I don't own a television. Nor do I get cable. Nor do I have the time to guarantee that I will be free for nine (9) successive Sundays in a row this spring. Therefore, I do not want to hear about the final nine (9) episodes of the Sopranos. I do not want to read about them. I do not want to know what happens to Tony. I do not want to speculate in what terrible fashion Christopher and/or Anthony Jr. and/or Paulie and/or Silvio gets whacked, or by whom. If Carmela never makes a profit off her spec house, if she never figures out who killed Adrianna, I don't want to know. Do you hear me? I don't care if Tony reaches self-actualization, or finds god, or goes to jail, or becomes a grandfather. I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW.
Background: earlier this year, on the recommendation—nay, the command—of my thesis advisor, I rented and watched the first season. Then, on my own recognizance, I rented the second season. Things went downhill from there, and turned into the third, and the fourth, and yes, the fifth season in quick succession. This is how novels don't get written. By the time I finished Season 5, the first part of the sixth season was already in the video store, so I had to watch that, too. Then the show stopped. Then I discovered what the rest of the world already knew: nine more episodes in the pipeline, set to debut this month.
I don't care. You can't make me care. I'll see them on dvd or not at all. Spoiler comments will be deleted unread. You have been warned.
Update: I knew there was a reason not to watch the season premiere.
(get a dish... get a dish... come on, you know you want a dish...)
Posted by: turboglacier | April 17, 2007 at 09:57 AM