Sometimes I need a strong dose of obituary to make me sit up and realize I've been neglecting that thing-I've-been-meaning-to-do for far too long now and someday, this will all be gone, vanished into ether or ground into dirt, depending on whether you're talking about the fate of Spinster Aunt or my mortal flesh-prison, and today that thing is reading "Working" by Studs Terkel.
To honor the man's life and and work, I plan to read excerpts of the book online while at the office. I especially look forward to reading the interview with Roberta Victor, hooker.
Though part of my fascination is based on the subject matter, I must also admit that I just really, really like the name Studs Terkel, and that has a lot to do with wanting to read his shit. (Before the year is out, I plan to read at least one book by Booth Tarkington, for the same reason. I just love those names.)
In any case, I think the following quotation should be painted onto the ceiling of the 42nd Street subway underpass, instead of the current bizarre de-motivational scrawl they've got up there (the "late for work/get fired" poem) so that we can contemplate this every morning:
“Work is about a daily search for meaning as well as daily bread, for recognition as well as cash, for astonishment rather than torpor, in short for a sort of life, rather than a Monday-to-Friday sort of dying.”