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OPEN LETTERS
An Open Letter to Tony Soprano
I really wanted a sequel
Dear Tony,
I was in Gelson’s Market some time ago, and I almost ran into your cousin, Chris, with my shopping cart. I call him Chris, but his real name is Michael Imperioli. Anyway, he was looking for pasta, and he almost stepped back into my cart as I navigated the aisle.
My wife flagged me down.
“Don’t you know who that is? That’s Chris from the Sopranos.”
She was all excited like she had won the lottery. She loves spotting celebrities — especially in Gelson’s when they’re in regular clothes and trying to be incognito.
I didn’t say hello to Chris or ask him for his autograph like my wife wanted me to. But all I could think about was you, Tony — and how you died unexpectedly from a heart attack in Italy. It’s been fifteen years since your last episode, and watching reruns is too painful. Sunday nights on HBO used to be special, but now it’s just another night on the couch.
Thanks to you, I learned to appreciate a good face-stomping, a broken leg, or strangulation. Do you remember when you kept hitting your Bada Bing bartender with the landline phone, Georgie Santorelli? It wasn’t his fault that he was dumb and incompetent. I think you should have been…
