ical descriptions of the house itself: granite, Corian, and maple. As in- formation goes, such terms are specific and straightforward-and therefore pretty useful. If you like granite, you might like the house; but even if you dont, "granite" certainly doesnt connote a fixer- upper. Nor does "gourmet" or "state-of-the-art," both of which seem to tell a buyer that a house is, on some level, truly fantastic. "Fantastic," meanwhile, is a dangerously ambiguous adjective, as is "charming." Both these words seem to be real-estate agent code for a house that doesnt have many specific attributes worth describing. "Spacious" homes, meanwhile, are often decrepit or impractical. "Great neighborhood" signals a buyer that, well, this house isnt very nice but others nearby may be. And an exclamation point in a real- estate ad is bad news for sure, a bid to paper over real shortcomings with false enthusiasm. If you study the words in the ad for a real-estate agents own home, meanwhile, you see that she indeed emphasizes descriptive terms (especially "new," "granite," "maple," and "move-in condition") and avoids empty adjectives (including "wonderful," "immaculate," and the telltale "!"). Then she patiently waits for the best buyer to come along. She might tell this buyer about a house nearby that just sold for $25,000 above the asking price, or another house that is currently the subject of a bidding war. She is careful to exercise every advantage of the information asymmetry she enjoys.   But like the funeral director and the car salesman and the life- insurance company, the real-estate agent has also seen her advantage eroded by the Internet. After all, anyone selling a home can now get online and gather her own information about sales trends and hous- ing inventory and mortgage rates. The information has been set loose.