The Sopranos

Tony, hey. I tented the bulbs.

Oh, good.

I've been meaning to ask you...

The Sacrimonis...

I've been doin' his yard over there a year and change now...

And?

I guess what I'm asking is

how much longer do I have to keep doin' this on the arm?

Oh, so it was okay when we were gettin' you

out of your Feech La Manna problem, huh?

But suddenly, short fuckin' memory?

I appreciate that, Tony. Don't get me wrong, but...

You're a selfish prick, Sal. You know that?

Her husband's in jail. Don't you think this is the time

when Mrs. Sacrimoni needs you the most?

The federal prosecutors and myself have been told

to clear our calendars for the next five months.

So trial is upon us.

And the feds have reached

a complete accounting of your worth.

"The vintage Wurlitzer"?

They go through my fuckin' sock drawer?

They shot a video the day of your arrest.

They even tracked down the 180 grand

in Boca Raton under your father's name.

They estimate your net worth at $5 million.

While Ginny lives on scraps.

Between your cash and portfolios

with Fidelity and Vanguard,

your 401K and severance parachute from Essany Scaffolding,

condo in Deal Beach at 450,

Maserati, Ginny's Yukon,

and the house and its contents valued at a million two.

Is this all part of your plan, Ron,

make me so fuckin' depressed that I hang myself?

It's my obligation to raise the idea again of cooperating.

Flip?

Let me explain something to you again, Ron,

but differently.

Being a rat, where I'm comin' from,

that's like asking a person where you're comin' from

to become a fuckin' Nazi.

I don't wanna hear that shit again.

Good.

Because, frankly, I don't represent turncoats.

'Cause it would kill your practice.

What happened to my stuffed pork loin?

You ever hear of knocking?

I ordered it special.

You had them send it up to Carmela?

You get what you pay for.

Hi.

She's your little twin.

Bacala's got no fuckin' genes at all.

You never miss a chance to shit on him, do you?

I'm joking, come on. She looks like you, that's all.

I don't know why you just can't admit

that you blame us that you got shot.

Unfortunately, I have only myself to blame.

"Unfortunately."

So obviously you'd like to blame somebody.

I have only myself to blame.

You don't blame me for the shooting?

Well you fuckin' blame me for something!

- Jan, the baby. - You know, marrying the boss's sister

usually it's a step up.

But you keep your goddamn foot on our necks.

You punish Bobby because he's my husband.

- Will you stop, huh? - To be his age and not to be a captain?

Oh, now I see what this little visit's all about.

He works so hard for you,

and what does he get?

Merciless ridicule

about his weight, about his model railroading.

- He's a grown man! - Oh, but it's okay for Neil Young.

He owns Lionel!

Domenica! Take care of your things.

I don't know where it comes from,

all your anger, your hate for me.

I'm your sister.

I know I'm not perfect.

I know I annoy people.

I think about you

lying in that hospital bed.

I cried for you.

I sat with you.

I know it.

And I appreciated it.

But we both know

no matter how much help I gave,

you'd still be here fuckin' complainin'.

Oh my God,

there's nothing holding us together but DNA.

I'm askin' what else you got besides slot machines?

That single-deck blackjack?

Okay, thanks.

I can't believe this.

- I was... - Is this what you're doing all day?

I knew there was a reason you wouldn't let me read the galleys of your book.

I'm doing research.

I guess Rocky Marciano was a fan of the greyhounds

'cause I found a fucking trifecta box ticket in my trash!

Hold up.

It's complicated shit.

Are you even a sportswriter?

I mean, here we are talking about taking the next step in this relationship.

I ask you to share my home and you can't even be straight with me.

Fuck this. Nice knowing you, Vincent.

Jimbo, come on.

I'm not a writer, okay?

I'm not from Scottsdale

and the car's not my sister's.

I'm actually from New Jersey

- I knew it. - Some shit went down.

I had to leave,

my home, my contracting business,

my wife, my kids.

Are you drunk? It's not even 11:00!

You think it's easy?

I miss home so bad my heart's a fuckin' lump.

I'm barely holding together,

stuck in the sticks, running out of money

and now this?

You think I was looking for you?

A wife and kids. Of course.

I've been divorced for a few years.

Where do they think you are?

You can never tell anybody, ever.

I'm not fuckin' around here.

I was married too, remember?

I was only gonna say you need some money,

you worked construction, maybe I can help you get work.

I know some people could always use a good handyman.

Happy birthday!

Stop blubbering. It's a party.

You think we'd let you turn 50 alone?

- Happy birthday. - Thank you.

Hi, Sal!

God, he's such a mope.

The girls come around enough, and that helps.

Allegra's a little bitchy, but it's painful for her to be here.

Plus she thinks I resent her happiness.

- Newlyweds. - She's probably freaked out

that she's not happier herself.

Ginny, that kitchen,

and this room, the light.

Not his decision to make.

I'm running that shop, not him.

My days are completely full.

- I shouldn't. - Hey, it's your birthday.

- Yeah. - I've always loved this place.

It reminds me of the Palladian villas I saw in Italy.

Thank you. Sometimes I forget.

And it's embarrassing. I spend most of my time upstairs.

- Wellbutrin. - I wish there was a pill,

John in that place?

Of course I can't say my pain's worse than anybody's.

Yeah yeah. We're both grownups.

I'd rather go with my own instincts.

Your feet are like fuckin' icicles.

Hands too?

Dinner was good.

Hey, I found a woodland mountain.

27 Inch peak, clump foliage and snow.

- Bobby. - I'm listening, okay?

Where are you going?

Rafe's brother's making a music video. They got dry ice.

Where's your helmet?

Check out the Moe and Joe action.

Hey, you know what? Let's do a race,

the Polar Express one.

We could trash it.

I can't.

I see the gray cloud hanging around your head.

Where's Prince Albert? Still sleeping?

Who knows?

Tony, I've been very patient with you because you've been sick.

You were going to talk to the building inspector.

- My spec house. - Oh, yeah. Yeah yeah.

I sent Little Paulie.

They made some headway with the supervisor,

but the other guy, the inspector, he's a piece of work.

Next I'll get Sil on it.

Gotta pay a visit to the Montville building department.

To what end?

I've been promising Carm I'd lean on this inspector.

Completely went out of my head.

The guy's name is, Ron Senkowski.

Ginny Sack's brother, Anthony.

The lord of the lenses.

Actually we just started carrying these.

The newest Cross pen.

A rollerball.

You want a classic fountain?

Nah. Have a seat.

So how's your brother-in-law?

John's fuckin' made of steel.

I was told "your ears only."

Oh, that's why he didn't get a pen?

- No, I... - He's fuckin' with you, Anthony.