The Real Estate Thread: Buying/Selling/Tips/News

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Mickey]

Adjuncts make bad money. NTT full timers can make live-able money, depending on the school. But you'd 1000% need to relocate and you'd probably also need an advanced degree (not familiar with theater programs but I suspect that's the case).

Not necessarily true. I have an NTT friend teaching in the NYC art school (across three campuses: CUNY, Columbia, and NYU) and he averaged way more per credit hour that what they pay in MT.

As a general rule, public teachers make more in MA, NY, and CA than just about anywhere else.

Wasn't this conversation originally about buying a house? Obviously you get paid more in NYC per credit hour, but per credit hour is probably not the best metric to use.

I can only really speak to creative writing, but NYC has a glut of overqualified people who want to teach and I see no reason to believe that would be different in theater. You might be able to cobble together some last minute classes, but for something resembling a stable career with live-able money, you would almost certainly need to relocate--otherwise you're always in competition with every asshole who has an off-Broadway play to their name.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Mickey]

If buying a house is completely off the table I don't know why Joey would try to pivot to academia given that he seems to have an otherwise stable career.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[epilogue]

Joe have you give any thought to the Bloomingdale’s Executive Training Program

I looked into that and they require pants to be worn at all times. Which is a dealbreaker. I'm fine with a button-up and tie, by I need to let the downstairs breath, you know?

[Mickey]

Best part of academia. Was shocked that Trag didn't list it as a bennie earlier.

[epilogue]

If some asshole would just fucking publish a thing I write and then sell it to a prestige TV channel like HBO, I wouldn't be in this pickle!

[wease]

If some asshole would just fucking publish a thing I write and then sell it to a prestige TV channel like HBO, I wouldn't be in this pickle!

Isn’t self-publishing a thing now?

[Mickey]

If some asshole would just fucking publish a thing I write and then sell it to a prestige TV channel like HBO, I wouldn't be in this pickle!

Isn’t self-publishing a thing now?

Can't think of a self published to HBO show example, but there's always 50 Shades.

[epilogue]

If some asshole would just fucking publish a thing I write and then sell it to a prestige TV channel like HBO, I wouldn't be in this pickle!

Isn’t self-publishing a thing now?

I'm THIS close to self-publishing, wease, my man. THIS close.

[epilogue]

If some asshole would just fucking publish a thing I write and then sell it to a prestige TV channel like HBO, I wouldn't be in this pickle!

Isn’t self-publishing a thing now?

Can't think of a self published to HBO show example, but there's always 50 Shades.

Remember how much LV loved those movies?

[Mickey]

Honestly no

[epilogue]

Oh.

Well, he really loved those movies.

[wease]

If some asshole would just fucking publish a thing I write and then sell it to a prestige TV channel like HBO, I wouldn't be in this pickle!

Isn’t self-publishing a thing now?

I'm THIS close to self-publishing, wease, my man. THIS close.

Fuck. Do it bro.

[epilogue]

If some asshole would just fucking publish a thing I write and then sell it to a prestige TV channel like HBO, I wouldn't be in this pickle!

Isn’t self-publishing a thing now?

I'm THIS close to self-publishing, wease, my man. THIS close.

Fuck. Do it bro.

There's this weird thing in me that really wants to go the traditional publishing route. But as that gets further and further away, I've been reading up on self-publishing and I think it might honestly be the way to go. Not necessarily to get my shit turned into a TV show. But just to get it out there, finally.

[wease]

If some asshole would just fucking publish a thing I write and then sell it to a prestige TV channel like HBO, I wouldn't be in this pickle!

Isn’t self-publishing a thing now?

I'm THIS close to self-publishing, wease, my man. THIS close.

Fuck. Do it bro.

There's this weird thing in me that really wants to go the traditional publishing route. But as that gets further and further away, I've been reading up on self-publishing and I think it might honestly be the way to go. Not necessarily to get my shit turned into a TV show. But just to get it out there, finally.

It’s far more likely to be turned into a TV show or movie or something if it’s out there. Do it.

[Mickey]

I don't mean to be rude but I don't think that's true.

[Mickey]

Which is not to say, don't self-publish, but a work is actually far more likely to be adapted as a TV show/movie if it unpublished with agent representation.