Holy crap. Did you watch last nights episode of the Sopranos? Well, I know at least one person who reads the blog within minutes of its being posted who hasn't (since he hasn't picked up the tape I made for him yet), so I'm not going to say anything about it. But Holy crap. And on a similar note: Holy crap. Did you see the dunk Friday night that Jerry Stackhouse made against the Lakers at the buzzer to give the Wizards the game? That was freaking awesome. Who dunks at the buzzer?

The Sopranos are really great for so many different reasons. One thing I mentioned last night to Sunday nights Usual Suspects (Ben, Jeremy, Kramer, and whichever of Jeremy's housemates are arount that time of night) is that there aren't many things on television that have such sway over me as the Sopranos. There is no chance whatsoever that I'll make any plans on Sunday night at 9PM. Shannyn Sossamon could invite me over for an intimate evening with her and the chick from my department that I have a crush on, and I would only accept if "intimate evening" meant "watching HBO on her the Sossamon family big-screen TV." The Sopranos is to me what Friends is to the 18-35 year-old female with high tolerance for repetition demographic. I love the Sopranos, and it makes the weekends awesome from start to finish. I mean, I start the weekend by not working, and I end it by not working and watching a great TV show.

Reminds me of what Frank Sinatra said: "I feel bad for those people who don't drink, because when you wake up in the morning that's as good as you're going to feel all day long." Me, I feel bad for people who don't watch the Sopranos, 'cuz when you get home from work Friday night, that's the best that weekend is going to get. Which made my return from Jeremy's apartment such a travesty last night. I got home, whistling a happy tune (which happened to be Filth Pig by Ministry. Not particularly happy, but I'm using a little artistic license here), when I was presented by a strange site. There was a new door installed on my apartment building. Which came up really huge, since I'm pretty sure the old door was made of wood that had been dredged from the sinking of the Titanic and shipped straight to my landlord without refinishing. Although the old door did have its charm. Mostly I liked the fact that my key fit into the lock, a characteristic that is conspicuously absent in the new (and incredibly strong) door. So I called my landlords house phone at 11:30 at night, and he suggested that I ring the bell of my upstairs neighbor. I felt more than a little bad waking up Jose, and even worse about waking his wife and child. But it was either that or wait for Sam to get home. Which is going to be in early December. Jose didn't seem to mind so much - but I definitely felt like I was his wayward child coming in after curfew. Especially since he and I had The Talk, which was definitely uncomfortable for everyone.

Tommorrow: My knowledge of the relationship between Greeks and soccer, and why there haven't been any soccer riots in Budapest since Samuel colt was 21.