Beer Math

In the beginning God created beer. This has made a lot of people very happy and been widely regarded as a good move. In fact, I’m having some right now while watching football, and couldn’t agree more.  I’d bet my life savings that Future Me will hold a similar opinion. Which got me thinking (dangerous activity, I know), if beer were like money, and you could save it and grow it over time, how many beers am I costing Future Me by drinking this one right now? Let’s find out.

So, there you are with a crisp $5 bill. You have two choices: 

1. Buy a delicious beer. Be happy now. 

2. Save it. Be happy later.

As much as we’d rather not, let’s be boring and save it. Since we already have the $5 in our hands, we’ve (presumably) already been taxed on that income we can deposit it into an after-tax ROTH account (401k or IRA), which means we won’t have to pay taxes on any gains when we withdraw it later on (hooray!!).

Now, we sit in sobriety, and wait. And wait. For 40 years, until we’re 65.

What’s become of our original $5? Assuming 10% annual returns (approximate long term stock market avg.), that $5 has turned into $226.30 [ = $5*((1+10%)^40)].

So does that mean Future You can now go and buy 45 ($226.3/$5) beers right now with the money Past You saved instead of drinking that one beer 40 years ago? Hmm…not quite. In the years that your $5 was growing, things in general have gotten more expensive thanks to inflation and hopefully stable monetary policy. So, to find out how much a beer costs at the time we take our money out, let’s assume 2.5% for inflation.

Cost of beer in 40 years = $5 x (1+2.5%)^40 = $13.43.

So, the next time you’re at a bar, you can think to yourself “For every beer I’m drinking here, I’m taking away 17 ($226.3/$13.43) beers from Future Me”. Conversely, for every $5 you save today, you’re buying yourself a whole night of happily tipsy retirement.

Crazy people

Yes, I know, I know. I may very well be one myself, but I can't help but comment on the fact that most of us encounter them every once in a while; the heroin addict in the subway, the micromanaging boss, the uptight housewife.... I could go on. Most of the time they probably are nuts, but sometimes it's merely a facade.

Case in point: this evening I took the train home from work (car is still suffering post pothole stress disorder), and I could have sworn I sat across from one of the craziest. It was only myself in the car, and no sooner had she sat down directly opposite me, she started singing, quite audibly mind you, a song about death. And no somber song at that. No. This was the happiest, jolliest old tribute the reaper ever heard. "Death is fun, and soon I will be dead", and save for the lyrics you would have thought spring had brought a banner year as far as the mockingbird population is concerned.

This frightened me greatly.

And so I sat, unsure of what to do, but determined not to move or put my headphones in while the refrain of repose abounded. Many possibilities went through my mind: 1) this girl could actually be suicidal, in which case the authorities ought to be contacted 2) she's playing a game and trying to get me to move. Not a chance.  3) it's a filmed sociology experiment on how people react to unusual circumstances.

"Excuse me miss, you have a voice an angel would envy, are you practicing for a morbid musical?"

"That's the first time someone has actually asked me anything! I was expecting you to get up and move like people usually do."

And thus we started talking - it turns out she had been having a rough go of it as far as love and finances were concerned, and actually relished the opportunity to talk to a stranger.

"I bet you're from Midwest, why the hell are you so nice?"

"Guilty as charged. Kansas."

"Well Kansas, you've really brightened my day and cheered me up. Thanks for talking."

I have to say, that was by far one of the best moments of the year, and it was something so simple. It's amazing where a "hello", or "why are you singing this crazy song?" (Diplomatically couched, of course) can lead. In this case, what I thought was a crazy person turned out to be totally sane and simply going through a turbulent time. If I ever lose it, I hope people think the same.

My Gripe with Running

Good evening, able-bodied readers. Yet again, I’ve been delinquent in writing, and since it seems like I say that every time, I offer no apology. In keeping with my Lenten resolution to ‘do more’, I figured writing fell under that broad umbrella, and so here I am. Granted, it’s much easier to sit down to write, or think, or do anything when you’re cooped up in bed or on the couch with some mysterious illness, which is where I find myself this evening. The truth is, I felt as though I had been under-appreciating my excellent health as of late, and decided I should get sick just so I wouldn’t go on taking it for granted. Mission accomplished, and the fact that today consisted of hours upon hours of NCAA basketball is, of course, mere coincidence.

Which brings me to my main point; If I had been my usual bright-eyed, chipper self today, I shouldn’t be stuck on the couch but instead out for a run (see: Lenten resolution). I’ve been thinking a good deal about running lately, mostly because it’s painful and I don’t like it. And I think I’ve figured out why. Not because it makes you breathe heavily, or turns your legs to jelly, or makes you get up at the crack of dawn. No, it’s because it’s extremely inefficient.

Running is peculiar in that the more you do it, the less effective it becomes (I suppose the same could be said of alcohol tolerance, but that’s besides the point). I refer you now to the following chart:

 If you are in terrible shape, running a mile will do you a lot more good than it would to someone in decent shapre. Your heart will work like an ox, you’ll be sweating to high heaven, and likely cursing like a sailor. And you will have gotten a good workout. Whereas the person in decent shape would only be getting warmed up. Indeed, as the chart above clearly illustrates, by the time a person in decent shape were to get a ‘good workout’, someone in terrible shape would be, most likely, dead.

This is what has been bothering me: the more I run, the better shape I get in, and the farther I have to run next time to feel as good about myself. What I want from a run is to feel exhausted and be able to congratulate myself on working so hard, but the harder I work, the harder that result is to achieve! What. The. Hell.

Still, and I’m literally speaking from the heart here, I’d rather be in better shape than worse. It just takes so long to get there, but I guess that’s what those inconvenient Lenten resolutions are for: make you run (and write) even when you don’t want to.

That’s all folks, until next time.

Ian