Ditching the hill

With the end of the year looming, housing for next year is at the forefront of most students' minds. Thinking of getting out of the dorms? Here, in three steps, are the secrets to off-campus success. (And the true story of a survivor.)

1. Prioritize. First, think about the person with whom you want to live. This will play a key role in determining not only which houses will be appropriate, but also the in-home dynamics. Not all good friends make good roommates. Be sure that you assess compatibility. Who's responsible, who will forget to pay rent and buy toilet paper? Could you live with a techno DJ who spins late into the night (as I have)? Is hygiene a major concern for you? These are all questions you must ask yourself before committing to live with other people.

Once you have decided with whom you think you could live, you have to decide if it is a priority to live with all of them. Trying to find a house to accommodate eight people will be much more challenging than finding a three-bedroom apartment. Accordingly, you may be faced with having to choose between a beautiful place for four and a decidedly less pleasant domicile with rooms aplenty. (This came up in my own apartment search. I'll get to the outcome a little later.)

Location is also an issue. If distance from campus, access to the T, or proximity to Espresso's is at the top of your priority list, you will likely have to sacrifice size and quality. And let us not forget rent. There are few gems out there: you get what you pay for -- and usually less. Get some idea from the start as to what is most important to you, and adjust from there.

2. Be prepared. Living off campus is like living in limbo. It's not the dorms, thank goodness, but it sure as hell ain't home. Make sure you are ready to take responsibility for things you've probably never had to worry about -- and to live in squalor while you're doing it.

Of chief importance is that you realize that electricity, heat, and a phone are not a tenant's inalienable rights. In fact, they'll be alienated whenever possible. I highly recommend putting different people's names on each of the bills. It's too easy to ignore second and third notices when they're addressed to someone else.

Provided that your electricity hasn't been cut off and your lights are still on, it will be easy to see how quickly your house goes from livable to downright foul. Remember those dust bunnies under your bed on campus? Well, in Medford and Somerville, many of the bunnies have been in residence since the turn of the last century. You will need a broom. You will need a mop. You will need an iron constitution. And remember the basics: extra flushes will not take care of stains in the toilet, and curdled milk is not homemade cheese.

While we're on the topic: your diet will suffer, of that you can be assured. Canned goods, frozen meals, and order-in will form the skeleton of your nutritional intake. Believe it or not, you may find yourself thinking of Dewick rubbed chicken as a delicacy. It's okay if you find yourself outside the dining hall begging freshmen for extra meals; it happens to the best of us.

3. Be prepared and keep an open mind. Here, I'd like to share some of my off-campus experience. I live on what I like to call the "ass side" of campus. Yes, up and over the hill, past Boston Ave., on the wrong side of the tracks. (It may just be the commuter rail, but the tracks indeed lie between my house and Tufts.) I live with eight other people, and we occupy both apartments of a dilapidated two-family house. During my sophomore year, we found a gorgeous apartment, newly refurbished, mere blocks from campus and Davis Square, but there wouldn't have been room for us all. So we turned it down and signed the lease for the sadly lopsided clapboard construction that has been my loving home for two years.

The house is sheathed in chipping brown and blue paint (Go Jumbos!) and sways in the wind. Literally. Our landlord, Bernard I. Green, or, as we call him, "Biggie," who grew up in the house, recently passed away at the age of 96. His son Bernard J. ("BJ," or "Little Biggie") has taken over operations. He plans on renovating, starting with the replacement of any broken doors. Translation: all the doors.

What would be a back yard is a sea of gravel, reined over by T.A. Exteriors ("T & A," to us), a small construction company run out of a shed behind our house. We've never really seen them do work, but they do drink a lot of beer and smoke pot in their truck. To their credit, they did replace our falling front porch. They didn't tell us they were doing it, though, and on the first day of the project several of us almost died leaving for class.

Last but not least, there's Dougie. Dougie is a long-time Medford local who spends most of his days hobbling around our house. He takes out our trash on garbage day, and in return we give him our redeemables. From what we can tell, though, he doesn't actually redeem them, he just piles them in bags and barrels in the yard. He has also, over the years, created other major collections. Notable was the one associated with his plans to start a bicycle rental on Martha's Vineyard: hundreds of broken bike parts pilfered from street corners and dump sites spanning the width of our house, stacked to the windows. Most recently, Dougie has had three old cars towed into our driveway for "restoration." Apparently "restoration" means "removal by the new landlord."

All of the things that make my living situation an example of the worst case scenario are also the things I will remember most fondly in the future. I've grown quite comfortable and content in my crumbling hovel. As to the less attractive points: I consider them character. And my roommates, well, I consider them my best friends. Still. And for all the stresses that close quarters cause, if I had it to do over, I'd do it the same.

Take my advice, and some day you could have a happy home and an eccentric old man of your very own.