Cliff Lee Lives Indoors, According to Real Estate Report


“The real estate market is terrible!” you here adults saying all the time.  Hell, maybe even some of your friends are talking about buying houses.

“Houses?!” you shout.  “Why don’t you just live in a beer-stained college apartment until you’re 47 like everybody else?!”

Well, while you’ve laid there in the shadows of your youth, keeping the fridge stocked with forties as you wait for your friends to return, the rest of the world has been engaged in the real estate market.  Also showering.  But what you can glean from even a casual glance toward this business is that real estate isn’t the best market during terrible economy-times, so it hasn’t really been doing so great.

Except for one place:  Where Cliff Lee lives.

Yes, the Lees live at humble 1706 Rittenhouse in Center City, high above the flash mobs and jilted Eagles fans who have spent the winter waving their arms in the air and shouting.  I’d make a comparison to “Fiddler’s Green” from Land of the Dead, but nobody saw that movie, including me.

Nevertheless, 1706 has housed the Lees ever since they handed over almost $5 million for a condo within it’s walls.  And, despite a market that eats people’s screaming residential dreams alive, the whole building is flourishing.  And why?  Is it because Cliff Lee lives there?  Naturally, we assume that yes, it is.

$18 million in sales were done by the building in last year’s fourth quarter, and if you just took a break from reading this site to race over and see if any penthouses are still available, I have bad news for you:  1.  You actually never left this site, because here you are, reading this and 2.  They’ve all been sold.  Two for $7 million, and one two-story sold for $12.5 million.

So put those millions of dollars back in your wallet for a rainy day, when you’ll need it, to sew together an umbrella made out of money.  Your dream of being Cliff Lee’s neighbor–of watering your rosebushes while waving at him from across the street as he wonders how in the hell you got a garden hose into the front corridor of his condo and why you’re using it to spray rosebushes drawn on the wall with a crayon–is, at the very least,  on hold.

Now, let’s all sink further into the couch in our college hoodies, crack open a Natty Light, and wait for all those friends we haven’t seen in years to call.

They’ll call.