I know we’ve thoroughly discussed

I know we’ve thoroughly discussed the utter grossness of eating sloppy, aromatic things on the subway, but I think I’ve found another thing to top the list of Things I Want Nothing To Do With in The Subways: making out. There’s a couple who I pass EVERY DAY in the morning, all up in each other’s grills, smooching and hugging and rubbing up against each other while waiting for the train. First of all, I don’t quite understand how they’re defying the laws of thermodynamics, but all of the subway platforms are approximately 95-degrees at about 70% humidity, which is —for us normal people—in scientific terms, way to frickin hot to touch another person. Not only are these people making out in what amounts to be a subterrarium environment, they are doing it in a DIRTY one. Dirty! The subway platform, and especially the poles and walls they are PRESSED against, are where bums urinate, and kids spit, and people throw their unwanted drinks. Not romantic! And because I see them every day, I am forced to conclude that they arrive early each morning and make out for a long time there, letting trains pass.

Maybe there is a big lusty back story to this gag-inducing romance that has a reason why they can’t express their love for each other above ground or in private. No, you know what? I don’t care. Stop it.

The dream I was having right before I woke up involved cloned rats with floppy human cheeks grafted on. I assume this has to do with the news story about the cloned dog and my subsequent internal debate over How I Feel About Cloning. They’re all: look, fluffy cute dog with adorable name! How can you not love cloning? Snuppy! Meanwhile, back at the ranch: can you be okay with stem cell research and still feel yucky about cloning animals?

I’m still feeling a little underwater today. J and I tried to make yesterday better by riding our bikes to a fancy Bay Ridge Chinese food restaurant that looked promising. But from the way everything tasted, we decided they must get their food from one of those neon-lit take-out places and just stick it on fancy plates and hope the cloth napkins and suit-clad maitre'd make you lose focus on food quality. But the bike ride was nice!

I'd be on Team Aniston, no question.

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