What happened?

Viveca, say it ain't so . . .I understand that there is tremendous pressure in Hollywood as you get older, but you know, and I know (come on, say it with me folks!) BLACK DON'T CRACK. There is no reason for collagen or restylane, Viveca. No reason. You looked just fine before. Now you look like a freak of nature!

Is that all there is?

When the Sopranos lurched back to life on March 12th, I was excited. I was ready for more of Tony & Carm; I wanted to hear whiny-ass Meadow and clueless AJ screaming and yelling again; I wanted to know what Chris-ta-fuh was going to do with Ade. Paulie Walnuts, Silvio, Bobby Bacala and Janice, Uncle Jun were all dancing in my head with possibility. Well . . . here we are at the end of the "season".

There was so much exciting build up going on; I was marvelling at the writers' ability to keep me hanging on for more and sussing out the depth of the plot. I was using all the clue gathering skills I honed all year on LOST: there were potential dead bodies everywhere! I loved the opening, with Uncle Junior shooting Tony after yelling, "Va fa napole, Pussy Mangala!" CLASSIC.

I loved the watery, weird underworld of Tony's coma. It was fascinating to me-- hearing James Gandolfini speaking in his normal voice, and finding that his laborious breathing and deviated septum are the two things that keep me on edge. Listening to the Not!Carmela voice on the other end of the phone, and hearing the kids in the background that sounded fun loving and interesting, like kids who actually missed their father.

Once Tony woke up, there was even more possibility. A gay mafioso. A boss who cries like a girl. Who's your mommy? A backslide into drugged stupor. Ripping off Hollywood royalty for a gift bag? The sexy beast cameo. $2 million can't save you from la cosa nostra. And, for me, the weirdest most disappointing twist of all: Carmela is totally clueless.

Hasn't she ever watched the Godfather, Part II? Hasn't she ever heard Hyman Roth spit out the words, "This is the business we chose!"? Better yet, wasn't that Carmela, several seasons ago chastizing her parents for talking bad about the Tony Soprano who made their lives so easy? Okay, even better than that . . . wasn't that Carmela telling a just-awake Tony that the money from Vito and Paulie Walnuts was light?

Why, then is she asking questions about Adriana? People go missing all the time in their world. The women, in particular, are supposed to know better than to ask. And, while we're at it, how mean . . . how unquestionably cruel was it of her to bring up Rosalie Aprile's dead son during their Paris sojourn? WHO DOES THAT?!

I always liked Carmela. I liked her horrible sense of style, the double-process superlayered blonde hair and the acrylic French manicure and the matchy-matchy outfits. I liked how house proud she was, with all the beige in the yucky modern McMansion decorated in Early Noveau Riche. She had spunk and verve despite her conformist tendencies . . . and she was always reaching for more-- reading the latest NYTimes bestseller (really I wanted to throw my copy of Memoirs of a Geisha at her, because, as Steven knows, I thought it suuuuucked) . . . urging Meadow on to academic and social success . . . cooking the hell out of a manicotti and pronouncing it with guttural Scillian flair . . . critiquing the menu at Vesuvio through her pursed lips.

Most of all, Carmela was one smart cookie-- she didn't blink an eye when Tony told her where the cash and guns were stashed. She wasn't ever scared, except, perhaps at the thought of meeting her maker. So where the hell does this woman, who was cunning enough to score her own spec house suddenly become someone who not only can't manage her wacky father, she begins to ask questions about "this thing"?!

Of course I'm going to watch when it comes back. I have to see how it all ends. But I'm hoping this is all a ruse with Carmela, and she pulls a Connie Corleone at the end of the day. David Chase, don't let me down!