Tv Show @ MindSay

As long as whoever you're sending it to actually knows it's a joke. Which, if they (meaning me) didn't, then they might freak out a little bit (meaning shriek hysterically).

In January 1999, a full year before the new millennium, a few ducks in a pond and a boy's question of "what, no f'n zito?" revolutionized television.

No, it wasn’t Apple and their iTunes, or Tivo and its ability to digitally record shows, that changed the face of TV as we know it.  It was a fat mobster and family man with a loud breathing problem.

Through ducks, horses, bears, and cats; dinners, conversations, singing, and lots and lots of conspiring; shootings, stranglings, beheadings, and one glorious car to the face; The Sopranos reinvented what it means to be a television show.

CSI wouldn’t exist right now.  Neither would LOST or Heroes.  Every serious, thought-provoking serialized drama with realistic violence and complex characters owes its digital life to The Sopranos.

And in a way, as I dedicate my career to wishing I could write like the authors of that show, so do I.

I was still a teenager when I sat down to see a then unknown James Gandolfini sitting across from Ray Liotta's wife in Goodfellas.  The show has always been about family, and I grew up with theirs.  Uncle Junior was my uncle too.  Jackie Jr. my screw-up cousin.  I matured as Meadow and A.J. did.  I mourned at the same wakes that they attended.  While some people shared their childhood with the Fonz, I have Paulie Walnuts.

And last night, it came to an end. 

This was a big moment in my life.  This was a big moment in TV’s life.  And now it’s over.  And now, I’m getting married and looking for houses and am ready to start a new life.  And now HBO, and TV as a whole, will have to move on with theirs. 

The Sopranos got me to reevaluate how to watch television, how to understand film, how to appreciate art.  And it turned HBO into a video art gallery, transforming it from a simple premium movie channel into an Emmy-award winning powerhouse with all the best shows, mini-series, and specials. 

It’s not TV.  It’s HBO.

That was their slogan.  That still is their slogan.  But as of this morning, that’s no longer the case.  As of this morning, it has all changed again.

But not without leaving us with one more ultimate topic for water-cooler banter.  Not without trumping LOST’s smoke monster and Jacob sighting to give us the biggest TIVO moment in DVR’s short history. 

Will there be a Sopranos movie?  No.  James Gandolfini has admitted to being finished with the character, and David Chase, the show's creator, swears the story is finished.  Plus, let's not forget that HBO is a pay channel, so the show only averages around 8 million viewers.  That’s not enough people to open a successful film. 

But that being said, the only piece of news that has been bigger than the end of The Sopranos is Paris Hilton’s attempt to emulate Tony Soprano and try to beat the law. 

What does this mean?  That even though only a few million Americans even have HBO, the end of this era was all anybody could talk about.  Every radio station I listened to this morning lead with a discussion of The Sopranos.  Every magazine and news program has interviewed the cast.  It is truly a cultural phenomenon.

And now it’s over. 

And what was it?  In the end, really, what was it?  Matthew Gilbert from the Boston Globe says about the finale: “It’s the kind of bold, artful touch we usually expect to find at the movies. Indeed, since its 1999 premiere, ‘The Sopranos’ gave series television a boost in stature that put it up there with the quintessential American art form, the movies.”

He’s not the only one to say that.  Most people will call The Sopranos an extended film before they call it a television show.  Most people want to compare its character arcs and camera movements to cinema.  But a stunning 18 Emmy’s later, what is it?

An extended film?  A cultural phenomenon?  A digital revolution.  A surrogate father? 

In its last second of life, as millions of people jumped off their couches screaming, “What, did the cable go out?” The Sopranos reminded us that it is simply a TV show.

But in so doing, it made sure we never forget that it is indeed a work of art.

Here’s to you, David Chase and the gang, for reminding us of this.  And for giving us seven exceptional years of a bloody good time. 

On an episode of Til Death, the wife of the old married couple gave her husband a wood ultimatum.  For 20 years he kept a growing wood pile in their garage and did nothing with it.  His wife told him, Build something with the wood or it's outta here.

I had to laugh because I know how she felt.  In college, Tileman took a wood design course.  And believe me, I'm not mocking the course.  He made a lovely side table that is sitting in my living room, and we bought a lovely cabinet made by one of his fellow students and friend to us both, which sits in our bedroom.

Then there is the chair.  When we got married, this chair took up space in my in-law's garage.  I didn't have to deal with it.  But then Tileman lost his spleen; we had to move in with my parents; the chair was moved into my parent's garage; and then we moved across the country.  On moving day, the chair sat in my parent's driveway - a conversation piece to all who came to help load the truck.  After everything was loaded, there was no room for the chair.  I had to make an executive decision, and I said, the chair stays behind.  Well my father-in-law knew Tileman wouldn't agree, and leaving the chair at my mom's meant it would quickly disappear so once more the chair took up residence in my in-law's garage.

A year and a half later, my in-laws move out to Texas with the chair.  Then Tileman and his brother drive to Texas; their parents rent a U-haul; and hubby and his brother bring home their things that were left at their parents' home in Buffalo.  Since then the chair resided in my garage, until last weekend.  Tileman is growing a machine shop in the garage.  He has a lathe, mill, grinder and other machines and no room to maneuver.  Last weekend he choice, without my saying a word, to dismantle his favorite chair.  But not before taking pictures.