Sentimental Education

Happy birthday, Mom!

Much as my Biblical namesake once wandered forty years through the Egyptian desert with his brethren, I have now wandered almost forty episodes through the suburbs of New Jersey with David Chase and company. And what, pray tell, was my reward in the promised land of shout-outs? Yeah. A sleepy fucking folk singer with bad taste in music and even worse taste in women. Kim, on the other hand, has recapped precisely one episode of this show. And how do they thank her? By opening the very episode with a shot of a giant sign that reads "Kim's." Now don't get me wrong, because Kim rocks and she deserves every second of acclaim, but really? How is that fair? I mean, I didn't even get the vibrator treatment out of this deal, for God's sack. ["I think all that is by way of saying, 'Thanks for doing such a great job last week, Kim!'" -- Wing Chun]

Anyway, the "Kim" in this case is Mr. Kim, of Kim's Dry Cleaning, who is Diet Tony's erstwhile employer, and owner of the truck on which this shout-out sign is currently emblazoned. Just as Tony B. tries to load in a stack of dirty laundry, however, the truck squeals away down the street, dumping Tony right on his bony ass. He gets up to give chase, but then trips and falls in a shot featuring the worst usage of an ankle double I've ever seen. And people bitched about Carmela's ass. Please. The truck rounds a nearby corner and disappears out of sight, and then we cut to Diet Tony, trudging back into the dry-cleaning operation with a skinned knee and a surly mien. The boss greets him in exactly the same way my boss greets me every morning -- by asking, "So, Blundino, why you fuck me like this?" Admittedly, it makes a lot more sense coming from Mr. Kim. Tony protests his innocence, noting that he spent an entire afternoon with the cops, and also that he's got "a whole leg covered with Neosporin." Hee hee. Diet Tony is also upset because he lost his "study guide and flashcards" when the truck was stolen (an excuse I'm frankly shocked AJ hasn't tried to use yet), but Mr. Kim couldn't care less. ["Aw, the flashcards broke my heart!" -- Wing Chun] He shows Tony the gun he keeps in his desk drawer, and angrily tells him that he'd be out on his (bony) ass by now if Mr. Kim didn't need Tony Soprano's help with the union.

And speaking of Tony Soprano, here he is. And! He's! Wearing! A! Robe! Woohoo! It's a new model this year, sort of a nice dark wine or burgundy color, with gold pinstripes. I'm not exactly sure what the material is, although it's definitely not terrycloth. I am sure, however, that you'll be able to get all the details when the HBO Merchandising Department starts selling them on the web any day now. I can only assume they front-loaded the robe shots in this episode because they knew how I'd feel about an hour dedicated to Carmela's love life. We're at Livia's place, and Tony is enjoying his breakfast when AJ comes downstairs to join him. In less than thirty seconds, the kid manages to accomplish the following: complain that Tony ate all the good cereal, whine that there's no juice in the fridge, chew out his father for not knowing the difference between a Fruit Roll-Up and a Pop-Tart (for shame, Tony. For shame!), and refuse to go grocery shopping -- even with an offer of full reimbursement -- better to accommodate what Tony describes as his busy schedule of spending "most of [his] time on the phone, or sitting on the couch perfecting that pissy look on [his] face." "And coming home drunk," adds AJ. "Sounds like you." Oh, no he di-in't! Tony bolts across the kitchen in about two steps, and slams AJ up against the wall with a meaty-looking forearm. ["God, finally." -- Wing Chun] AJ wriggles and writhes, but he can't get away. "One of these days, you wait," snivels the kid. "I'm gonna kick your ass!" Yeah, right. You and what army of bears and eyebrow waxers? "What's wrong with right now?" wonders Tony, who actually seems to be a bit pleased that his son is sticking up for himself, no matter how ludicrous the idea might be. AJ slinks back to the table, and then -- believe it or not -- actually has the gall to bitch about the cereal again. Oy. Smack! Tony, however, has a much better idea. He grabs the bowl right out from in front of AJ, and pours the contents into the sink with a flourish. Heh. As noted in the forums, we just saw Janice pull almost exactly the same stunt, so who wants to bet that Ma used to do that to them when they were kids? It's definitely a very Livia thing to do.

Uh oh. Carmela is primping in the mirror again. That's a bad omen if I've ever seen one.

Cut to her in Counselor Bob's office. And, also: damn! I did not notice the major cleavage she's sporting here on my first run-through. I must be slipping or something. Wegler has ostensibly called her in because AJ still has a D in English, but also apparently because he wanted to look down her blouse a lot. Which he does while fetching her a seat. And while sitting down himself. And throughout pretty much the entire scene, in fact. When he finally manages to drag his eyes up those last few inches to her face, he informs Carmela that AJ just recently turned in a paper on Animal Farm. The problem is that the first draft was "sketchy," whereas the second was "suspiciously cogent." In other words, the kid cheated. Carmela leaps to her son's defense, blaming the whole thing on bias from the English teacher, whom she describes as "a cold fish." "I know what people think," she continues. "Italian-American, father in the carting industry...." Okay, first of all, "the carting industry"? Is Tony one of those guys who clears out the cart return bin at the local supermarket? And secondly, why so coy all of a sudden? Last time at lunch, she couldn't wait to flaunt what people "might have heard" about her husband. People who have already seen the entire episode, by the way, should feel free to insert their own coy/cold fish joke here. Bob informs Carmela that AJ's grade will mostly be decided by an upcoming term paper on Lord of the Flies. Oy. I'm not even sure AJ could make it through Lord of the Rings. But it is fun to picture him as Lord of the Dance.

Bob finally gives up any pretense of making this a business discussion, and moves around to sit on the front of his desk. This, of course, has the double advantages of making him seem more informal and flirty, while also giving him an unobstructed view straight down to Carmela's belly-button. He confesses to having done some primping of his own prior to this meeting, and then renews his invitation to dinner. Aw. They're soooooo in lurve. Then Bob makes a Madame Bovary joke, and Carmela admits that the book went completely over her head, and in so doing caused her to wonder what Bob could ever possibly see in Carmela herself. "Exactly that," he explains. "Who admits this stuff? Not only are you very attractive, you're unpretentious. You say whats on your mind." "So I'm a big mouth," Carmela volleys back. "I can see how that would attract a man like you." Heh! But so true. Carmela's actually looking kind of hot to me right now, too. She tentatively mentions her husband, but Bob waves that problem away, announcing, "Your husband's going to have to get used to the idea that your life is moving on." "I'm not worried about my life," she answers. Um...why? Are you afraid Bob will get run over by a grocery cart? Or just that he might be putting it before the horse? Bob insists that Tony would never break his son's teacher's legs, because that would look bad to an admissions committee. But I thought it was four legs good, two legs bad, right?

Sunday dinner. Chris, Adriana, the Baccalieri clan, and a few people I can't identify are sitting around the table at Janice's house, laughing and conspicuously not touching the food on their plates. A blonde woman we've never seen before carries a plate into the living room, where Diet Tony is furiously studying his massage textbooks. The blonde, by the way, is Dr. Gina from Sesame Street, only here she looks like precisely the kind of bony, Hoboken white trash you'd expect someone who looks like Steve Buscemi to be dating. Chris and Adriana follow her into the living room, announcing that they're leaving, looking happy and well-adjusted enough to make us believe that the events of last week have packed up and flown off to Vladivostok with Cousin Brian and the Department of Housing and Urban Development. They also perform the valuable service of expositing that Diet Tony met Dr. Gina via an ad he placed over the internet while he was in jail. Aww. See? I knew those TWoP Personals were a good idea. "I gotta read some of that shit," adds Christopher. "I bet it's hysterical." Oh, you have no idea, my friend. Chris then notices the fairly heavy-duty medical texts Diet Tony is studying, and is impressed when he learns that becoming a licensed masseuse requires more than just a glorified "gym test." He delivers a stream of AA-Babble about never giving up or whatever, and then concludes by advising Diet Tony to "keep [his] eye on the tiger." And back on the street, rising up to meet the challenge of his rivals.

Carmela, meanwhile, has elected to celebrate her upcoming dinner with Counselor Bob by having dinner with Father Intintola first. If such a thing can be called a celebration, of course. After some discussion of a charitable diaper drive that I want no part of, their food comes and Carmela gets right down to the good gossip. She tells Father Tool Time all about Bob, whom she describes as someone she's been working on a "project" with. Oh, AJ is definitely a project, all right. She explains that she and Bob have developed "certain feelings," but don't worry -- she also "likes him as a person." Well, thank God for that. "The funny thing is," she adds, "I was sure he was gay. He sort of reminded me of you. You know, he's an intellectual. You know what I mean." Hee! I love seeing Tool get taken down a notch. But why does everyone always have to be gay with Carmela? She keeps gushing and gushing about the guy, which prompts Father RinTinTin to suggest that they discuss Tony's place in all this. Carmela thinks that makes Tool sound like he's being hostile. "I'm not," he insists. "Perhaps that's your sin talking." Ooh, burn! For all eternity, no less. Intintoola says that even though Tony has cheated on her many, many times, Carmela still needs to honor her own vows. He also suggests that Bob could be the work of Satan, which I don't necessarily have a hard time believing. Carmela, on the other hand, just wants to know why God would get her all horny if He didn't want her to act on those feelings. I'm sorry, did she just call God a cock-tease? Because that's not right. Father Phil has no answer to that, except to call over a waiter and have about eight pounds of pepper ground into his salad. You really actually have to see the snitty expression on his face here to appreciate the moment, but it still cracks me up every time I watch.

Kim's. Diet Tony is in the break room making new flashcards for himself when Mr. Kim shows up and orders him into the office. Once there, Kim quietly admits that the cops found his truck, and that it appears as though it was stolen by a couple of kids looking for a joy ride. And not, as he had assumed, by a couple of mobsters looking for dirty laundry. Then he offers Diet Tony a seat, and praises him for working so hard on the massage studying. He suggests that Tony open his own massage parlor, but seeing as no character on The Sopranos is ever safe from sly ethnic stereotyping, he actually pronounces it "massage ghageh." It seems that Kim was initially worried that Diet Tony would turn out to be a "lazy American and criminal," but now he's come to be impressed with the way Tony works hard, "like a Korean people." He further reveals that he owns an under-performing travel agency with a three-year lease in a nearby mini-mall. He offers to stake Tony and give him the space for the massage ghageh, but there's just one condition: Tony would have to hire Kim's daughter, who used to be a physical therapist until it was discovered that "cripple people make her sad." Heh. Now she just sits around the house and watches TV all day. And what, may I ask, is wrong with that lifestyle, exactly? I'll have you know that some of us make an excellent living that way. Or at least a decent living. Or maybe some of us are just barely peeking over the poverty line. Either way, Diet Tony is tickled by the offer, and Mr. Kim happily declares that the three of them will now "make the big success journey."

Das Sopranohaus. Carmela, AJ, and Tony have gathered for a family meeting to discuss AJ's newfound desire to move back home. Carmela, however, is skeptical. "This was his idea?" she asks. "He's upset because he don't get the kind of cereal he likes," answers Tony. And to be fair, that can be very upsetting. I still have scars from the morning my sister discovered that I'd eaten all the Golden Gra...wait a second. Am I actually defending AJ? Damn. That's not right. I'd rather eat Grape Nuts, for God's colon. Anyway, here's AJ's take on Corn Flake-gate: "He threw it in the sink! How am I supposed to focus at school with no breakfast? I got dizzy!" Okay, heh, but my God is that kid a brat. AJ also announces that he doesn't want to live in a house where people use violence against children, although it seems somewhat self-evident that any house which contains AJ would eventually end up being a house where people use violence against children. He then threatens to call Social Services and have them send out a case worker to protect him. Carmela tries to put a happy face on things, but now Tony is the one who's pissed. "It's demoralizing," he growls. "That a son of mine would even think about calling in the authorities." Oh yeah, that's how you set a good example. Meadow wanders into the room from out of nowhere, and utters her one, single, solitary line of the week: "Family meeting? Try to stay awake, AJ." Oy. Sing it with me now: Shut up, Meadow. And seriously, what was the point of that? Doesn't Jamie-Lynn DiScala have better things to do with her time? At any rate, Carmela reminds AJ that he said Carmela makes him miserable, and he's got no answer for that. So Carmela ends up doing what she wanted to do all along, and accepts him back. But not without some new ground rules: no parties, no phone calls, no Devon, and no cursing. Aww, Devon. It's good to know she's still alive, although it doesn't exactly speak well of the girl that she's stayed in a long-term relationship with Asshat Jones over here. Carmela finally decrees that she wants AJ to involve her in his life a little, and he sullenly agrees. And now if we could just get Artie out of that place, everything would be perfect.

Carmela heads into the kitchen, and Tony follows, trying to put a positive spin on these developments. "We played that just right," he declares, but she rather pointedly ignores him. Tony also thinks that AJ's time with his father "whipped him into shape a little." Yeah. If that shape is a sphere, maybe.

Satriale's. Wide Guy is quizzing Diet Tony on his flashcards. Question: "Which muscles attach to the coracoid process?" Before we can get an answer, though, Paulie and Chris show up. Chris cracks jokes to the effect that it's like study hall all over again, but Paulie has more prosaic concerns on his mind: "[Wide Guy]," he demands, "where the fuck is my Tupperware?" Heh. Wide Guy assures him that it'll be delivered that afternoon, and then Diet Tony correctly gets two out of the three muscles (Pectoralis Minor and Coracobrachialis). He's stumped on the third, however, prompting Wide Guy to observe that even he knows the answer (Biceps). And by "knows," I can only assume he means that he's read about it on the internet, because God knows he's certainly never seen his own muscles. A quick Google search confirms that the script supervisor did a quick Google search to make sure they answered that question correctly, by the way. Apropos of almost nothing, Chris takes this opportunity to offer up another AA koan: "Fear knocked at the door. Faith answered. There was no one there." Uh huh. What is the sound of one emotion knocking, anyway? And if no one cares, does it make any sound at all? Paulie still can't understand why Diet Tony would be interested in making a career out of touching strangers, which causes Wide Guy to observe that he really "skeeves the human body." Paulie then offers a koan of his own: "Why do pissing, shitting, and fucking all happen within in a two-inch radius?" I don't know the answer to that one, but I also don't believe that Paulie knows what a radius is. Wide Guy doesn't know either, but he does point out that all three are sources of pleasure. Heh. Diet Tony tells the gang all about Mr. Kim and the massage ghageh, but Paulie is peeved that Tony didn't come to him first for a loan. Or a koan. "Word to the wise," he intones. "Remember Pearl Harbor." Hmm. Do I make a Paulie is stupid joke here, or a somewhat more timely "Remember The Alamo, because apparently no one else does" joke instead?

Bob and Carmela are walking back to his car after their date. She's got one of those fancy aluminum foil ducks filled with leftovers, which will be mildly important later on. Once they're in the car, Bob reaches to grab something out of the back seat, and a clearly anxious Carmela flinches like he was about to kiss her. Heh. But don't feel too bad, Carm; I'd have had the same reaction. Instead of a kiss, Bob gives her a "first edition" of Madame Bovary. Well, a "Modern Library" first edition, at any rate (published in 1993). And that would totally be the perfect gift, too, if it weren't for the fact that it's horribly patronizing and Carmela already said she didn't like the book anyway. But even so, she's still got more opinions to share: "Honestly, though, I don't know. The story is very slow. Nothing really happens." Oh, David. You just can't let it go, can you? "I think he could have said what he had to say with a lot less words," she adds. Hmm. Okay, how about this: Season 4 sucked. Satisfied? Bob pontificates that much of the action in the book was internal, and then heartily recommends a repeat viewing to catch all the nuances. In a surprising display of proper product-placement decorum, he completely fails to hold up a set of the Season 4 DVDs as he speaks. Wow. If this had been Oz, he'd have whipped out the box set and proclaimed it the greatest work of art ever created. And then he would have sodomized Carmela with Disc 2. But this is The Sopranos, so Carmela instead agrees that the "first edition" would be "a wonderful thing to have in a den," and you can actually see her mentally planning to shelve it right between the Lladros and the wrought-iron musical staff. ["True. And my heart broke again." -- Wing Chun] And then Bob finally does move in for a real kiss, but Carmela confesses that she doesn't "do this" a lot. She gets all nervous and babbly, so Bob just leans in and plants one on her. When they finally pull apart, Carmela goes on to admit that she hasn't "been with anyone." "You're a virgin?" he smarms. "This is my lucky night." Ew. Shut up, Bob. And stop staring at the sophomores like that. I will, however, note that Carmela's inexperience in these matters is obvious, and we'll be talking a lot more about it as the evening wears on.

But for now, let's just make out. Bob and Carmela are back at his place, and they sink down onto the couch with the kissing and the pawing and the necking and whatnot. Bob opens her blouse to reveal that cleavage he's been worshipping, and then his head drops below the frame and Carmela sighs in ecstasy. Aw. And it's not even her birthday!

Cut to later, with the two of them asleep in his bedroom. Or perhaps not. Carmela is actually watching Bob's sleeping form, and then she rolls over and heads for the bathroom. Along the way we're treated to a full dorsal nude shot, and after taking one for the team and rewinding that bit roughly two dozen times, I'm prepared to state to about 95% certainty that it's not a body double. And even if it is, who cares? Besides everyone in the forums, that is. Once on the toilet, Carmela takes a moment to check out the reading material Bob keeps in his john. Just for comparison purposes, here's what's currently in my own bathroom: Mona Lisa Overdrive, The Corrections, Red Rabbit, last week's Newsweek, and a TV Guide from two months ago with Miss Alli's Survivor article in it. Bob, on the other hand, has a highlighted and annotated copy of Abelard & Heloise, a book he will later describe as "the classic story. Twelfth-century scholar falls in love with his underage student. Gets her pregnant. They're found out, and her uncle the Abbot has him castrated. It's timeless, really." Asshole. And stop staring at the freshmen like that. Carmela flushes and washes up, smiling at herself a bit in the mirror. A lot of people have been surprisingly down on Edie's appearance in this episode, but I thought she looked fabulous here. And it goes without saying, of course, that she acts the hell out of even this little scene. Best actress on television, bar none.

When Carmela returns to the bed, Bob greets her with a greasy "So, how was it?" Instead of replying with something pithy like "nasty, brutish, and short," Carmela actually opts to ask about Abelard & Heloise. "I just like to read in there," answers Bob, before giving the plot summary that I've carelessly temporally displaced to the paragraph. It also goes without saying, of course, that the bit about castration gets Carmela a little hot. "You with the books," she simpers. Oy. If this show were any more Freudian, they'd have to dig up Livia, give Tony a cigar, and then plead with me not to finish this sentence so we could all be spared the mental Monica Lewinsky image that you all know is coming. Thankfully, Carmela quickly changes the subject to AJ. "I keep thinking he could start over in college," she sighs. "But who knows if he'll even get the chance." Bob assures her that all students at the Greater New Jersey Non Verbum Dei Institute For Bad Drivers And Wayward Teens matriculate, and then ends the conversation with a kiss.

Even later that same night, Carmela does the drive of shame, pulling her station wagon into the empty garage. She sneaks past AJ's room, and we can hear him on the phone in there (swearing and probably talking to Devon, no less), so, like, nice parenting, slut. She finally makes it into her own room, where she changes into a nightgown and climbs into bed. Once there, she glances over at the nightstand, where she spots a photo of Tony and AJ on a fishing trip. I'll spare you all another trip into my well of Freudian imagery, but please do note this as yet another instance of this show's long-running piscine motif. After some thought, Carmela hops out of bed, heads downstairs, and retrieves a pistol from the hidden gun cabinet. And yes, the grenade is still there. It's been moved a bit since last we saw it, but I don't think it's unreasonable to assume that Little Paulie or Vinnie Delpino would have taken that bad boy out at least once for a quick look-see back when they were on bear patrol. At any rate, the grenade has now been shown in Act I and Act II, so the Act III explosion must be coming, right? Right? Carmela heads back upstairs with the gun, which she tucks under the pillow on Tony's side of the bed. The ostensible reason for this, of course, is that she's scared that Tony might come after her if he found out about Bob. Personally, I'm not so sure. After all, she already told Wegler that she wasn't worried about her own life, and if Tony wouldn't even hit her upon finding out about Furio (a guy Tony actually respected), I don't know why she thinks he'd be even more pissed about a pissant like Bob. I tend believe that she thinks of the gun almost as a surrogate Tony. She misses him a bit here, and that's the image she has of him in her head, so that's what she wants on his side of the bed. It's also easy to rationalize away as simple fear, and Carmela loves nothing more than a good rationalization. Well, maybe oral sex, but we'll get to that later.

Whew. After ten straight minutes of The Carmela & Bob Show, we cut to Diet Tony, making his way through the massage licensing test. Then we see him out in the lobby, waiting for his score with Dr. Gina. The whole scene has a very Beetlejuice-y sort of flavor to it, which is only compounded when the proctor emerges and calls out Diet Tony's number: "." I've subjected that sequence to a variety of mathematical calculations, and I can't find anything funny about it at all. I did, however, giggle a bit when the proctor uses over thirty-two words -- none of which is "passed," and one of which is "licensure" -- to tell Diet Tony that he passed the test. Tony doesn't even get it at first, and Dr. Gina has to confirm it for him. They hug. He's ecstatic.

Maison de Soprano. "Sex agrees with you," observes Rosalie. "You look great." Then she asks how it was. "Well," replies Carmela, "I will say that he took his time." Man, she just can't stop bragging about that orgasm, can she? Ro wants all the gory details, but thankfully AJ enters just in time to spare us all from hearing about how Bob tickled her Bovaries. AJ is as surly as ever, and this time he's complaining about Counselor Bob, who pulled him out of class to discuss that Lord of the Flies term paper. "I didn't have my stuff with me," he explains, "so he puts his faggy hand on my shoulder and says, 'Do your best.'" Carmela thinks Bob was just trying to help. "Or maybe he's just a big homo," answers AJ. "Could be," replies Mom, with a knowing smile. She sends him upstairs to do his homework, but then in a quintessential display of Soprano parenting skills, she agrees to let him watch TV first, and then promises to help him do all the work later. And I think we all know that sentence would probably be a lot more accurate if you took out the words "help him." Once AJ leaves, Carmela looks up to see Rosalie sobbing at the end of the counter. Aww. She misses her Little Lord. And don't we all, really? Carmela moves in for the comforting hug, and Rosalie wails, "They never caught those chinks who killed him." And since this was the other big kerfuffle in the forums this week, I'll state emphatically for the record that she did say "chinks," and the always accurate closed captioning backs me up on that. But here's the thing: the word "chinks" was also very clearly dubbed in separately from the rest of the line. Make of that what you will. For now, I just want to observe a nice moment of silence for the fallen Poo Ass. Go with God, Jackie Jr. Go with God.

Out on the gritty, gritty streets of New Jersey, Diet Tony and Dr. Gina are walking home from a fun-filled night of whatever the hell these two do to pass the time. She's complaining about her day job (sing it, sister!), and he's being supportive, and they generally give the appearance of being a very happy couple together. Suddenly, a car comes squealing around the corner, and someone insides tosses a plastic bag into some nearby bushes before the car accelerates again down the street and out of sight. Tony and Dr. Gina both head over to investigate, and Tony grabs the bag and shouts "Holy fuck!" when he looks inside. Dr. Gina assumes it's a fetus, but Tony soon shows both her and us that the bag is filled with drugs and cash. Diet Tony figures that the guys in the car must have been drug dealers who thought they were being tailed by the police, so they ditched the evidence. Gina reminds Diet Tony that he's still on parole, so he tosses the drugs back in the bushes, and they run off together with the bag of money. As they round the corner, Tony speculates that there must be at least ten or twelve thousand dollars in there. "You're doubly-blessed," observes Gina. Yeah, he but he certainly ain't barely seventeen. Or, thankfully, barely dressed. "I am gonna buy you a ring," he declares. "You are the sweetest, sweetest man," Dr. Gina replies. "But you should put it into the business." Wow. That was the nicest no to a marriage proposal I've ever heard in my life. And believe me, I've heard plenty. Diet Tony, however, isn't even fazed by her apparent rejection, and agrees that putting the money into the massage ghageh would definitely be the best course of action. They kiss to end the scene, and here's where I call bullshit on the entire enterprise. Drug dealers don't throw cash out the window like that no matter who might be chasing them, and happy couples walking down the street don't stop to investigate garbage bags tossed from passing cars. I think someone on the writing staff just arbitrarily took an idea they had about finding money somewhere and tried to graft it onto this whole "Tony B returns to the mob life" storyline, and it just doesn't work. But whatever. It's still better than watching Carmela and Furio cry all the time.

Or Carmela and AJ studying, for that matter. Except Carmela isn't so much as studying as just reading aloud from the CliffsNotes, and AJ isn't doing anything at all, because he's sound asleep. Mom finally notices her snoozing son, and screams at him to wake up. Uh, I don't think that's really going to help, Carmela. In fact, the boy might actually be smarter in his sleep.

Bada-Bing. The whole crew has gathered to celebrate Steve Buscemi's big find. It's worth noting that every single guy in attendance (including Steve) has a naked stripper goomar on their arm. Everyone except Tony, that is. Hmm. He's been notably celibate lately. What's up with that? And who would have ever thought that Carmela would have had an orgasm more recently than Tony? Unless Tony's been up to something we haven't seen, that is. Speaking of which, Paulie pipes up to as Steve how many guys he has to jerk off on the massage table to earn twelve thousand dollars. "I don't know," answers Steve. "What do you charge without the table?" Everyone laughs, and then the Product Placement office inserts yet another subtle Cristal plug. Cristal: For when you absolutely, positively have to seduce a stripper overnight (and you're not willing just to give the damn money directly to her). Silvio raises his glass for a toast, and announces, "From now on, anytime somebody steps in a pile of shit, it will be known as a Blundetto." And he's right. I've been using that expression all week at work.

While Tony is drinking and ogling the strippers, Carmela and Bob are out for another fancy dinner. She tries to feed him some dessert, but he's not ready, and it ends up smeared all over his face. Then they both turn onto cartoon dogs and start slurping on opposite ends of a spaghetti noodle.

The day, Carmela is back in her own kitchen, peeling a zucchini. Or a cucumber or a squash or some okra or maybe a gourd of some kind. Whatever. I don't know much about vegetables, but I do know a hilarious castration joke when I see one. So, ha! And also, ow. We pan over to see Tony arriving, and he stands just in the entrance to the kitchen, with his face obscured by the portentous shadows of, well, foreshadowing. Carmela gives a start when she sees him, and then Tony steps all the way into the room and hands over an essay paper that AJ left back at Livia's. "Did you even look at this?" she wonders, as she checks the name on the front of the paper. "Who the hell is Anne Dunham?" Well, Carm, it seems "Anne Dunham" was an expert on Lord of the Flies who wrote an A+ paper three years ago. I'm assuming that means she put something about the boys wearing robes right up in the first paragraph. Tony laughs silently when he realizes what AJ has been up to, and then he pulls those aluminum foil-wrapped leftovers out of the fridge and wonders aloud when Carmela started eating duck. Mom, however, is more interested in complaining about the fact that their son is a cheater. I'm shocked, I tell you. Shocked! So is Tony, but he's more surprised by the fact that AJ would pay for a term paper when he's always "so tight with money."

The phone rings before this conversation can continue, and just in case you've never watched television before, I'll tell you that the caller is Bob, and that he's elected to open the conversation with some sexually inappropriate dialogue. Bob's a bit of a bore, though, so the best he muster is a rather tepid "What are you wearing?" I myself would probably have gone with the somewhat less saucy but still more character-appropriate "What are you reading? And are you naked while you read it?" Because, yes, I do find naked reading to be sexy. Stop looking at me like that. I said naked reading, not naked recapping. "Yes, hello Mr. Wegler," covers Carmela. "I'm afraid now really isn't a good time." He persists in being a dweeb, however, and she's forced to carry on pretending for way longer than she wants. Bob does at least manage to inform her that he's made dinner reservations for them, and she secretly accepts before hanging up the phone. "What'd that fag want?" asks Tony. "Jesus Christ," she snipes. "Everybody's a fag to you. You know, maybe you're a fag, you ever think about that?" "Can I help it if I know one when I see one?" he answers. Oh, the irony. Oh, the humanity. It's just killing me. No, really. It is. They continue bickering back and forth about gay rights and homophobia and whether Carmela said that gay people go to hell with "abortion doctors" or "child molesters," and the entire time this conversation is going on, Tony is slowly stripping down to his underwear (behind a cleverly placed duffel-bag, much to the dismay of the plumpies among us). When Carmela finally looks up and notices his near-nudity, Tony announces that he's going for a swim, and promptly prances out into the back yard. Except wasn't it just the middle of winter back in the first episode? You know, when the trees were bare and the leaves were blowing all around? So how is warm enough to swim already? And why do I really care, when the only thing funnier than the sight of Carmela angrily scooping Tony's socks up off the floor is the sight of Tony doing a cannonball off the diving board? Hee!

Over at the Indian casino, Diet Tony is out for a night with the boys. He's also all decked out in a shiny gold suit, which he "had" to purchase, because it went with his new shiny gold, custom-made loafers. Wow. I liked him better in my bar-mitzvah suit. Paulie admires Diet Tony's taste in clothing, while Thin Guy just sadly observes that the only thing he ever found in the street was his ex-wife. Anyway, the point here is that Diet Tony is wasting all his newfound money, and that point is further driven home when he takes a beating at the blackjack table.

Carmela, on the other hand, is taking an entirely different sort of beating. A looove beating, if you know what I mean, and I kind of hope that you don't. She and Counselor Bob are back in his bedroom, making out with all their clothes still on. And I have to admit, Bob does seem like a dry-humping kind of guy. Carmela soon puts a stop to things, however, because she's all obsessed about AJ and the paper he purchased. Bob tries to assure her that it's a very common occurrence, and that what matters is that she took a stand, instead of just letting it slide. Which, for the record, we never actually saw her do. "It's just the cheating," she sighs, as Bob's bed morphs into a ten billion thread-count anvil. "It's not like him." "He's always done his work," she continues. "Poorly a lot of the time, and late, but he always did it." Shout-out? Bob -- who would say just about anything at this point to get back into the woman's pants -- insists that there's nothing to worry about, because he was also a "late bloomer" who got into Union College because they said he had potential, even if he wasn't mature enough yet. And then he starts licking Carmela's spine. Seriously. I'm not making that up. Carm can't let it go, though. "I mean, how hopeless would you feel if you really worked on something and still got a D?" I don't know. Why don't we ask Mike Binder? That's the only D I've ever given out here. ["Having seen that show (once), I have to say I don't know how hard he ever worked on it." -- Wing Chun]

Bob and Carmela both fall back onto the bed and start fooling around again. And then Carmela puts a stop to it again, and sits right back up. "I'm sorry," she says. "I can't right now. I'm too upset. And also? You look like an idiot with your socks still on." She heads into the living room and starts pulling on her coat, and then the Catholic guilt starts pouring right out of her. "What kind of mother am I?" she asks. "I mean, look at us. Do you realize that under the laws of the Church, I am still married?" Bob is utterly incredulous, although I do think it's somewhat amusing that David Strathairn isn't anywhere near as good as Robert Iler at doing the awkward-erection walk. I guess there are some things they just don't teach in acting class. Bob pleads with Carmela to stay, but she runs out into the rain anyway, and then drives off to go do penance with the naked altar boys. Or something like that.

Morning. The boys drop Diet Tony off at work, and it's obvious that theyve been up all night partying. Chris tries to convince him to blow off work and join them for breakfast, and Paulie offers even more temptation by announcing that he plans to "mang, and then hit the sack for the fourteen hours." Which is precisely what I'll be doing as soon as I finish this recap. Mmmm, mang. Once they drive off, Diet Tony staggers into the dry-cleaning plant, still wearing his shiny gold suit.

Over at the Greater New Jersey Non Verbum Dei Institute For Dry Humpers and Test Buyers, meanwhile, Counselor Bob is paying a little visit to AJ's English teacher. He asks about AJ's performance, and the teacher describes him as being "solidly below average." "So, a C?" replies Wegler, apparently never having learned during his lengthy career in education that C means average, and thus "below average" would mean a D or worse. Wegler pulls rank, and pretty much orders the teacher to raise AJ's grade, despite the teacher's assertion that "the world needs ditch-diggers, too." Oh, please. There's no way AJ could dig ditches. He'd probably try to use the wrong end of the shovel. His mission thus accomplished, Wegler turns to leave, but the teacher isn't quite finished, calling out, "So what does it mean to the kid who really breaks his ass in here if Fredo Corleone can get a C because you asked?" Well, given all the references we've had in this episode to inappropriate touching, I'd hope that any kid who really was "breaking his ass" in that classroom would at least be getting an A for his troubles. But that's probably not what the guy meant.

Kim's. Diet Tony clocks out, and announces that he's heading over to the massage ghageh to do some work. Kim is properly supportive, of course...

...and then we cut over the ghageh itself, where Diet Tony is working while his two kids stand and watch. Except they're not really watching, because they're too busy opening the new Gameboys that daddy bought for them. Damn. How come my dad never finds a bag of drug money in the bushes? Because Diet Tony is actually a halfway decent parent, he offers to let the kids work at the ghageh as a summer job when they get older, and then he takes the Gameboys away and forces them to do their homework. That doesn't last very long, however, because he soon picks up a sledgehammer, and the kids are absolutely captivated by the sight of him smashing through a wall. He smiles when he catches them staring, and invites them over to help Daddy with the demolition. Damn. I don't think my father even owns a sledgehammer. We're Jews, after all. We hire people for stuff like that.

Bob's house. He opens the door to find Carmela, and she's got her tongue halfway down his throat before he can manage much more than a quick hello. She shoves him down on the couch, and I don't think we've ever seen Sexually Aggressive Carmela before. I definitely like her a lot better than Passively Aggressive Carmela, that's for damn sure.

Later on, Carmela and Bob are lying in bed and staring up at his ceiling. She suggests painting it (insert your own masturbation joke here, or just use the one from this week's episode of The O.C.), but Bob would rather have a glow-in-the-dark solar system. Hmm. Is that a shout-out? ["Could be. Kim has one on the ceiling in her guest room." -- Wing Chun] Because I totally had one of those. And just out of curiosity, was I the only person on Earth actually geeky enough to get out the star charts and a tape measure to make sure the constellations were accurate? Yeah. That's what I thought. Bob just wants to engage in some mindless post-coital chit chat about the Caribbean or maybe the size of his penis, but, as usual, Carmela can think of nothing but AJ. And when you consider the fact that she's naked in the bed of a man who is not the kid's father, that's a little creepy. And Bob would seem to agree, because he acts all annoyed, and then gets up to use the bathroom.

When he comes back, he's looking pissy and wearing one of the ugliest robes I've ever seen. It's so solidly below average, in fact, that I had to add five hundred points to this week's StR, which explains the B grade I gave to the episode. Bob thinks for a moment, and then suddenly announces that maybe they should take a time-out, leaving Carmela completely flabbergasted. "Every time I think about putting the arm on [AJ's English teacher]," he explains, "I want to poke my eyes out with a knitting needle." Yeah, well maybe you should put those needles to work making yourself a better bathrobe, you moron. "I don't know any other way to put this," he continues. "I've been thinking, and...I don't know. I think you're a user, Carmela. Maybe you saw an opportunity in me and just took what you needed." Carmela is totally shocked (I can tell because I happened to freeze-frame this scene while her mouth is open in a perfect O of surprise. It's a hilarious image), and she insists that she's only there because she likes him as a person and the sex is "wonderful." And by "wonderful," by the way, she means better than being crushed under her tub-of-lard husband for three and a half minutes once every other week. "How could asking someone you're with for help be using?" she wonders. "That's what people do." And there, I think, lies the crux of this entire scene, because that's all she knows about relationships. It's easy to see why Bob believes that she was just using him, because the sequence of events supports it, and it certainly does play to what he knows about her husband and her history. But at the same time, Carmela hasn't been on a date for probably thirty years or more ["more like twenty; I doubt the character is supposed to be fifty, and one assumes she did go on dates in high school" -- Wing Chun], and I don't think it ever would have occurred to her that she could use sex as a motivational tool like that. At least not in this context, anyway. And if Bob had even a whiff of empathy about him, he probably could have figured that out. Instead, he just sanctimoniously announces that Carmela used the only weapon she had: "[her] pussy." Then he mocks her for pretending that she doesn't know what he's talking about. "I don't," she insists. "Of course, I don't have a fucking Master's degree." Bob also seems unwilling to acknowledge that he waited until after they had sex one last time to make his little announcement. Carmela angrily pulls on her clothes, and even manages to knock a lamp off the nightstand as she gathers her belongings. "Believe it or not," she snarls, "I thought you cared about me." Then, just for good measure, she adds a quick "you better watch your step" on the way out the door. Bob tries to laugh at that one, but ends up just looking scared. And that, my friends, is probably the last time we'll ever see the man. Unless Furio comes after him, of course.