I Am Tony Soprano

As I trudged out to pick Carol's Sunday paper out of the high tech, cheap, plastic newspaper receptacle this morning, it occurred to me that I am Tony Soprano.

I walked out there wearing the flannel sweat pants that I wear to bed. This is something I would never have done just a short time ago. Previously, if I had to step out of the house even for a brief moment, I would throw on a pair of pants.

This morning I walked out there in red, blue and black checked flannel sweatpants. I don't know what this says about me.

Anyway, I got the garish pants on. I slipped on my winter boots, calf-high construction boots, but I didn't lace them up.

The boots have ridiculously long laces. At some point I replaced the original laces with cowhide or leather or rawhide laces that are about a foot too long.

I never cut them. I don't know why. I take pleasure in wrapping them around my ankles once or twice before I lace them up.

I threw on my heavy duty, Carhartt, black winter jacket. This thing is frayed at the cuffs, weighs about a hundred pounds and is scratched and stained.

When I stepped outside into the comfort of February cold, I pulled up the hood on the PATS sweatshirt I am wearing today.

So I am shuffling down the long, snow crunched, ice handicapped drive way, wearing garish flannel pants, work boots with foot too long laces trailing behind me, in a beat up, oversized Carhartt jacket, and a hoodie pulled up over my head.

One scene we all saw repeatedly on The Sopranos was of Tony walking down his long, winding driveway in the morning to get his paper.

I always felt this was odd. If I was Tony Soprano, I would have one of my flunkies walk out to get the paper. Let them take the risk.

Tony was too high profile to put himself out there in such a vulnerable position.

Vulnerable because of the way he was dressed.

Slippers. Boxer shorts, revealed under an open bathrobe. Wife beater T-shirt. Ample belly free swinging and proudly protruding, testament to the ice cream, fine Italian cuisine and high end booze endlessly absorbed.

And no gun.

Are you kidding me? No gun?

But the thing was the way he was dressed.

The ultimate cavone.

I am Tony Soprano.

I cannot guarantee that I will look like him in the summer time. In fact I can absolutely guarantee that I will not look like him.

I don't wear boxers.