The Soprano clan and the extended, uh, family are gathered at a funeral. Jimmy the Rat approaches Junior and tries to small-talk him up. Junior tells him not to bother and brushes past to pay his respects at the coffin. I am so glad that I am not Italian Catholic and don't have to look at my friends and relatives gussied up for death and lying in state. It's creepy. I'm not going to argue my point, but really, it's creepy.
Christopher is trying to bond with Little Stevie and his hair by talking about Tony's depression. Little Stevie and his hair are really having none of it. What does Tony have to be depressed about? Nuthin. Besides, a lot of top guys have dark moods. Napoleon was dark. Short and funny-looking, but dark. Churchill drank a pint of beer everyday before breakfast. Christopher needs to shut it. You know, these wiseguys, for all their banter about trust and family and fidelity, sure have a hard time, I don't know, talking to each other.
Tony is lying in bed somewhere in between depression and death. Carmela bustles in prattling on about wearing mules to the mall and whether Tony needs sweat socks and how AJ's going to his first semi-formal and totally pretending that Tony isn't flat on his back with the blankets over his head. She finally gets an answer out of him and asks him if his "lady psychiatrist" knows about this episode, because it's not normal for a healthy man to take to his bed. And, for the record, I think healthy women "took to their beds" only in eighteenth-century novels. Carmela thinks he may need more medication, and Tony lets us know that he's already on Lithium AND Prozac, which seems kind of excessive. Isn't Lithium for bipolar or cyclical disorders? And isn't Prozac for depression? Dr. Melfi, that's your pager buzzing. Carmela pulls open the blinds and heads out for the Paramus Mall. Which is one of the few malls you can smoke in. I'm just saying. Tony gets up to shut the blinds, and ends up staring into Stupid Neighbor's yard and at the misplaced Italian Beauty who's doing laundry. I always make my guests do the laundry. It's only polite. Tony heads into the bathroom to take a handful pills.
Junior's capos finally show up at the funeral. They let Junior know that the hit on Tony is set for the next day at the newsstand. They hired two guys from outside the neighborhood, so it should be untraceable. Junior is uncomfortable with the subject matter, so he switches to one that makes me uncomfortable -- he talks about how the dead woman was the first person to ever give him a hand job. I guess that's a sentimental memory, and sentimental memories frequently come up at funerals, right? You're supposed to remember the person as they were, not as they are now, blah blah blah? Maybe I haven't been to enough funerals, but I don't think that looking at the dead person and remembering hand jobs past is particularly healthy. Maybe Junior wants to keep his voice down. I mean, if someone was talking about my grandma like that at her funeral, I'd be a bit more than peeved. Not that my grandma's dead. 'Cause she's not. But if she were, and at her funeral someone had talked about feeling her up or something, I'd be upset.