I think this was the first open house I’ve ever been to where I could actually afford the property. It totally ruined what would otherwise have been a pleasant, free-boxed-wine-sipping Sunday afternoon. Usually I’m just a carefree real estate tourist, but this time I suddenly turned into a sweaty capitalist who kept glancing around wildly while checking my bank balance on my phone. After all, any property you buy in today’s overheated market is pretty much guaranteed to appreciate wildly; the conclusion then is that the only reason you wouldn’t buy is if you hate free money. I even started making passive-aggressive comments to the other open housers, to discourage them from buying. “Hmm, I wouldn’t want to live here if a tsunami struck! Did you ever see that movie ‘Cast Away’? Pretty sure that started on a houseboat.” In the end, I didn’t make an offer, but man, serious looking is stressful! I’ve never been more relieved to be poor.
You should definitely buy this houseboat, though. I mean, if you’re a bachelor, what could be better than living on a houseboat? Your life would be like one never-ending episode of a bad sitcom from the Seventies. (I meant that as a compliment.) “Hey, do you want to come back to my houseboat?” Who’s saying no to that? And look how cheap it is! At only $150K, that’s like half a law degree. You know, science has confirmed what people have always intuited; looking at open water makes you calmer and gives you a sense of psychological well-being. Living here means you’ll perpetually feel like you just took half a Xanax. You know what else gives you a sense of well-being? Paying only $150 a month in condo (marina) fees. That means after you pay this place off, you can basically stop working. Nothing irritates me more than an expensive condo where you have to pay for the actual place, but then also pay a grand a month on top of that in monthly fees, forever. It’s like, “hey, wouldn’t you love to combine the downsides of homeownership AND renting?”
Oh but yeah, the houseboat. Let’s take a look. Do you like windows? Of course you do. This boat has a ton of windows. Three hundred sixty degrees of windows. Tons of ingeniously-designed storage, like you’d see in a Tokyo apartment or a Scandinavian tiny house. It’s not huge, no, but the space is utilized as efficiently as possible, and if feels very open. There’s a main living room area that incorporates the actual functioning instrument console and steering wheel for the boat, meaning that when you have friends over, there’s a high high percentage that someone will whimsically spin the wheel around and overturn the boat. There’s a small galley kitchen that’s literally a galley. “The thing about this galley kitchen is that it’s literally a galley,” you’ll tell your dinner guests, to which they’ll respond by looking at you politely and then continuing their conversation as if you hadn’t said anything at all. (“Tough crowd,” you’ll mutter to yourself, though you’ll know deep down that it has nothing to do with the crowd.)
There’s a nice bedroom off on the bow or stern or port or starboard area of the boat, how should I know which is which, I’m neither a sailor nor a pirate. It’s a nice bedroom though, with many windows, built-in storage and furniture (don’t want an armoire toppling onto you if you hit some rough water), and brown wood wall paneling that’s either rustic and delightful or hideous and depressing, depending on if you’re me or my girlfriend. In the rear of the boat is an outdoor deck area with bench seating and whatnot, where you can do some fishing or watch the sun set over the water or throw your company laptop overboard after you get downsized. All in all, it’d be a pretty delightful place to live. Sure, living in a boat would take some getting used to, but the downsides are few and far between. My biggest worry if I lived here would be an ex sneaking into the marina in the middle of the night, cutting the ropes securing you to the dock, and pushing you off into open water. But on the upside, everyone knows that the waterfront (sorry, “The Waterfront”) is on the serious rise. Buying here now would be like when your friend bought a Shaw rowhome eight years ago and you were all like, “what’s Shaw, is that a real neighborhood, did you lose a bet or something,” but now you can’t even be in the same room as them because they’re always talking about how they became a hundred grand richer in the past year just by living in their house, just by existing, it’s like the city is paying them just to exist. Don’t say I didn’t try to tell you.
600 Water Street SW #A4
2 Bedrooms, 1 Bath