When I was in 9th grade I was crazy about basketball so I took a gym class that was entirely basketball. Unlike other gym classes ("Weight Training" or "Team Sports") which involved a variety of physical activities, "Basketball" was pretty much a full-court 5-on-5 pick-up game every class. I remember the first day changing into my high tops, pulling up my knee socks, and heading out of the girls' locker room, excited to play. As the class came together, my enthusiasm was quickly replaced with intimidation. I was the shortest. I was the youngest. I was certainly the slowest. And I was the only girl in a room full of boys. Why oh why didn't I take one of the other gym classes? I thought.

But I loved basketball too much to chicken out, and we took the court and started playing. I was jostled, elbowed, stepped on, and ignored. I couldn't grab any rebounds and no one passed to me. Pretty soon I took to hanging outside, near the top of the key, alone. No one paid attention to me out there except a lanky sophomore who'd drive the lane and at the last second dish the ball out to me. I had a knack for hitting that outside jumper, especially when I was wide-open.

Soon we developed a nice routine: Manny would drive towards the basket and then, at the last second, pass it back out to me for an easy two. He'd always smile, a great big wide smile, even when I missed. And give me a high-five. And unlike some other people, who share a class with you but pretend not to know you when you pass each other later in the hall, Manny always said "hi" and grinned when we saw each other on campus.

I stopped playing basketball after my freshman year and joined the ski team. Because I was a varsity athlete, I didn't have to take gym, and soon Manny and I drifted down different paths. But I've never forgotten how welcome he made me feel in that class, how he made a fourteen year old girl feel like she had what it takes to be a great ball player.

I wasn't surprised to hear that Manny DelValle moved to New York after college. And I wasn't surprised to hear he became a firefighter. But I didn't hear that until September 12, 2001.

I can still see his smile.

You might have heard that you can get reimbursed for food you lost during the blackout, but apparently it's a rumor. According to the New York Daily News, Rotten food? Rotten luck, sez Con Ed:

The utility's policy is to cover claims up to $350 per household when the electricity is zapped.

It even has a form on its Web site that customers can use to claim food losses, and consumers have been E-mailing them around.

But Con Ed said yesterday that the policy doesn't apply to last week's outage, which left millions of its customers in the dark for 12 to 29 hours.

Drat! When I heard, I got my hopes up. It figures I'd recently filled my freezer with all sorts of things only days before the outage.

Gina posted a wonderful transcript of a conversation on Friendster, break-ups, and the Cure. And in doing so exposed a nightmare I had yet to contemplate, when the "personal network turn[s] into..personal hell." Before when you broke up with someone, you had to deal with maybe bumping into each other at a party, or hearing about your ex from a friend. But now technology enables you to keep informed from afar — whether you mean to or not — by exposing you to weblog entries, Friendster testimonials and details, and perhaps the worst of all, real-time tab-keeping via IM (I notice s/he's not online, is s/he out on a date with someone?!)

The horror of modern relationships isn't the confusion about roles, reticence about marriage, or the lived-together-broke-up-who-originally-bought-the-Office Space DVD mystery, it's the technology enabling you to keep in contact with an ex when all you want to do is purge them from your heart.

Grown, nicely-dressed woman, walking down the street, talking on her cell phone:

"Yesterday I had the greatest day ever, I mean the best day I've had in a really long time. First, I got together with Ross, which was, of course, great. Then I made a prank phone call…"

TriBeCa, Franklin @ Church, New York City. Right now. First a siren, then a few more. I say, "Jeez people, get out of the way." We keep working. Sirens continue. Louder. I go look out the window. Gridlock. Back to work. I realize the sirens are still going, really loud. Everywhere. Sirens. Traffic's snarled. All the sudden I get a cold feeling. "Something must have happened," I say. I rush to check Google News, breaking story, Gunman Opens Fire At NY City Hall. Sirens continue to sound.

Ok weird. Now I read that it happened shortly after 2 PM. It's 3:22 PM. Is something else going on? Why are there so many sirens now?

Update: apparently the gunman's still at large. And Brooklyn Councilman James Davis has died. News here.

Update update: Gunman isn't at large. Was never at large. Was killed by security guard at scene. Yay security guard. Boo City Hall security. How'd the gunman get a gun into City Hall? He never went through the metal detector. He walked in with Councilman Davis and wasn't required to.

Yesterday was a perfect 4th of July here in New York City: hot, hazy, and full of stuff to do. Because of the hot dog eating contest, and the fact that I'd never been there, we headed to Coney Island with some friends. It sure was fun. After some rest, we headed back out to see the amazing Macy's fireworks along the East River. Wow oh wow, but they were incredible. Best I've ever seen, by far. I want to see more fireworks right now! I've posted some pictures of the crowd-filled day: Coney Island and fireworks.

Charlie Suisman, publisher of the inestimable Manhattan User's Guide (MUG) needs our help. Today he asks each reader to sign up one person, like a good old-fashioned PBS pledge drive.

You can help keep MUG's daily email coming by passing along our link or signing up one person today. Simply put, we need to have enough subscribers to MUG to attract a limited amount of advertising. (Don't worry, not the pop-up, You've Won! Click Here!-kind-of-advertising, but, you know, tasteful, restrained advertising). That way, we can continue to offer MUG at no charge and pay our way. And every subscriber on our rolls helps.

Won't you please sign-up today? All that's required to keep you in the know about great New York stuff and happenings is an email address, your ZIP code, and your country. Normally I don't push this type of stuff, but MUG is far and away my favorite daily email subscription and I really value the information he uncovers. If you're a fellow New Yorker, I suspect you might as well.