As many of yous recently heard, I’m still alive, despite those shady-lookin’ guys who were coming into the diner the last time you saw me, in 2007. That year changed a lot of things for my family and me—and, with all the recent discussion about what happened to us, I thought it was time to set the record straight.

First of all, I hate that Journey song, “Don’t Stop Believin’,” from the end of the show, and, after the power was restored following that massive tristate-area blackout, my daughter, Meadow, went over to the jukebox and changed it to “Umbrella,” by Rihanna, which was a big hit at the time.

Many of you may remember that my wife, Carmela, and I had been fighting for years, and that I was starting to feel real claustrophobic in our Jersey suburb. Carmela had gotten accustomed to that life style, but I decided that it was time to make a clean break, and headed to the Oregon shore, where I bought a little house and started going for long daily walks while listening to “This American Life” on my Android. Dr. Melfi, my shrink, came with me for a little while—you recall the palpable attraction between us—but I could tell that she missed the East Coast. Eventually, I said, “Listen, Jen, I really appreciate this, but I can tell that you’re miserable out here. Why don’t we remember the good times, like when you didn’t tell me about what that guy did in that parking lot, and I didn’t kill him by bludgeoning him for thirty-five minutes with the handle of an oven from a pizza shop?”

I was a little lonely after that, but not too bad. Meadow, who had always wanted a fresh start, went to medical school. Now she spends part of the year performing charity surgeries for Operation Smile in Guatemala. When she’s not there or in Jersey, with her mother, she comes to visit. Carmela got remarried, to a Fox News producer, so she still feels morally conflicted about what her husband does for a living. My son, A. J., has amounted to nothing, just like we always knew he would, but he’s a harmless idiot and often tells me about the corporate-branding bullshit that he’s involved in.

I’ve actually adapted quite well to rural Oregon. I’ve had a lot of time to catch up on movies and TV—I figured out what happened in “Mulholland Dr.” and watched all of “How I Met Your Mother” (good show, but I hated the ending).

You probably remember that I always had a thing for Russian broads. Happily, that hasn’t changed. Not long after Dr. Melfi and I broke up, I met a chick named Svetlana, and we immediately hit it off. Last year, we opened a Mafia-themed bubble-tea shop call Mob Stirs, where we also sell organic Oregon cannoli and mozzarel on the side.

I still haven’t decided whether people, at their core, really change—for example, Svetlana and I can both be volatile, and sometimes we fight. But circumstances certainly do change, and they affect us deeply.

All I know is, this is the happiest that I’ve ever been.