You probably remember Archemedes and his realization of the principle of displaced volume when he sat down in a nice hot bath. A similar Aha! came to me when sitting down inside a New York City cab. For once in my life, my horrid addiction to double-shot non-fat caffe lattes with extra foam actually did me some good. It was the catalyst to a higher understanding that was, ironically, not inspired by an excess of caffeine. My extra-foamy concoction became the target of my taxi driver's attention, and from this came an eternal wisdom and truth which I am now documenting. You may believe that New York cabbies are surly and without humor. Nothing could be farther from the truth: the fact is that New York cabbies are now eerily courteous, with an obsequeousness that must originate with frequent doses of ridilin. My driver was the height of manners when he waved me into his car as I carried three bags and the 20 ounce cup of java. He even smiled, with the depth and emotion only possible in Turkish or Arabian leather lips. He was looking forward to serving me in my nicest suit. He also happily continued reading his New York Post as he drove, and only once did he give one of his colleagues the finger -- and that accompanied by his broad semi-toothed grin. It was just after this that I had my moment! Like all good cabbies in New York, Rome, and Boston, mine incessantly wandered between lanes, insinuating his way through the holes in traffic. But I noticed that mine was not weaving to avoid potholes or other roadway dangers: quite the opposite. His careening was aimed directly at the pits and bumps. And all the other cabs were doing the same thing, which like bumper- cars sent the taxis within skidding distance of each others' fenders. I would have attributed this to general insanity had I not noticed the cabbie's eyes, intently fixed not on the road but on my innocent latte. Even though he pretended to turn the pages of The Post and scoff at the Mets' loss yesterday, his clear obsession was to spill my drink. The more I emptied it, the faster and more wildly he drove. When finally he realized that the cup was going to be emptied before he could spill its contents, he gave a heavy sigh, threw his newspaper away from the steering wheel, and listlessly drove me to my destination without further incident. As I started with a reference to The Greek, I shall end with an Aesopian moral: For safer driving, don't let someone else drive while you drink.