Sundays With Strangers


If they succeed in banning pop-ups – and it looks like they might – this place will immediately increase in value.  It’ll be like that stupid stamp with the upside-down-printed plane on it that billionaires take turns paying nine figures for every few years.  Because scarcity equals value, unless we’re talking about the being the only crustached (please see Urban Dictionary for definition of crustache) half-asian in a tiny midwestern town, because that didn’t work out for me AT ALL.

Collectibility aside – did I just coin a new catchphrase for annoying realtors to use? – this place is top shelf.  First of all, you access it through a private elevator, which is of course a euphemism for “the first place you’ll “break in” after you move in.”  No more awkward elevator rides with your neighbors who apparently cannonball into a large tub of cologne before leaving the house and have little kids who openly stare at you while breathing germs onto your pants.  I’d pay $779K just for the elevator.  You enter into a massive vaulted great room which functions as a sort of combination living/dining/”texting prospective Tinder hookups about your private elevator” room;  it opens onto the front porch, which is enclosed by a “rain screen,” which is sort of this wooden shutter thing that is probably more for privacy than anything else, in the sense that it makes it easier to spy on your neighbors through a telescope while wearing a bathrobe.  It’s also probably in place to mollify neighbors who may have groused about the pop-up, though I don’t know if the screen makes it less conspicuous and loom-y.  If anything, it looks sort of like a huge version of those Kanye shutter shades from a couple years ago, which makes the pop-up look like it’s taunting the neighbors.  But what do I know.

The chef’s kitchen features high-end Bosch appliances, quartz countertops, and is all-white, so no cooking marinara sauce, ever, or your kitchen is going to look like a crime scene.  (I will say though that these quartz countertops won me over to the degree that I think they should replace marble as the gold standard.)  There are two equally fine bedrooms – each with a private balcony – which is cool and all, but makes me sort of wistful for the days of one palatial luxury suite with 360-degree views and one converted broom closet with exposed wiring, when everyone knew exactly where they stood.  The master bath is sleek and all glass-and-quartz, so if you ever wanted to know what it would be like to urinate in a spaceship, here’s your chance.  (It’s a lot like urinating in a regular bathroom, except there’s a real estate agent angrily pounding on the door and screaming at you.)  The custom closets also caught my eye, and not just because you could rent them out to gullible interns as bedrooms if you lost your job.   As far as I’m concerned, “custom closets” is right up there with “private elevator” on the list of desirable home features.  And if you like storage (transition alert!), the unit comes with EXTRA storage space, so, you know, keep on hoardin’.  Also, this place is wired as a “smart home,” which means it will automatically intercept any nude photos you send from your phone and email them to the NSA.

Of course, one of the best features of the house is its location.  Right in the best part of Shaw, close to the bustle of U Street, as well as all the bars and restaurants of Bloomingdale.  Not that there’s no place cool to hang out in Shaw, but … well, okay, there’s nowhere cool to hang out in Shaw.  (Yet.  I have high hopes for 2015.)  Still, isn’t that most of the appeal of Shaw, that it’s this sort of pseudo-suburban residential neighborhood sandwiched between fun nightlife-y neighborhoods?  If Shaw, Bloomingdale, and U Street were friends in a teen movie, U Street would be the tall blonde one who wears tight pink dresses, Bloomingdale would be the brunette with glasses and a sultry European accent, and Shaw would be their perpetually sweaty friend who has year-round heat rash and spends her weekends writing erotic “Harry Potter” fanfic.  I’m not selling this very well, am I?

1839 6th Street NW #5
2 Bedrooms, 2.5 Baths
1839_6th_Street_NW_1_84828_142_10272014RS 1839_6th_Street_NW_1_84828_003 1839_6th_Street_NW_1_84828_015 1839_6th_Street_NW_1_84828_028 1839_6th_Street_NW_1_84828_032 1839_6th_Street_NW_1_84828_096_10272014RS 1839_6th_Street_NW_1_84828_HFR

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