Has died. As I was reading the Tribune story I got a call from S., who worked with Studs years ago on the Steppenwolf production of Division Street, America. He lives in LA now. He was crying. On the first day of rehearsal, S. said, Studs walked into the room, surveyed the actors, and spread his arms wide. “My people!” he proclaimed.

A while back, full of ambition, I dreamed up a blog project where I would post stories–or, ahem, “oral histories”–of people talking about getting laid off or otherwise wandering into unemployment, and what happens next.

How do they spend their time? (Fine tuning their Facebook status updates? Taking up pot smoking?) And how do they glue together a living? One former colleague of mine has turned her graphic design skills to frosting cupcakes for her sister, a baker. A lawyer I know started teaching 14 aerobics classes a week after losing her job. She is now poor, but ripped. And I know there must be more than one unemployed journalist out there selling all her shit on eBay.

In tribute, I planned to call it “Not Working.”

I think it’s got legs. Stay tuned.