Of Mice and Molecules...

Multifarious cogitations

I've decided I'd rather have a fistula than a realtor

2/23/2017

 
Picture
Post and Pray, baby!
When I lived in Florida, there was a local realtor named (I am not shitting you) Polly Esther. Poly Ester. Polyester. Not only did Polly not shy away from her unfortunate name, she wore it (and by it, I mean the near-eponymous fabric) like a badge of honor in her bland, smiling real estate ads. So fucking what I'm named after a synthetic remnant of the eighties - you'll still deal with me! As far as I can remember, this was the moment I began questioning the legitimacy of realtors. 

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The Home As An Investment: My Experience (with Data)

2/8/2017

 
In 2010 I bought a condo in Chicago. Last week, almost exactly seven years later, I sold it. In the warm afterglow of the transaction, I found myself wondering whether this was a good financial decision. Do houses really provide a good vehicle for generating wealth, or would I have been better off investing in the stock market? To answer this question, I turned to math.

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