Pointless College Stories 2, Episode 3: Origin Story
Today's first installment of Pointless College Stories answers a burning question that nearly none of you have ever though about before (especially those who already know the answer):
From my icon, you can tell that I have some affection for Opus, the comic character, and while I was in college, I actually went by that name. Heck, I still go by that name whenever any college friends are around. I suspect that the other PSU alumni hereabouts can confirm that while they do know my given name, they would have to make a conscious effort to use it to refer to me. I know it takes me a second, if I need to refer to Squid or Fish by their real names.
There actually was a good reason for this silliness, though. The simple explanation is that my freshman year, there were way too many people on my floor named Dave. (Old joke from that era: If you wake up next to someone you don’t remember going to bed with, guess "Jen." If it’s a guy, guess "Dave." If you can’t tell, just slip out quietly.) So we needed ways to differentiate ourselves. On most floors, the RAs made up colorful signs to hang on the students’ doors, with their names spelled out in colored marker or glitter, or something. Our RA, being somewhat lame, just used plain index cards...which we quickly discovered were reversible. So overnight, our floor was occupied by famous pairs -- Bill & Ted, Jake & Elwood...and in our case, Bill & Opus. Not all of these stuck, though; if you take a tall, Asian kid named Scott, who looks nothing like John Belushi, and try to get people to call him Jake, it’s just not going to work. Opus, though, and Elwood...these are nicknames that work. We hadn’t originally intended for the names to go beyond the door signs, but they just fit. I still remember the time, about a month in, when Dave was playing Tetris, made a lousy move, and muttered to himself, “Oh, nice one, Elwood.” That was the precise moment when the names stuck, as far as I’m concerned.
So that solved the naming problem, right? So I thought. A few weeks later, I was sitting in the lobby, doing a little studying, when I heard a voice I didn’t know say “Hey, Opus! Coming to dinner?” I looked up in time to see a guy I didn’t recognize, and who looked nothing like me, saying, “Sure, where should we eat?” I hid behind my notebook for a bit, and (I swear I’m not making this up) the first guy asked, “Did you hear there’s some freshman trying to call himself Opus now?” It seemed Opus had heard, and when he caught the guy...fortunately, they were out the door by then, and I could slink back to my room unnoticed.
As it happened, though, luck was on my side. The elder Opus quickly made friends with Squid and Elwood, bonding over a mutual affection for Mystery Science Theater. MST3K wasn’t shown anywhere in State College, but the senior Opus got regular videotapes in the mail from his folks, and hosted regular screenings in his room. I managed to attend a couple of them without revealing my identity, and once he had me categorized as “the right sort,” I outed myself, and he couldn’t really be mad. In fact, he was more than happy to be “Opus Maximus”...which he thought was because he was older, but he was in fact quite a bit bigger than me. He was also pleased to tell anyone who would listen that if the two of us were in the same room, it was “Opera.” (That’s true, by the way -- go ahead, look it up -- but I did get tired of hearing it after a while.) And when he graduated before me, he bequeathed me his excellent door sign, made out of choice Bloom County strips. I’m pretty sure he went to medical school. So if you’re having heart surgery, and your doctor answers to “Opus,” well, it’s not me.
From my icon, you can tell that I have some affection for Opus, the comic character, and while I was in college, I actually went by that name. Heck, I still go by that name whenever any college friends are around. I suspect that the other PSU alumni hereabouts can confirm that while they do know my given name, they would have to make a conscious effort to use it to refer to me. I know it takes me a second, if I need to refer to Squid or Fish by their real names.
There actually was a good reason for this silliness, though. The simple explanation is that my freshman year, there were way too many people on my floor named Dave. (Old joke from that era: If you wake up next to someone you don’t remember going to bed with, guess "Jen." If it’s a guy, guess "Dave." If you can’t tell, just slip out quietly.) So we needed ways to differentiate ourselves. On most floors, the RAs made up colorful signs to hang on the students’ doors, with their names spelled out in colored marker or glitter, or something. Our RA, being somewhat lame, just used plain index cards...which we quickly discovered were reversible. So overnight, our floor was occupied by famous pairs -- Bill & Ted, Jake & Elwood...and in our case, Bill & Opus. Not all of these stuck, though; if you take a tall, Asian kid named Scott, who looks nothing like John Belushi, and try to get people to call him Jake, it’s just not going to work. Opus, though, and Elwood...these are nicknames that work. We hadn’t originally intended for the names to go beyond the door signs, but they just fit. I still remember the time, about a month in, when Dave was playing Tetris, made a lousy move, and muttered to himself, “Oh, nice one, Elwood.” That was the precise moment when the names stuck, as far as I’m concerned.
So that solved the naming problem, right? So I thought. A few weeks later, I was sitting in the lobby, doing a little studying, when I heard a voice I didn’t know say “Hey, Opus! Coming to dinner?” I looked up in time to see a guy I didn’t recognize, and who looked nothing like me, saying, “Sure, where should we eat?” I hid behind my notebook for a bit, and (I swear I’m not making this up) the first guy asked, “Did you hear there’s some freshman trying to call himself Opus now?” It seemed Opus had heard, and when he caught the guy...fortunately, they were out the door by then, and I could slink back to my room unnoticed.
As it happened, though, luck was on my side. The elder Opus quickly made friends with Squid and Elwood, bonding over a mutual affection for Mystery Science Theater. MST3K wasn’t shown anywhere in State College, but the senior Opus got regular videotapes in the mail from his folks, and hosted regular screenings in his room. I managed to attend a couple of them without revealing my identity, and once he had me categorized as “the right sort,” I outed myself, and he couldn’t really be mad. In fact, he was more than happy to be “Opus Maximus”...which he thought was because he was older, but he was in fact quite a bit bigger than me. He was also pleased to tell anyone who would listen that if the two of us were in the same room, it was “Opera.” (That’s true, by the way -- go ahead, look it up -- but I did get tired of hearing it after a while.) And when he graduated before me, he bequeathed me his excellent door sign, made out of choice Bloom County strips. I’m pretty sure he went to medical school. So if you’re having heart surgery, and your doctor answers to “Opus,” well, it’s not me.