Mad rush

"Mad rush, huh," I heard a guy comment from behind me as I approached the steps up to 7th Ave coming out of Penn Station. I think he was referring me and the fact that I was walking fast through the crowds, in my own little passing lane. "Uh huh", said his buddy.

Until the summer of 1990, I had never heard anyone say "Don't work too hard," and then all of a sudden I heard it everywhere. Not people talking to me, just talking in general, mouthing plattitudes, showing solidarity to one another in a generalized resistance to the Man. Another favored variant is "Are you workin' hard, or hardly workin'," which always elicits a good belly laugh and a hand slap. And of course, the general idea is very close to ashes to ashes, dust to dust, stop to smell roses, etc. If you work too hard, you miss out on the fine things in life.

Like donuts. Or talking about sports. Or the high-quality special effects in the latest mega-release. Or Howard Stern and his crazy hi-jinks. This predominantly male office small-talk, can be pretty depressing. All the more reason to bust ass and make some money so you can stop going to work. Or, honestly, to can the blog, for the same reason.