Let a million penises bloom.

The agency in which I WORK has decided, for whatever reason, that we need to PLAY more.

This in addition to the ping-pong tables that seem to be in constant ping and incessant pong.

Someone's decided that we need to, in addition to our daily toil, find ways to unleash our prodigious creativity in other realms. If we want to make a replica of the Great Wall of China out of pizza boxes, they will support us. If we decided to lead a client presentation in the language of interpretive dance, well that's fine, too.

We need to be creative.

Flamboyantly so.

To egg us on, to spur our inner-Michaelangelos, the agency powers have cargo-culted little containers of Play-Doh hither and yon.

In a conference room on 8, there was a pink container and a blue one. Up here on 11, I've come across red and yellow.

I remember the smell and colors from my children's pre-school.

I don't exactly pine for the stuff. I've found ways to release my abundant creativity without regressing to toy corner.

What's happened to this Play-Doh is interesting.

Little Play-Doh penises have arisen everywhere.

Of course they have.

This is par for the course.

And most agencies, to be frank, have the maturity level of an eighth-grade boys' locker room.

I'm all for creative people working on side projects. But most truly creative people I know work better when they are under pressure. When they have to balance the many demands of work, life, family and art.

This kind of shit is silly.

If there's art you want to pursue, that's fine. But work, I'm sorry, is work. That's what we're here to do.

Work.

Then you can play.