My friend called me the other day in barely suppressed anxiety. She is a gifted artisan and artist who lives in New York City. She is a freelancer. She gets jobs, does the (fine) work and gets paid for each one separately.<\/p>\n
At the end of last year, she was commissioned to make costumes for a children’s play. The designer, a respectable professional, had employed her previously. She finished the work, got it to him and waited to be paid.<\/p>\n
She’s still waiting. Why? Because the play was at the Kennedy Center.<\/p>\n
She can’t reach the designer. It probably isn’t his fault. He probably hasn’t been paid, now that the Kennedy Center has been seized in toto<\/em> by Trump and his various…whatevers.<\/a><\/p>\n My friend needs that money to pay her rent, among other crucial items.<\/p>\n That feeling of enraged helplessness assaults me every day when I read the news. This time, it’s intrapersonal and I am riddled with anxiety, too.<\/p>\n The fucker isn’t paying the government’s bills.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" My friend called me the other day in barely suppressed anxiety. She is a gifted artisan and artist who lives in New York City. She is a freelancer. She gets jobs, does the (fine) work and gets paid for each … Continue reading