""I'm trying to solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price.""
That problem led John Watson to meet Sherlock Holmes, and as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would have said, the rest is familiar to you. That same question not only drives the events of fictional characters, it causes each and every one of us a different sort of pain every year.
First, you must identify a group, ranging from just yourself to upwards of seven people. This, by itself, is not easy. Different mindsets, feelings about drugs and alcohol, sleeping habits, shower habits, cooking habits, studying habits and basically habits in general all come into play when determining who your ideal set of roommates is.
Of course, it's not that easy. Often, person A won't come without person B, and person B hates person C who happens to be with person D who, for mysterious reasons of their own, is in love with you. And they won't communicate any of this. Instead, through glares, e-mail sarcasm and cryptic messages left on your dorm room door, you must deduce the optimal set of roommates that you can live with and who can live with each other.
The next task is to find a place. That's easy, right? There are several hundred places listed on the Campus Area Housing Service, thoughtfully maintained by the Visitor and Information Programs center. You can even search by price, size, location, type of place (apartment or house) or pretty much any damn thing you please.
Of course, there's always input error, or false advertising by landlords. (""The fifth bedroom? Oh, that's on the roof. Of that house. A block away."")
Eventually you narrow down your list of 200 search results (depending on what size you're searching for) to maybe seven to 10 candidates, or, if you happen to be Keaton Miller, 15. It's time for The Tours.
The art of the house tour, while studied by many, is perfected by few, since most people only accomplish a few before they leave Madison for (hopefully) bigger and better things, such as ownership. You must inspect the often-incredibly-messy space, without offending the landlord with code questions (""Hasn't the city told you that you can't have a bathroom without ventilation?"") and without upsetting the current tenants (""Could you please move that large bag of suspicious white powder so I can check for grounded outlets?"").
Or you can take the Keaton Miller route, and make sure to visit when people are sleeping. Naked. Not even the landlord's squeak of surprise woke them. Ahem.
Finally, you get back, you lock yourself in a room with your roommates since it's time to apply The Formula. Everyone has their own The Formula. And everyone's The Formula is different, though the ingredients are the same. Price, location, size of bedrooms, parking, condition of unit and amenities such as air conditioning, dishwashers or included utilities are the most common entries into the matrix of calculations, although occasionally you'll live with someone who hates the perfect apartment because the shade of chartreuse on the walls is just a little bit too puce-y.
However, that perfect apartment has already been taken by slobs who won't treat it nearly as well as you will, didn't put any thought into it and probably are much uglier as well (the bastards). So you go to your second choice. Or your third. In the end, no one's happy and you're living in a leaky ice-fishing hut in the middle of James Madison Park.
But, at least you've signed. You've conquered the cold and the mad frenzy of searching, and you're set for another year. Except, of course, for the actual living. With people. That's another story.
Keaton Miller is a junior majoring in math and economics who hopes his current and future roommates (with which he is currently on the Tour stage) aren't offended by this tirade of cynicism. He swears he's never dealt with this himself, and that they've all been totally perfect. He swears. E-mail him your tales of housing woe at keatonmiller@wisc.edu
