We give ourselves names in order to belong, in order to give ourselves a history. Although few Penn students are likely to be involved in any official street gang or mob activity, the need to create a family endures. For those not in a sorority or a fraternity or a "society," the desire to be in a capital-h House still runs strong. Think about how many Facebook groups people make about their houses, as if the numbers 3932, 4000, 3924, 4214, 3700, or 4050 really mean anything. "The ladies of." shirts abound at Fling, and the such-and-such-number "Productions" are always proclaiming their exclusive and likely unattended late-nights. Still others give their house or apartment an actual name: the Deck, the Haunted Cream Egg. Two groups of Beta seniors have named their houses Motel 6 and the Meat Shack, respectively. My friends who just moved south of the border (in other words, outside Spectaguard patrol zone) call their compound the Osage Ma$$ive. Another handful of my friends moved into a top-floor apartment and call it The Body. Why all of the naming?
The idea of a secret clubhouse with secret membership is exciting. Officially recognizing a group as a "collective" gives the idea that what's being done is far more productive than just hanging out. It legitimizes throwing parties where the same group of people show up again and again - it's not just the same people, it's G-Unit!
Belonging - and, conversely, ownership - is important. In Michael Chabon's novel The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, men stuck in Antarctica during World War II are struck by a "naming madness," giving monikers to the stove, their hangovers, and even the cuts on their fingers. We also give names to signify independence. College students are so desperately in puppy love with each mark of freedom and adulthood that they usher in each new appliance like it's a newborn child, deserving of a name and a place in the family. We name our cars, our guitars, our refrigerators and our speaker systems. But the impulse to do so is nothing to be ashamed of; have fun naming your cubicle.
