Condos at The Whitman: Getting Cheaper, Staying Sucky

We're in the condo market, but it's a goddamn minefield. In case you hadn't noticed, there are 2,308,729,571 units for sale in Northwest DC, and they're all nearly identical. Five or six sell each week. Now I've never taken one of those real estate seminars advertised in infomercials, but it looks like we've got more condos than buyers. And I seem to remember something from Econ classes in college about supply and demand, so I think we're in the driver's seat. I imagine there are deals to be had.

So we've been waiting for the proverbial bubble to burst, and it looks like it's about to. Over the Winter, there was a steady supply of condos coming on to the market as new developments opened. But when Spring arrived, the number for sale skyrocketed. People are bailing out, selling existing units and backing out of contracts on ones under construction, but the developers continue to flood the market with new units. In the meantime, sales agents have grown desperate.

Exhibit A is The Whitman, a gigantic new condo building adjacent to the Convention Center. I've been walking by this building every day for two years now, and I have to admit it's impressive. It does appear to have a bit of character, unlike so many of the cookie-cutter places going up. And you can't beat the location. Unfortunately, that's about all it has going for it.

When it was under construction we were actually pretty excited, and we contacted the sales office to get more information. We weren't surprised- $500,000+, minimum, for a one bedroom loft unit with a den. Plus another $35,000 for parking (not that we need it). What a deal, right? Sadly, that's been the going rate in the neighborhood for a few years, and we've decided we like the area enough that we want to stay within these few blocks. So I contacted them again to get more specifics.

They started flooding me with emails and phone calls for open houses, private showings, special events, and everything else imaginable. The message was always the same: Get them while they're hot! These condos won't last forever! Ignoring the bullshit, I asked pointed questions.

bryc3: "Where are the loft units located in the building?"

The Whitman: "On the ground floor, so you'll have your own private entrance!"

bryc3: "You mean those ones in the front? Those are condos and not retail or something?"

The Whitman: "That's right! You're just steps from all the neighborhood has to offer!"

bryc3: "There are no bars on the windows, they're just french doors."

The Whitman: "Rest assured, the neighborhood is perfectly safe. Shall I send over a contract?"

bryc3: "Safe, sure, got it. Where do you live?"

The Whitman: "Alexandria. Why?"

bryc3: click

Shaw is, to put it delicately, a neighborhood in transition. It certainly isn't Southeast, but it ain't Reston, either. And you would have to be a certified fucking idiot to move into one of those places without bars on the windows. People can, and do, walk right up to those windows from the sidewalk and peer inside. You could rob each of them blind by merely breaking one pane of glass and turning the door handle. You'd be gone with some metrosexual's plasma TV and the keys to his Jetta before he even woke up. And lord only knows how dangerous it would be for a woman in one those places. But in order to keep the prices high, and to project the air of safety, they've refrained from putting bars on the windows. Nice. That's crossing some ethical line in my book. There have been several murders in the immediate neighborhood this year, and there is a long-standing (although hopefully cooling) gang war happening just a few blocks away.

Thankfully, other people seem to have noticed, too. Those units are generally empty, although a few brave souls (read: idiots) have moved in. That hasn't stopped The Whitman's marketing campaign though. They're plowing ahead, continuing to pledge that the units are going fast, and you need to act now! I got this email yesterday:

"The time is at hand when The Whitman will be sold out. Thanks to the overwhelming response to The Whitman's unconventional elegance, this summer is the final opportunity to purchase a one-bedroom/den/two-bath or two-bedroom/two-bath condominium - parking included.

$15,000 Incentive! For a limited time, The Whitman is offering a closeout incentive of $15,000 any way you want it: toward closing costs, toward condo fees, as a discount on the purchase price - whatever (except cash - sorry!)."

Hang on a second, I wanna make sure I've got this straight. The "overwhelming" response you've received (not to mention the "elegance" that comes with broken beer bottles and cigarette butts on the roof) has created a buying frenzy, and you just can't manage the demand. To compensate, you're now throwing in parking that used to cost $35,000, and you're offering to give me $15,000 if I move in? Man, those things must be flying off the shelves!

Why even both lying to me? Why not be honest, and admit you've slashed prices by 10% in attempt to move units that are unsafe and sitting on the market? Oh, right, the whole panic thing. Sorry.

Thanks LeBron, Thanks A Lot

So I hate that LeBron James. Something about him rubs me the wrong way, and I assure you it has nothing to do with his team knocking my Wizards out of the playoffs the last two years. I just think he's a dorknob.

My feelings are unlikely to change soon, as I've just read that he's fathered a baby delivered this morning named:

Bryce Maximus James

I don't know where to begin. A childhood of torture for having a sissy name has left me scarred and bitter. Why couldn't my mother have thought to name me Maximus? Think how much more masculine I would have become! I'm willing to bet that Maximus will never be taunted with the name Bryciepooh. Although to be honest, Maxiwuss has potential.

Bryce is cursed name. On the one hand, you meet women who say, "Oh, I love that name!" Let's face it, you're not going to hear a woman say, "His name is Mike/John/Dave, isn't that just the coolest name ever?!" So that's pretty cool. But those women become the mothers who name their kids Adrian or Perry or Brantley, and then the poor bastard gets the shit kicked out of him every day until he mercifully graduates from high school, assuming he doesn't Columbine first.

That *ahem* benefit doesn't begin to counter the most pressing problem. Every single man who meets a guy named Bryce will immediately think he's a douche. I could extend the blood-stained hand I've just used to bludgeon the dead deer I'm carrying home to feed my wolves, and the guy is still going to think I'm a fairy.

And finally, we all know that Bryce is absolutely a gay name. LeBron's take on homosexuality is remarkably mature, so that probably shouldn't be a big deal, right?

"You take showers together, you're on the bus, you talk about things. With teammates, you have to be trustworthy. If you're gay and you're not admitting that you are, you're not trustworthy. It's the locker room code; it's a trust factor.'' -Akron Beacon Journal

Uh oh.

Today Show: "Webkinz Carry Smallpox"

Unfortunately that's not true.

So I'm watching the Today Show this morning because it's my personal Two Minutes Hate. They were running a segment on something called Webkinz- the latest kids toy in the vein of Cabbage Patch Kids and Beanie Babies. Ignore, for a moment, that as is the case with nearly all of these crazes, the people who are most excited are poorly adjusted adults. Webkinz are different from typical stuffed animals, because somehow the internet is involved. Apparently kids go online and take care of the pets, decorate their houses, and attract sexual predators. I'm not sure exactly how it works, but the segment featured a lot of pasty little seven-year-old kids clicking their mouses on the computers in their bedrooms.

Kids are going batshit crazy for these things, and what's a parent to do? You just can't find them anywhere, the stores sell out too fast! The segment focuses on young girls who have dozens of them in their bedroom, and they love them all ever so much. And if you're into the Children of the Corn, you can't help but feel for these poor little girls who want, nay, FUCKING NEED, more Webkinz. For God's sake, won't someone think of the children!?

So, like:

1) We're on the verge of any number of world wars, and the entire earth is turning to shit by the second. If your biggest concern is that you can't find Webkinz for your spoiled children, you need to re-evaulate your priorities. If you feel compelled to save the children from this tragedy, and you believe the correct avenue for doing this is bitching about Webkinz on the Today Show, then you simply have to kill yourself.

2) We only have a 'shortage' of Webkinz because you bought ninety of them for your rotten children the last time they were in stock. As you drove your SUV from toy store to toy store throughout the suburbs, did you ever once consider the poor kids who would go without as you snapped up every one you could find, all along knowing it still wouldn't be enough to satiate your own materialistic children?

3) Your seven year old son (Cole, Maddox, Banana Republic, whatever his name is) who loves Webkinz? Gay.

4) Tomorrow's Today Show will almost certainly contain a segment on childhood obesity. Parents and researchers will wag their fingers and blame Oreos and commercials. They'll petition the school board and get cookies removed from the cafeteria. And the kids who actually, I dunno, go outside and run around sometimes will be punished while your kids become fatties as they sit in front of computers playing with their virtual pets.

5) Everyone at Ganz, the company who makes Webkinz, should be fired today. The company has stated that demand has been crushing, and they've been unable to come up with a strategy to manufacture what has become the hottest toy for American girls, ages 4 to 8. You're lying or retarded. What idiot doesn't know that the best way to make toys for American girls, ages 4 to 8, is to pay Vietnamese girls, ages 4 to 8, to make them?