11 AM. A short-afro-sporting Poet gives his first recitation (35,647 to go). I'm not going to deconstruct it, but it does mention cigarettes a lot, which, given Glynn's imminent speech, can't really be called foreshadowing. I think we'll just call it "shadowing" and leave it at that. At the end, Poet impassionedly asks for the cigarettes, but then says they're Marlboros, which he doesn't smoke. Everyone laughs. Next to me, Irony lights up a Marlboro and snickers. We move to the Wise Guys, where Ortolani tells Schibetta he's got some good veal coming in. Given Ortolani's homophobia, I assume he's referring to actual baby cows here. Schibetta's all, "Bene." Ever notice how movie and TV characters always say one-word answers in the character's native language for "authenticity"? Just once, I'd love to see them say "yes" and "good" in English, while reverting to their native languages for the complex stuff. It would be more logical, don't you think? Anyway, Beecher tentatively asks Ortolani if he can sit with him, and gets a predictable negative. He's as unfazed as a golden retriever who's just gotten hit in the head with a two-by-four. His next choice is Rebadow, who's much more welcoming. That is, until he tells Beecher that Genevieve, his wife, is thinking of divorcing him, and is in fact having lunch with his old law partner to discuss it. Beecher asks how Rebadow knows his wife's name. Rebadow looks up with enough force to get whiplash, and says, "God told me." One down...oh, forget it. Glynn, at the podium, announces that at the end of the month, smoking will be prohibited in Oz, as mandated by new state health guidelines. Way to spring it on them, Glynn. Even Mayor Bloomberg gave us more time than that. And, lest I get into a Sars-like rant on that subject, let's just move along, shall we? Anyway, Glynn wisely gets off the stage before the tomatoes start flying. Chaos ensues. Ortolani starts punching some random guy for no reason that I can see other than to set up his whole downward spiral plotline. Beecher looks around panickedly. I have the worst eyes in the world, so I hate to say this, but -- lose the fucking glasses, Beecher.