patented passive-aggressive diatribes about how she does everything for everyone, and barely has any time to do anything else. Whatever. Shut up, Janice. If Meadow's not going to be around, I've got turn my ire on someone. "This family stuff, these Sunday dinners," says Tony. "They're important." Except when they're on Thursdays, of course.

A few minutes later, Tony and Janice arrive at Vesuvio to pick up the dinner they'll be serving that night. The long-lost Charmaine gets her three seconds of screen time by calling over a waiter to help her fetch their order, and then Janice drops the one bomb that's guaranteed to piss Tony off: "You know," she muses, "every day I understand more and more what Ma went through. I mean, we bitch about her, but I tell you, it is less and less of a mystery why she was the way she was." Which just goes to show that it's now less and less of a mystery why Janice is the way she is. Tony thinks that Livia chose to be a bitch of her own free will, but Janice has convinced herself that mom was merely a victim of circumstance, with "an ungrateful husband, [and] selfish kids." Yeah. And the Pope is just a guy who wears a funny hat and cures bed-wetters. Charmaine returns with their food (occasioning some sarcasm from Tony about all the work Janice did to prepare it), and informs us that Artie is still in the kitchen, "re-sauting the mushrooms."

This sends Tony back there to pay a little visit to Artie. They're both leery of each other at first, as Tony tries to break the ice with still more small talk. We also learn that Artie is living in a Motel 6 because Charmaine got the house. Heh. But I won't be happy until he's in a cardboard box under a bridge, far, far away from the television cameras that insist on bringing him into my own home each and every week. Tony gets the brilliant idea of offering to let Artie move into Livia's house with him, and I almost cried when I heard him say that. "I was talking to my cousin Tony B," he continues, "and he says it's fucking stupid that we're on the outs." Um, that's actually not what he said at all, but it is a nice illustration of how Tony's mind works. It's like that "friend" who "couldn't use" those tickets to "Bermuda." Artie finally gives up and agrees to move in, and then they kiss and make up for good. Well, without the kissing, at least. And thank God for that. Obviously I was eventually proved to be very, very wrong, but I literally had to chew half a roll of Tums to settle my stomach after thinking about what it would be like to recap these two as roommates. I mean, I almost asked to switch to network show. Oy. Oh, and on the way out, Tony also offers to get Artie hooked up with some discount dry cleaning through Tony B. That may or may not be important later.

Junior's Joint. Tony, Junior, and Bobby are in the living room watching This Old House in that old house, while Janice gets dinner ready in the kitchen. Junior shuffles in to ask when they're eating, and Janice gripes that she just told him five minutes ago. That'll be important twenty minutes from now. Then she sits everyone down to get started eating, even though Barbara and her family haven't arrived yet. Bobby asks AJ about his football team, which causes Junior to lean over and tell AJ that his father never had the makings of a varsity athlete. This clearly infuriates Tony, but Junior doesn't even seem to notice. Or remember that Tony never went to college, for that matter. "Small hands," adds Uncle Jun. "That was your problem." Heh. This cracks up Janice, who apparently knows exactly what it is they say about men with small hands. Tony, however, just can't let it go. "What is it with you and this obsession with this varsity crap?" he asks. "The other day you said it, and when I was a kid, you told the girl cousins the same thing and it was very hurtful." Aww, hello Mr. Continuity. I'd thought I lost you in the dust bowl somewhere. Janice tries to defuse the situation, but Tony isn't finished. "It's undermining," he shouts, "and it's the kind of stuff I'm teaching my kids NOT to do." Ahh, yes. I can see that he's got that one listed fourth on the lesson plan, right after fidelity, integrity, and proper nutrition. Junior doesn't even look up from his dinner during this outburst, which ends up not mattering anyway, because Barbara and her family arrive just in time to end the awkwardness. Everyone sits down, and Mr. Barbara is all excited about the Jets drafting some tight-end from Tulsa. And God knows they need one. Junior, however, still doesn't think Tony has the makings of a varsity athlete, which is precisely what he announces to the assembled guests. Again. Tony jumps out of his chair and screams that he's leaving, which confuses poor Barbara, who has no idea what's going on. Tony also yells at AJ to get his coat, to which AJ replies: "Uh, I don't have a coat." Hee! AJ almost scored the hat trick in this episode, which is pretty impressive for one of the Soprano kids, who usually lead the league in Shut Ups per Minute and Smack-to-Chuckle ratio. Tony storms off, declaring that he'll never eat Sunday dinner at Junior's house again. As soon as he's out the door, Janice turns to Uncle Junior to ask if that was really necessary. "He's a goddamn hothouse flower," replies Junior. "That's his problem." Nice. Chianese's still got game.

Auntie's house. Paulie watches Sal struggle with the gardening, as the aunt tells him that poor Sal can't even afford to keep his kid in college anymore. Aww. I guess it's too bad the kid never had the makings of a varsity athlete. He could have earned a scholarship. Paulie promises once again to take care of things.

In keeping with David Chase's ongoing plan to throw a shout-out to every single show airing on the Home Box Office network, Tony and Johnny Sack have decided to hold one of their usual late-night meetings in front of giant Ferris wheel that's lit almost identically to the one from Carnivàle. They're also in the shadows of a large baseball stadium, but Sars would hunt me down and skin me alive if I said it was Yankee Stadium and turned out to be wrong, so I'm not even going to hazard a guess. I will, however, tell you that Tony reveals the details of his sit-down with Angelo and Lorraine. He's diplomatic about it, but he also suggests that smacking Lorraine around might not have been the best idea. Johnny, however, is more interested in the fact that Tony once slept with Lorraine, many, many years ago. Yeah, I can see that. Like I said last week, Tony's got a thing for dark hair and questionable fashion sense. And after hearing her beg to suck cock, I think it's safe to say that Lorraine's definitely got herself a dirty mouth. Johnny, on the other hand, feels exactly the opposite about her. "No one likes that cunt, anyway," he gripes. Then he turns, looks directly into the camera so we all know who he's REALLY talking about, and adds, "Any problem, she's all whack this one, whack that one. Never enough body count for Lorraine. Fuck her. Let her taste her own medicine." Oy. David, David, David. WE! GET! IT! It's enough already. And yeah, anyone who thinks this show is just about malaprops and mob hits is missing the point. But anyone who honestly thinks it's a serious examination of post-modern suburban ennui or the cross-generational effects of dysfunctional family relationships is missing all the fun. The genius of The Sopranos is that -- without ever banging an anvil -- it can give us Tony sitting in his mother's favorite chair while he angrily mocks "poor Janice" and announces that Uncle Junior is dead to him. The greatness of The Sopranos, however, is that it can follow that moment of sublimely subtle subtext with Artie taking an elbow to the eye and a perfectly played joke about Janice blowing roadies. Wanting the show to occasionally lighten up and stop taking itself so seriously shouldn't be a capital crime, and this episode is the perfect example of that. It's the best they've had in years (although, with this show, that's admittedly not saying much), precisely because it strikes the ideal balance between Tony's hunger for honest acceptance and Paulie's knocking guys out of trees. So stop your damn bitching, already. It was never just about the body count, and I think we all know that. In short: Shut up, David.

And we now return you to your regularly scheduled recap, already in progress. Johnny continues his complaints by blaming Tony for legitimizing Little Carmine with that visit to Florida last year. Tony responds by floating his "power-sharing" idea, although he is careful to attribute it to Angelo. He also points out that three other families have the same arrangement, and furthermore, it would also serve to lower Johnny's profile when it comes to the FBI. "What is this, the fucking UN?" snarls Johnny. Heh. I hear those guys over at UNICEF hate to share, too.

Over at Junior's Joint, the New Old Guy is watching a Tony Robbins infomercial. You know, because this show just doesn't have enough fucking Tonys. For God's sake, I gotta deal with Tony S. and Tony B., Carmine and Little Carmine, Bobby and Bobby Jr., not to mention an additional Junior, two different Johnnys, and a pair of Frankies. At least they killed both Pussys. I'd have gone insane by now if they hadn't. Anyway, Junior is missing, and Bobby can't find him anywhere. Bobby Sr., that is.

Cut to Junior, wandering the streets with no shoes on. He's somewhere in the old neighborhood, and he finally sees an address that looks familiar. He heads inside, where he finds a man teaching an African-American youth group how to handle reluctant customers when they're out selling on a candy drive. "Nobody wants them Turkish Taffies," complains a kid in the back. "You push harder," replies the leader. "What did I teach you about profit margin?" Hee! I'm totally picturing Girl Scout meetings going exactly the same way. Hell, I've probably put a half-dozen little girls through college by now just with my Tagalong consumption. Junior, however, is confused, because he was apparently expecting to find his brother there. "Where's Johnny?" he asks, which gives us an StTM of 1,538, and slides neatly into third place behind "Toodle-F***ing-Oo" and "Full Leather Jacket" on my list of favorite episode titles. Nobody knows anything about a "Johnny Soprano," though, and Junior is eventually expelled from the premises and forced to take off down the street like the happy wanderer he is.

Back at Junior's Joint, however, Bobby isn't happy at all. He's actually calling around to Junior's ex-girlfriends to see if he's with them, but to no avail. New Old Guy reveals that Junior said something about looking for "Johnny," and also mentions the Curb Your Enthusiasm confusion, which finally causes Bobby to think that Junior might not be well in the head. See? That's what happens when you watch too much television. Bobby's call is too Janice, who nags him about the dry cleaning and suggests that Junior is off gossiping with the neighbors because he's "an old woman." Well, I don't know if he'd be gossiping with them, but he definitely might be asking them for ice cream. And while we're on the subject of dairy products, Janice takes the phone into the kitchen, where she finds Bobby Jr. mixing up a nice refreshing glass of chocolate milk. Which goes quite well with Tagalongs, by the way. Without even saying a word to the kid, she grabs the glass right out of his hands and pours it out into the sink. Heh. Someone must be a little sick of washing Bobby Jr.'s sheets. Bobby Sr. asks Junior's niece Janice to come over and hang out in case Junior comes home so that Bobby can go out looking. Janice doesn't exactly jump for joy at that idea, though. "I need your help here," bitches Bobby. "Jesus Christ! Sometimes I think I love Junior more than you do!" Well, of course he does. Hell, you can tell that just by the way he says his name. Remember "Junior, don't leave me!"? The scene ends with Janice and Bobby Jr. glaring at each other, and me laughing at both of them.

In another subplot, Paulie is cruising down the street in his car, listening to an audio book of Sun-Tuzoo's "The Art of Hoor." Or something like that. Eventually he spots what he's looking for (a Gary La Manna Landscaping truck), and pulls over to check things out. It's interesting to note here that Paulie completely ignores the advice we just heard Sun Tuzoo giving him about knowing when not to fight. When Paulie climbs out of his car, we hear the unmistakable sound of a chainsaw firing up, and for a second there I was convinced they were going to go all Scarface on us. Now, that definitely would have been cool (and upped the body count), but I still like what actually happens even better. Paulie heads over and accosts one of the two gardeners, but he turns out to just be Gary's assistant. Gary himself is about thirty feet up in a nearby tree, using the chainsaw to trim the branches. There's some shouting and bickering, and Paulie insists that Gary is going to make good on Sal's broken arm. When pressed for a reason why Gary should do something like that, the eternally childless Paulie responds, "Because I said so, that's why." Heh. When he fails to get any satisfaction through simple negotiation, Paulie pretends to give up and walk away. What he actually does instead, however, is grab a shovel and use it to brain the assistant. This causes him to drop the rope which is supporting Gary, who promptly tumbles out of the tree and lands in the gutter. Wow. I wouldn't want to be the poor street-sweeper that's going get stuck cleaning up all the bloody curbs in this neighborhood. While Gary writhes in pain on the asphalt, Paulie nonchalantly reaches down and cleans out the guy's wallet. He also announces that Gary will be making good on Sal's medical bills (about $1,200), and that Paulie will be taking a ten percent cut of any future earnings in this neighborhood. Oh, and he's also stealing Gary's lawnmower, which he gleefully rolls across the street and tries to load into the trunk of his car. It's too big for the lid to close, but that's not enough to stop Paulie. He drives off with the thing hanging out of his trunk, leaving Gary to bleed on the pavement while a little old lady watches silently from the sidewalk. How come cool stuff like that never happens in my neighborhood? Oh, yeah. I don't live in New Jersey.

Over at Livia's house, Tony and Christopher are prepping for an important sit-down with Johnny Sack. Tony is very, very clear about the fact that Christopher needs to keep his mouth shut at this meeting, especially if the subject of Little Carmine comes up. Christopher being Christopher, I think we all know what's coming , right? Tony gets a call on his cell phone, and it's Bobby calling to say that Junior is "gone." "You mean he's dead?" asks a surprised Tony. Bobby quickly clarifies, but as soon as Tony learns that Junior is just missing and not deceased, he loses any interest (or remorse) he might have had. "He can wander off to the Palisades for all I care," he grumps. "He's fucking dead to me." Then he hangs up, leaving poor Bobby to wonder how he ever got mixed up in this ridiculous family.

Fade to later, as Janice and the kids arrive at Junior's Joint. Bobby is brusque, Janice is bitchy, and the kids just stand there like giant lumps of...something that really doesn't like its stepmother. Bobby begs to go with his dad, and when Bobby says no, the kid further suggests that Janice go and leave the kids there alone. Heh. Janice goes upstairs to lie down, and Bobby tries to be a good father for a minute. "One hour of television," he tells them, "and you both finish your homework." Then he looks right at Bobby Jr. and tells him to lay off the Snapple. Bwah! Now there's a product placement for you. Snapple: The official drink of bed-wetting crybabies everywhere.

The sit-down. Johnny is whining about all the nice things he's done for Little Carmine over the years, including getting Even Littler Carmine in to see some ritzy pediatrician and organizing "whores" and a "lesbian show" for the guy's bachelor party. You know, sometimes I wish Johnny Sack were my friend in real life. We could sit around all day smoking cigarettes and making meta-snarky comments about things that annoy us, and you just know he'd be totally understanding if I ate a lot of Tagalongs and put on some extra weight. Call me, Johnny! We'll do lunch! Christopher, after expressly being told to keep his mouth shut, decides to open his mouth and ask why Johnny and Little Carmine can't just patch things up. Tony tries to change the subject by asking Christopher to pass the bread, but Chris just launches into his own ideas for how to handle the Lorraine situation, and the totally silent Wide Guy is forced to reach all the way across the table and grab the bread for Tony. Hee! I love Wide Guy. Johnny Sack can't believe that Christopher has the nerve to talk about this stuff, and he observes that it wasn't too long ago that Christopher used to spend these meeting waiting in the car. And oddly enough, I just watched last season's finale the other day, and Christopher actually does wait in the car while Tony and Johnny have a meeting at an Office Depot. So I guess "not that long ago" means "almost a year and a half" in Soprano-speak. Now it's Johnny's turn to leave the dinner table angrily, as he stomps off to go hang out at the bar with Frank Vincent. "I didn't say nothing," insists Wide Guy, as Christopher just sits there stewing in his own stupidity.

Cut to Tony and Christopher in the car, with Tony banging on the steering wheel and screaming at his protg for fucking up. "Now I gotta do something nice for Johnny," he shouts, which will be important in a few minutes. Then he goes on to say that the Johnny/Little Carmine situation is very delicate, but that it still could work out to the Sopranos' advantage if they're able to scoop up some crumbs while the New York boys fight it out. "Odds are Johnny will lend up on top," Tony adds. "But who knows? So keep your ears open and your mouth shut!"

Cut to Adriana, blabbing to the Feds. Oh, hello Ironic Segue Fairy. I thought you'd left me for the Couch Baron years ago. Adriana is sitting in another car somewhere with Agent Exposition New Roman Sans Serif (tm Djb and bratschenspieler), and she's answering a critical question that has been pondered by the finest scholars and philosophers for centuries now: how exactly are Tony and Christopher related? In the interests of satiating your obvious curiosity, I now present Adriana's explanation in full: "Chrissy's not Tony's nephew. Chrissy is Carmela's cousin. She was first cousin to Dickie Moltisanti, Chrissy's dad. But he was always kind of like a big brother to Tony, so Tony calls Chrissy his nephew. It's an Italian thing. Although, technically, Tony and Chrissy are cousins. Joanne Blundetto, Chrissy's mom, is Tony's cousin on his mother's side. But, like way back. Like in the old country or something." Got it? Good. Now let's never talk about that again, because it's giving me a headache. Her shout-out to the show's fan base thus completed, Adriana turns to a more serious subject by asking how much longer she's going to have to keep squealing. "A major RICO against Tony Soprano? Those things take years," explains Agent Foreshadowing Extra Bold. "This recent case...it was seven years before indictments were handed down." Yeah, right. I wouldn't give Adriana much more than seven episodes at the rate she's going. But at least we now know which side of the aisle Tony will be sitting on at her funeral.

Junior, meanwhile, is sitting on a park bench, staring at a giant ten-story bottle that I guess is some sort of billboard or something. Whatever it is, I'm sure I'll be getting email about it. And just as a fun email note, by the way, I'll tell you that I got six separate letters last week telling me that the golf club cover in Jack Masserone's mouth was really for a five wood, and not a five iron like I said. What's interesting is that all six of them came from lawyers. That means something, but I'm not sure what. Anyway, Junior is soon joined by an elderly black woman who tries to strike up a conversion by asking if he lives nearby. "Do you know me?" wonders an addled Uncle Jun. "Are you my mother?" The fact that they're sitting on a park bench discussing philosophical identity issues combined with her soon-to-be-revealed occupation has led the kids in the forum to dub her "The Hooracle" (tm franabanana), and that's certainly better than anything I was thinking of. Junior asks if she knows about some club in the neighborhood, and she laughs and informs him that it burned down years ago. Then she tells him that he's good-looking. "What are you saying?" he wonders. "You and I had relations?" Heh. Insert your own Monica Lewinsky joke here. The Hooracle giggles at him again, and tells him that "some bitch" in a taxicab ran over her foot. Um, okay. I'm counting that one as Taxicab Confessions's official HBO shout-out, by the way, because I just don't think anyone else cares enough about that show to bother. This reminds Junior that he's got a car himself, and Grandma Ho-ses's (tm Slashgirl) eyes light up. "Want a date?" she asks. "I'll give you half-and-half in the back seat." Bwah! I totally didn't see that coming. I do, however, think it speaks well of all you that so many people in the forums didn't know what "half-and-half" means. Even if a disturbingly large percentage of you do know what a "pearl necklace" is.

Junior shuffles off down the street, and we cross-fade to much later than night, as he keeps right on shuffling across a bridge. He eventually ends up in an industrial park filled with shipping containers, where he's spotted by some cops in a patrol car. He immediately tries to run and hide, but the cops somehow manage to see right through his clever plan of stepping three feet to his left and ducking behind a dumpster. They very politely ask for his name and some details about why he's out in the middle of the night without any shoes on, but Junior is just as surly as ever. And you've got to give it up for a man who can keep a straight face while snarling the line, "Fuck you, copper. I know my rights." Now that's old-school. The cops are obviously used to dealing with senile senior citizens, and they do manage to cajole him into revealing his name. They probably weren't expecting to hear "Corrado Soprano," though, and they're both a little surprised at finding a major mob boss traipsing around in his stocking feet. They gently lead him over to the car, and then we cut to Junior's Joint, where they deliver him back to a grateful Janice. They also ask to see his identification, and while Bobby runs upstairs to fetch Junior's wallet, they inform Janice that he was found wandering somewhere in Newark. Then Bobby returns with the ID, and when the cops confirm that it really is Junior Soprano, they're not sure whether they should be impressed with their catch or feel saddened that the mighty have fallen. Once they're gone, Janice tries to tend to her uncle, but he's not interested. He insists that he just went out for some exercise, and refuses to let Bobby Jr. help him to the bathroom. "I can piss by myself!" he shouts, totally ignoring the fact that Bobby Sr. already told us in this episode that he can't even manage to shit for himself.

Livia's house. Tony is camped out in front of the TV when Bobby and Janice show up to report on Uncle Junior. When he hears that Junior may have Alzheimer's, Tony is predictably uncaring. "Good," he snarks, as he returns to Livia's chair. "Maybe he'll forget my phone number." Artie wanders in to offer them some leftovers from Vesuvio, and Janice rudely dismisses him right away by saying they're having a family meeting. Now see? She's not always evil. Tony keeps on insisting that Junior is dead to him, and that his uncle is only reaping what he sowed. "You sure did," Janice replies. "You ever think maybe there's a reason you're living here all alone, without your family?" Tony can't believe that his screwed-up sister is dispensing marriage advice any more than I could believe that Tony was dispensing marriage advice himself back in the stool softener scene. He lays into her for always running away from family problems, including when she took off for "Tibet, or Berkeley" back when she was eighteen. "I was sixteen when you left me in that house with our head-case of a mother," he screams. "Who you all of a sudden relate to so fucking well! Free spirit Janice! Rebel without a cause! While I sit here, mired in her bullshit trying to be a good son while you're off dropping acid and blowing roadies!" "Roadies?" exclaims Bobby, in the vocal equivalent of clutching at his pearls. "Oh, you don't want to know!" answers Tony. Hee! Janice backpedals, and practically tries to claim that she's never even met a roadie, much less fellated one. Tony, however, isn't finished venting, and he gets right up in her face as he continues. "Poor fucking Janice! She's so fucking depressed. Poor fucking Janice, she can't get up from the couch because she's so fucking tired from her Epstein-Barr. Poor fucking Janice!" Man, Livia really did a number on these poor fucking kids, didn't she? Bobby tries to break things up, but Tony keeps comparing Janice to their mother until she hauls off and smacks him across the face. He grabs her around the throat and starts choking her, as Artie and Bobby rush in to pull them apart. Before they're successful, however, one of Janice's flailing arms nails Artie right in the face, and I had to stop and rewind that on the TiVo at least a half-dozen times. Damn, was that satisfying. Especially in HDTV. I always hate recapping the long fight scenes on this show, because they're just so ridiculously exhausting, but that totally made it all worthwhile. I've almost got enough energy to go recap Deadwood right now. Almost. ["It's a moot point anyway." -- Wing Chun] Anyway, Janice finally runs out of the house in tears, and Tony turns to Bobby and angrily tells him that if he wants more responsibility, he can start by controlling his wife. Yeah. That'll happen.