No More Tony

Okay, let's talk Sopranos. A lot of people seem to be very, very disappointed with last night's final episode. Not me. One of the best parts about the show was how it was like real life, with lots of unresolved story and copious misdirection. To tie it up nicely at the end would've broken with that; let it end with some ambiguity, I say. Also, how sweet was it when the truck rolled over Leotardo's head? I love a good noggin-squash. (Also, in the event you haven't watched the episode yet and I spoiled the whole thing, I don't care. A true fan doesn't time-shift something that important!)

I should note that now that the Sopranos is over, a Goulash fave is taking over that time slot. Starting next week, New Zealand folk comedy sensation Flight of the Conchords is rocking some sort of weekly variety show or something. These guys are hilarious. Watch or else.

This weekend, I got to spend a little time at the rockingest house in the Houston area. Not only did I get to live it up with my friends for a night, but I came out of the deal with a complimentary skull cap. It's hard to make me look like more of a bad ass, but a skull cap may push me over the top. When locusts overrun Powell Manor, I'm moving to Tomball out there to become a pool boy.

What else is there to report? The Rangers still suck, I'm jazzed about the new White Stripes, and I go to Mexico on Friday. Right now, the weather man is forecasting rain for my beach trip. Me, I'm forecasting 80% chance of awesome, with intermittent sunburn. Three more days of work, and I'm there.