It's billed as The Television Event of the Year. And it ain't the Tony Awards. It's Tony Soprano. Will he live, will he die, will he end up in prison? Enter the Witness Protection Program? Be abducted by space aliens? Choke to death on calamari? 
Most of the world is going to be watching the final episode of the Sopranos tonight, and, since I do not have HBO, I am in this pathetic, leftout group of people who must watch something inane like reruns of Andy Griffith or, heaven forbid, the Tony awards, then struggle to avoid any form of human communication until we can see the taped final episode of the Sopranos Monday.
My whole routine will be filled with landmines tomorrow. I can't even put odds on if I'll make it through the day without knowing Tony's fate. I certainly can't put the TV on in the morning, even to catch the weather. To dangerous. The radio on the way to work is off limits, too. Some DJ is bound to comment on it, or read a news story that will give the whole thing away.
I even considered a sign for the office door, just in case there are people who want to talk about the episode in the hall within earshot. No internet all day. Period. Email is out. The slug itself on the email may be a 'spoiler' from one of my friends who doesn't realize my circumstances.
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