This is New Jersey: I walk into a mall after work, and am nearly blinded by all the kleig lights. Before I can move any closer to ascertain just what production is on location here, I see the t-shirt: "The Sopranos."

James Gandolfini is at the mall.

I watch for a moment after someone yells, "Rolling!" and see two men walk up an escalator, followed by a pair of teenage girls and two more women. I don't recognize any of them. They reach the top of the cordoned-off escalator and then ride back down the other side. I walk over to an opening of the second level, where I can look down at the crowds on the lower level. I notice a few people just below where I am with pens and paper in their hands. They're looking off to a corner store beneath my feet. I move across to the other side to see, and yep, that's where he is: just outside of Cafe Europa, dressed in grey slacks and a black leather jacket, the local boy himself, Tony Soprano.

OK, I saw him, on to the sports apparel store, where they're sold out of Jerome Bettis jerseys, but I could have a Ben Roethlisberger or Duce Staley -- or even a Tommy Maddox -- if I wanted.

No, thanks.