Why be a starving writer when you could be a starving naked artist.

I am so sick of computers and everywhere they take us.

Being a writer means being married to your computer. Things are made worse if you are a published author because you also have long term commitments to social media and publishing sites. My almost one-year-old Dell is an evil wife. She has melted down twice in the short time we have been together; a RED FLAG if ever there was one. So why continue to put up with the daily torment of weak WiFi, boggy performance due to updates and background processes, and the general stupidity of the online world when there is little or no money in it?

I can do other things.

The real question is: What other things can I do which don’t involve computers? I could reinvent myself once again as a post modernist painter. I might use my initials to create a new artist identity: Ethan Alfonso? It has an artsy ring to it. I could add a hook as well: All Alfonso’s are painted in the nude. Post modernist erotic portraits of lonely housewives and  divorcées, painted by a still pretty hot naked guy, should get me laid more than writers do. The fee for such commissioned portraits would certainly exceed what I make as a writer; perhaps several times over. For a tiny initial investment—far less than book publishing—I could whip off a bunch of samples to lean against the walls of my apartment for prospective clients to peruse; perhaps over wine, if they are hot. I could sell some works beach-side while working on my tan. Once summer ends here, I can move into a spacious van and travel to various beach communities down South, chasing the warmth of the sun, and making Canadian winters something I don’t do anymore.

What’s the worst that could happen?

It’s possible I might be killed by a jealous husband, but this has always been my preferred check-out plan anyway.

Sounds like a worthwhile endeavour to me.

Where is that art supply store?

I’d Google it, but this hunk of junk Dell—soon to be ex wife—sucks harder than the vacuum of space during a hull breach on the Enterprise.

Why? It is a really good question.

portrait of beautiful young woman over white background
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Three year-old’s love to ask this question. It seems the aged like it too.

An old woman from Norway that had never left her country before was given a trip to Los Angeles by a distant relative. While touring the Hollywood Hills looking at massive homes with multiple vehicles she was asked what she thought. She uttered one word.

Why?

Where she grew up, a house was shelter and only need be big enough for the number of occupants that reside there. She could not fathom a thirty room house that was mostly empty and she did not see the necessity for more than one vehicle.

She viewed it as wasteful.

She seemed quite interested in the roofs of these homes. She asked what they were made of and was told that they were Marley tile roofs, copper roofs and solar paneled roofs among others.

She asked: Why not use grass?

No one in the car could answer her question.

Later the same day, she overheard a conversation about private Health Insurance and asked: Why would you not want to use the Public Health System? It was explained to her that the best most immediate care was private.

She asked: Why?

No one in the room could adequately answer her question.

In touring L.A. she saw many homeless people that were her age on the streets.

She asked: Why do they live like that?

It was explained to her that many older retired people did not have pensions that could afford them housing. Some needed medications for mental disorders that they could not afford.

She asked: Did they not work their whole lives?

An answer came back that stated: “Just because you work your whole life in America is no guaranty that you will have a nice retirement.”

She asked: Why do they not live in the empty rooms of those big mansions?

A very young Great Great Niece of hers answered this one. She said: “Because rich people are afraid of poor people.”

She asked: Why?

The car was uncomfortably quiet for some time after that.

At dinner there was talk of sending her Great Niece to University and which of the schools on the list was the most affordable.

She asked: Why do you have to pay to educate your children if they are going to live and work in this country their whole lives?

No one attempted to answer.

She told her Great Niece about her University days so many years ago, and how excited she was back then at receiving her P.H.D. Everyone at the table was stunned. They had no idea that this very modestly dressed woman of few words that lived in a small three room grass-roofed house in Europe had an advanced degree.

She went on to point out that her family did not have to pay for her higher education as it was part of a government social program that included: free health care where you just walk into any hospital you want and an old age security plan that kept most everyone living comfortably after retirement with around 50% of their pre-retirement wage. Everyone that worked in the country paid about 15% of their wage into these programs. She added that there were not any homeless people and very little crime where she lived, and left it to us to connect the dots.

The rest of her short visit was spent talking about the family tree for the most part and visiting some tourist traps.

As we were driving her to the airport, she asked that we stop the car just ahead. She got out, walked over to a homeless lady and gave her all her remaining American money and got back in the car without uttering so much as a word.

As she was about to board she turned to us and said:

“This is the one of the richest countries in the world. You really should ask your government where they are spending all the money.”

Her doctorate was in economics.

My book:

Ms. Creant: The Wrong Doers!

Life with Women: the long awaited instruction manual.

Talks of relationships, health, life, biology, philosophy, sociology, theology, genetics- even physics as well as SUPPLYING SOME ANSWERS TO THE QUESTION: WHY?

Have a great week.

E. A.