Acting for Writers. An older, more thespian version of Natalie from Sports Night plays an acting teacher, giving a typical acting-teacher speech in a dark theater. Adriana and Christopher show up late; Christopher is sheepish, blames the tunnel, and Thespian Natalie scolds. Traffic is always such a problem on this show. What am I saying? It's Jersey, it's New York...anyway. Geeky classmate Mitch introduces himself, says he was born and raised in Hartsdale, but please don't hold that against him! Take his wife, please! I laugh and laugh. Well, not with him, but at him. He looks like 7th Heaven Christian Dad's evil twin -- if he had an evil twin, which we all do, you know. Mitch uses that newfangled Hollywood lingo, telling them he wrote a few "specs," but that he currently works at Chick-Brauer Porsche/Audi. Christopher's turn -- or rather, Chris Maccavidi. Good, Chris. No one will find out you're connected with that brilliant alias. He tells the class he wants to write for the movies, "GoodFellas, shit like that." Apparently this class is a present from Adriana for his birthday. Christopher explains he was having problems with his screenplay, so he bought the book How to Write a Movie in 21 Days, but that was a year ago now. Hee hee -- take that act on the road, Mr. Maccavidi. Oh, he's cute, I can't pick on him too much. A unibrow, but still cute. Thespian Natalie spouts some theater-teachery wisdom, but I tune her out because she's got a pashmina wrapped around her.
Shot of a television set, our favorite household item! News footage of Junior being escorted from the Federal Courthouse in Newark. Disembodied Anchorwoman Voice tells us about Uncle Jun's recent medical furlough from jail, where he was awaiting trial. Disembodied Anchorwoman says Tony remains the de facto boss of the New Jersey mob. There's something creepy about Disembodied Anchorwoman. Maybe because she's disembodied. That can't be comfortable. Tony watches the broadcast in one of his lovely sweatsuits, his protuberant belly spilling out from his pants, as he dips unidentified meat (let's hope it's at least a nice capicolla) into a family-size jar of mayonnaise and eats with his mouth open. God, he's sexy. I want to lick that mayo right off his face. Not. The television drones on, showing FBI surveillance photos of Tony and Pussy and reporting that Tony was the target of a botched murder attempt last year. Indeed. That's what mothers and uncles are for. Tony swears (did I just feel the need to write that? Duh.) and screams, "How come every piss I take is a fuckin' news story?!" Alas, Liliana, the maid, is the only soul to be found, and she ignores him. Tony grunts accordingly.