Greg and I don’t watch a lot of TV. But we’ve started to watch a few series in their entirety since we got Netflix. About a year ago, we got the first disc in “The Sopranos.”
I think I’d maybe seen one episode of the show previously and had dismissed it because it struck me as too violent and profane. The kids were spoiled brats. Why was everyone so obsessed?
We watched the first few episodes, and I remained skeptical. Did they really need to show so many breasts? Or the bloody aftermath of so many killings?
But as we watched more, something shifted in me. I started to like the characters. Some of their actions were downright awful, and yet I related to them.
I started to lose interest in renting movies from Netflix. Those Sopranos were so much more compelling than shallow movie characters. I felt a little rush when we plopped down on the couch and the theme song began, the cigar smoke curling up from Tony’s mouth as he cruised through New Jersey. It made me want to run out and buy a stogie. When I was at work and looking forward to my days off, I mostly thought about sitting next to Greg on the couch and watching episode upon episode of the show. I had dreams where I was Tony’s girlfriend.
A few weeks ago, Greg pointed out that we were almost at the end of the series. I said that it was a good thing we were about to have this baby so that I would have something to look forward to without my beloved Sopranos. And Greg gave me a look that suggested I had just earned the Worst Mother of the Year Award.
Last night, we watched the final episode. I was completely satisfied with the ending, but I feel a sense of loss. I can’t imagine that I’ll come across another show that will so thoroughly entertain and engross me. And I haven’t yet brought myself to put that final DVD in the mail back to Netflix. We’re planning to watch “The Wire” next, which I’ve heard is fantastic. But all due respect, it just won’t be the same.