"I'm going to make this easy for you, Sal. You're the one who's changed. You're the one that's seeing through different eyes."

          During the Rangers v. Hurricanes game on Saturday, a freak accident led to a shot striking Lundqvist in the throat. He flailed around on the ice for a bit, recovered, and remained in the game to lead New York to a 4-1 victory. He was a little shaky in the next game, a 6-3 win over the Panthers on Monday. Now word's come down that he suffered a "vascular injury" and could have had a stroke if he continued to goaltend, and he will be out "at least a month" -- note indefinite timetable. Talbot helped us get past the Bruins on Wednesday, but I don't know if he can continue to play at an elite level with the demands of a full schedule. Get well, Hank.
          Julia and I went to Inbound Pizza, which is run by men who are certainly not Italian, to pick up lunch. We walked back to her apartment to smoke with Lucy and Jennifer and discuss road trips. I turned my grilled chicken & guac wrap into a sort of chopped salad and enjoyed it much better that way. ("Ya need that guac to get that guap." "If you ain't speaking guapanese, you ain't speaking my LANGUAGE!") We listened to throwbacks from Fall Out Boy before someone decided to put on Taylor Swift. The fun ended and I was forced to hustle over to the Green Line to get home in time to meet with Alanna.
          I walked in the door, threw all the stuff I needed in a bag, and took off again. Alanna asked me to go to a show with her, I took the wrong path to West Village E and believed the front door was in the Behrakis courtyard for some reason, so I trudged through a few feet of snow up there to discover emergency exits only. When I did get inside, she offered me tequila and homemade orange juice, but I was too busy envying the spacious studio apartment. Instead, I added the OJ to my own vanilla vodka and made the most delicious drink I've ever had -- a perfect creamsicle with pulp.
          We took the Orange Line to Sullivan Square and then tried to catch a bus, but found ourselves lost among the bus stops. We walked all the way to the last sign, saw the bus we needed pulling in, and realized we'd looked at all but the first sign, prompting a mad dash to get up there in time. The rest of the trip to Cuisine en Locale was uneventful, though both of us nearly slipped and died on icy pavement while trying to find the front door.
          Inside, the venue was comprised of two floors. The lower was a large wooden dance floor and stage surrounded by carpeted flooring, lit by chandeliers and with a slanting white ceiling and walls. Think "junior high prom venue"; or perhaps "cheap wedding." The best way I can describe the quality of light is "tacky." Upstairs, there was a bar and some tables where people were drinking wine and noshing on flatbreads. I guess this place is also a "locavore" restaurant of some kind? Whatever. The second floor was set to the left and overlooked the first, with sliding windows and shades in the wall facing out over the dance floor. We camped out at a window and people-watched for a time, pointing out kids accompanied by their parents and awkward adolescent couples.
          Before long, a dad came up to us and asked if he could use our window to videotape his son, the guitarist in the opening band. That was charming. We moved to the next window, I bought a Narragansett tallboy, and it was time for the first of four acts: a band called Daphne. This was a nondescript, high school aged punk band, talented for their age but unpolished, with a punk-cred female vocalist who I wished would do more. Next up: Pale Horse, who made some cool music but I wasn't really listening due to putting pizza in my face.
          The third band was called Teen Suicide, and this was when me and Alanna hit the floor. We took care to avoid her ex-boyfriend from high school and tried to get Ben's attention. This was an emo/pop punk sort of band, predictably dark and noisy, and we danced in the middle of the crowd for most of their set. Finally, we got to the front of the crowd and Alex G came out and rocked our collective worlds. These guys are for real. (Check out "DSU" on Bandcamp for a taste of excellence.) I was fighting the crowd for nearly the entire set; the guy next to me was in "encircle and defend girlfriend mode" which was just irritating to observe, and I did my best not to knock Alanna on her head. Near the end, or more accurately during Alex G's second encore, I was nearly thrown to the ground and kicked my way out. We made our way home exhausted, but I was in too weird of a mood to sleep. I picked up A Dance With Dragons and read through the night.
          Quote of the day:
"What is this place?" - Alanna
"High school! High school!" - Alanna
...
Jennifer: "Did you hear that one?"
Julia: "My body heard it."

.     .     .     .     .

I've had a lot of people say a lot of hurtful things to me over the years but being told you were someone's second choice is up there with the worst ones. This is magnified when followed by an awkward half-apology because that person knows they blew it.