Just about every aspect of New York life that goes on above ground also takes place underground in the subway system. And when you cram that many people into a confined area, you’re bound to create opportunities. Musicians find listeners. Sellers find buyers. Sinners find redemption. On and on it goes.

And sometimes, lovers find each other.

Now I’m not talking about teens cause everyone knows they’ve got nowhere else to go (or anywhere to be for that matter). They can’t make out with each other in their homes and they can’t get a hotel, so there only option is the PDA. Given their transient nature, the subway is often a favorite haunt.

And I’m not referring to the nice old couple who sneaks a kiss on the train after a night at the opera. While it’s cute and all, it’s also respectable. It’s descent. Seniors generally don’t get dirty in public (unlike the teens).

What I’m talking about is the covert rendezvous. The stolen kiss. The forbidden encounter planned down to the second and geared to occur amongst the crowds to raise no suspicions.

Sometimes if you’re lucky and observant you catch this moment and if they’re good, it takes you a second to realize what just happened.

Times Square underground during the morning rush hour. A man waits at the top of the stairs leading down to the N, Q and R lines heading downtown. A woman walks from the across the open space from the downtown 1, 2, and 3 lines. She heads towards him. There is no recognition at all. Travelers of the world swarm in all directions, each focused on their own destination. Musicians set up their instruments for the first show of the morning. The mans stands dead still. The woman approaches fast with a crowd from the 1, 2, and 3 lines at her heel. She approaches him and in a flash kisses him. They do not speak. Only their lips touch. The kiss is brief but no accident, no sentimental gesture, no hello, no goodbye.

And she is past him heading towards the Queens bound N, Q, R lines.

And he is down the stairs and headed in the opposite direction.

One brief moment. One brief kiss to hold all that emotion. To communicate all that meaning.

I smile as recognition sets in. Spring must be around the corner. At least the sun is shining underground.

Today’s installment in a never-ending series of NYC subway moments, I ran across a man with the right attitude.

To set the scene, Archie and I squashed our way onto the subway (the #1 local heading downtown from 79th Street for the straphangers out there) during the morning rush hour to go to work.

As is often the case, Archie attracts attention for no other reason than people aren’t used to seeing dogs on the subway and especially ones who are so bored with the whole experience that they can barely stay awake.

A woman notices Archie and begins a conversation with me (or him?) saying something to the effect that Archie had it made and that she wished she could travel that way, i.e., carried.

I responded with one of my general, all-purpose, stock responses, “He’s got to go to work like everyone else and earn his keep.”

(As a side note, this was one of those moments when you find yourself the only one on the whole train car talking. Eerie silence fills the entire car as it roars and 500 or so people are in various stages of early morning stupor. You almost become self-conscious of your voice interrupting the silence.)

The train reaches the next stop, the doors open behind this woman and her husband, people cram out, people start cramming in. In one of those brilliant moves, an express train pulls in across the platform and all those passengers who stayed on the local, but really wanted the express, now tried to force their way off the local train to run across the platform — all while passengers from the express (and the platform) are trying to mash their way onto the local.

(For those people who are not good in crowds or freak out at their personal space being violated, please do not come to NYC and definitely do not ride the subway.)

And this is where the story gets interesting. A woman tries pushing her way onto our train and in an irritated voice asks the couple I was talking with to move further into the train. They responded that a. they were getting off at the next stop and b. there was really no more room further into the train car.

The woman pushing her way onto the train responds with a stream of what my fiancee politely refers to as, “F-bombs” which naturally generates a similar response from the people she’s pushing and asking to move.

Fast forward a few stops and I find myself in a relatively empty car talking with the husband of the woman who had been verbally accosted by the pushy rider.

And this is the heart of the matter we discussed — with so much going on in the world, how could someone think that their minor discomfort should ruin their day. The bigger picture in terms of being grateful for your health and your family should always take presence.

Running late does not constitute a bad day.

The fact that the train was crowded does not constitute a bad day.

(Gee, I’m sorry — it’s the NYC subway at rush hour. Are you really surprised it’s crowded?)

And the fact that everyone on the subway is not catering to your wishes does not constitute a bad day.

Nor does it justify verbally accosting people who are already dealing (quite well) with a cramped and uncomfortable situation.

If you’re really that self-absorbed, please take a taxi and stay away from anywhere people gather.

Next time you think you’re having a bad day, take a deep breath and think again. What actually has occurred and is it really so bad? What actually would ruin your day, your year, your life?

Perspective.

It’s a big day when it’s your birthday and on February 16th, Archie turned one year old. (Happy birthday, buddy!)

Beyond all the hoopla of finally reaching the year one milestone, what really concerns me is the amount of stuff the dog — the dog — received for his birthday. And not from his owners!

Here’s the breakdown:

• Brown corduroy jacket with wool lining (and pockets)
• Red and gold silk Chinese jacket with wool lining
• Black, goose down winter jacket — reversible
• Orange fleece pullover with reflector strap on neck
• Birthday cake squeak toy (his favorite)
• Hand colored paper for chewing

And if that wasn’t enough, we, his owners, had to actually get him some things as well:

• Tennis ball — red and blue with white stars
• Whizzle stick — foot long version
• Whizzle stick — two foot long version
• Liver treats

The dog is spoiled.

(And it’s a testament to his effect on people.)

Now if there’s one thing mankind has worked hard to perfect, it’s the meat log. For centuries, this food source has been a staple in the diet of millions. In all it’s various forms, it’s greatness lies in it’s taste and most importantly, it’s ability to be eaten by hand without utensils. Some would argue (convincingly) that the meat log pre-dates utensils.

My own experience with the meat log goes back a long way as you might imagine. Hot dogs, sausages, salami, pepperoni and all their bastard children (i.e., the Slim Jim) were early components of every lunch I ate. As I grew and ventured into the world, I discovered the burrito. For years, the burrito was a compulsion. I fondly remember scouring Chicago for an entire summer on a two-fold mission: discover (and eat) the largest burrito in Chicago; and to ask each shop owner if his (or her) burrito was the best in town.

(For those who care: The biggest burrito was about the size of a deflated basketball and it wasn’t as tasty as some of the thousand others we tasted. Regarding the shop owners: It seems that a nimble neon sign salesman had sold every burrito shop in Chicago the same exact sign bearing the words, “Best Burrito In Town” in gleaming red leading us to question each shop owner. We actually found one who admitted, despite the sign, that his burrito was not the best in town.)

And so it’s with joy that I want to tell you about my latest discovery: the meatloaf wrap. That’s right. A savvy entrepreneur has combined the delicious ingredients of a complete meatloaf dinner (or meatloaf sandwich, if you prefer) into log form.

Now while you space out with that thought, picture adding bacon and hot peppers into the mix.

Yeah, that’s drool on your keyboard. Happened to me the first time I read the menu. Here’s the ingredient list of my favorite variety for all you chefs at home:

• Meatloaf
• Bacon
• Hot Peppers
• Melted Cheddar Cheese
• Lettuce
• Gravy
• Wrapped in a tortilla

(And for those on a diet, there are turkey versions available.)

Now that the fervor has died down a little, I can actually write about this ridiculous event.

Personally, I believe the Boston police have outed themselves as idiots especially considering that the same promotional campaign was used in 11 other cities and none of them panicked. New Yorkers ignored them completely. I did manage to see part of the campaign (but not the offending Lite Brite version) and I took it as a huge inside joke. If you had never watched the show (Aqua Teen Hunger Force), you would have no idea why a badly pixelated creature was flipping you the bird.

Another thought occurred to me regarding the Boston police: that they are working under a kind of post-9/11 survivors guilt. The terrorists all got on flights out of Boston’s Logan airport. The fact that the Boston police (and other local security services) were unable to prevent them at the point of departure may still weigh subconsciously on the collective police mind. This would help explain there retarded over-zealous behavior — that somehow they’re still trying to make up for the mistakes of the past.

Anyway you cut it, it certainly looked bad for yours truly as I’ve got color prints of the ATHF guys plastered around both my NY and SF offices. Not the offending one (yet), but several people in the know wondered about my involvement — of which I had absolutely none.

I do look forward to the entire event — including subversive footage of the police response — to be featured on the next ATHF DVD.

Okay, so Archie has complained that I haven’t posted enough about him, so here it goes:

The other day I actually watched Archie scare himself with his own flatulence.

French Bulldogs (and bulldogs in general) are known to have bad gas and Archie is no different. Depending on his diet, he can drop silent bombs that clear crowded theaters.

The best is when we’re on the subway and he farts. Then I get looks of horror as fellow passengers assume it was me. Screaming, “It was the dog!” doesn’t seem to convince them. Odd and horrible smells aren’t unusual on the NYC subway, but Archie seems to be capable of shocking even the most hardened transit riders.

But I digress. So there we are, Archie and I, just sitting and looking at each other. He rips out a loud fart and then, to my amazement, his ears perk up and he actually looks back at his ass. As if he didn’t realize he was capable of such a sound. As if he didn’t realize he had an ass.

Quite funny (albeit stinky).

[Note: If you don’t believe me regarding Frenchie gas, read this.]

There are times in our lives when we find our most private moments occurring in public. It can be embarrassing for us as well as those around. No one plans this to happen and most would certainly try to avoid it, but circumstances and emotions are rarely on fixed schedules. There are certain things our society doesn’t want to admit to — that people are scared, angry, sick or in this case — sad.

I got on the train with Archie and there was a middle-aged woman sitting down across from us looking vrey, very sad. She was dressed in modest business attire with her bag and purse on her lap.

Now, when we get on the train, there is a general staring and amusement at Archie poking his head out of his bag — as well as my carrying him. People smile and nudge their friends and family to point us out. The adventurous ask questions or pet Archie.

This woman was no different. While we we far enough away that she couldn’t talk with us, I did see her notice Archie and smile a little.

Of course, as the train barreled along, she relapsed back into her despair and soon began quietly crying. She looked miserable — face red, eyes welled up and just downright sad. Overall, just a bad day and another person in the crowded subway, right?

Not quite. As people shuffled on and off the train at each stop, Archie and I moved further into the car and soon found ourselves standing next to the woman.

To my surprise, she came out of her depression and offered us her seat. Now, Archie and I decline these offers as it’s more of a pain to situate our selves in a seat than to just keep standing.

But I was impressed that someone so obviously distraught could think of others at the same time.

It also re-enforced my understanding of the power of pets to help people. Archie makes people smile all the time.

I hope the woman feels better.