Sorry, this IS my name (well, Charles, I suppose, but no one but my mom’s used that in years).
The origin of mine is a lot like Cees’.
My sisters – all younger than me – used to call me “tua chay”, which means “big sister” in Teochew. That’s a Chinese dialect most of you will not be as familiar with as Mandarin or Cantonese.
Over the years, the term got shortened to one syllable and the addition of a “z”. What is it with young people and the letter z? :roll:
Mine’s boring. Mastersound is the model of my Maton guitar.
[ This Message was edited by: Mastersound on 2002-03-05 00:14 ]
Mine’s pretty predictable, I suppose.
But, you’ll see me on the chat forums sometimes as “mendel”. I’ve used IRC for about ten years now, and I’ve been “mendel” for about six of those. I’m already on a couple other channels on the network we’re using, so if I’m just popping in I don’t bother starting up another program instance to use “rich”. So if you see some guy named “mendel” claiming to be me, no need to be any more suspicious than you would be anyhow. 
It used to be “mendelson”, which was a handy way of fitting “mendelssohn” in nine letters, but people started calling me “mendel”, and it stuck. So it’s either after Felix, or Gregor, or Joe. Or nothing at all.
- -Rich
Mine’s a wine making term. It’s also the name of a gourmet deli/wine tasting room where I live.
Now, don’t go thinking I’m in to making wine. I just liked the sound of it. Since I live in “the heart of wine country” why not?
[ This Message was edited by: 24BRIX on 2002-03-05 00:56 ]
I got sucked into a contract for MSN for two years sigh. I needed to pick a nick name and wanted Lemon Drop. That, of course, was taken. It kept trying to pick names for me, and for some odd reason it picked Arcaic Rat. I took Arcaic and Lemons and stuck them together.
hey, Kari (Arcaic Lemon),
nice to see you posting.
Best
Hey Kari!
It’s good to see you back. I’ve always wondered about your username–I like it much better than Arcaic Rat. 
We need your help on ‘It’s Sickening’… postings have dwindled to nothing without you and Dan!! :
:
Hwyl fawr,
Andrea ~*~
Ok, I wasn’t going to, but since I’ve posted to this thread now, I guess I might as come right out with it and let everybody know how I got my nickname. Just don’t laugh.
It was because of Jenny Mayweather. She didn’t give me the name exactly, but it was still because of her: She won the spelling bee.
I remember it was in seventh grade and we had a schoolwide spelling bee. I was the one of the two finalists (even though I really didn’t spell very well at all, and don’t to this day). The other finalist was Jenny Mayweather. Jenny grew up to be a beautiful woman and we couldn’t believe it when she married Isaac Menachem Abrahamson, a Kletzmer musician specializing in Bar Mitzvahs. Isaac’s mother died of grief when he married a shiksa, but Jenny gave Isaac eight children before I lost count, so on balance, I guess it’s all right. But that is another story.
At the time of the spelling bee, of course, I hated Jenny and her damned freckles and stupid pigtails. I couldn’t admit that she spelled better than I did. But she did win the spelling bee. The word was “scalpel”. I spelled it “skullpale”. Everybody laughed. The whole school. I was so embarrassed and humiliated, worse than the time I had worn my sister’s skirt to kindergarten, not knowing any better. I was so angry that I vowed revenge on Jenny Mayweather. I was going to singe her stupid pigtails off with fire. And that’s how I got my nickname, Bloomfield.
You see, they caught me sneaking back from the spelling-bee-bonfire toward Jenny with a large burning log. It must have looked suspicious, because they scolded me and made me go home. The next day I had to go to see the Reverend, who was going to give me a talking-to. I’ve always known that evil thoughts attract bad things, and I was positively stewing in evil thoughts that morning as walked down the country lane toward the Reverend’s house.
And so they got me. It felt funny, like being lifted up and falling asleep at the same time. The space aliens abducted me to the distant world of Gor, a brutal planet with mean warriors and pliant women. (Don’t worry, I didn’t believe it either, at first.) The brutal world of Gor was not much better than the spelling bee and I failed miserably. I didn’t cut it as a sex-slave, and all I was fit for was food for the priest-kings. But they had already eaten. I was packed off again on the next slave ship and returned to Earth, not really harmed but pretty confused. And that’s how I met Bloomfield.
The Gorean slavers got the time not quite right and they dumped me a few centuries back (during the time of Henry VIII, as I later found out). I was picked up by this very peculiar gent in black who wasn’t at all surprised when I told him that I had been abducted by space aliens, rejected as a sex-slave, and that I wanted to see my mother now. He couldn’t help me much, but he was friendly and wanted me to help him. “What do you want me to help you with?” He held up one of his long fingers and stared into my eyes: “To turn copper into gold!” Great, I thought, this keeps getting better and better.
Anyway, I wasn’t going to see my mother soon, and Bloomfield at least fed me well. Yes, that was Bloomfield, Master William Bloomfield. He was constantly having dreams and talking to flowers and mixing stuff. I got used to his ways and helped him in his shop. (I never got used to the awful smell…) Actually, he was working on a book and he made me write it down for him. Here is a part that I still remember:
The Dreame of Mr Blomefeild
Audite somnium meum quod vidi.
The Mt yeere of Christ, D L & seuen,
In the month of march, asleep as I did lye,
Late in the night, of the clocke about eleuen,
In spiritu rapt I was, soodenly into heauen;
Where I saw sittinge in most glorious maiesty
Three beholding, I adored but one in deitye:A Spirit incircumscript with burninge heate incombustible;
Light of brightnes permanent, as fountaine of all light;
Three knit in one, with glory incomprehensible,
Which to behold I had a greate Delighte.
This trulye [to attayne] surmounted my might;
But a voice from that glorious brightnes to me saide,
“I am one god of Immeasurable maiesty: be not afraide.”
As you can tell, my spelling really was horrible.
What I didn’t realize at the time is that Gorean slavers have a strict code of conduct, and displacing returned slaves in time is considered a no-no. So eventually they came back for me. They still had the same navigator and they missed it a bit, which is why I spent several years with Bloomfield.
On the day they came for me we had just run the Great Experiment, and I think we actually did manage to produce some gold. A little nugget. But the forces involved are truly terrible, and the tower caught on fire. So as I get sucked up by the Goreans, and I’m losing consciousness fast, I see below me the burning tower and Bloomfield standing there in his black habit laughing this cackling laugh and the flames lapping higher and higher. Poor fellow.
When I came round during the Saturday-morning cartoons I was still screaming “Bloomfield, Bloomfield!” at the top of my lungs, because I had grown to like him, and there he was burning with his gold. My brothers laughed and my mother was worried. My father beat me for not going to see the Reverend. Jenny Mayweather didn’t speak to me for months.
And they all called me Bloomfield after that.
And they all called me Bloomfield after that.
You mean it’s not because you live in Bloomfield???
Imagine my chagrin.
jb
Bravo, Bloomfield!! Bravo! Bravo!
Vinny
Booomfield,
My goodness, you’re quite a writer and have a really good imagination. Maybe you are our resident breakfast-food?
Hey Bloomfield,
I keep telling those Gorean Slavers to use the memory-wipe when they return the goods, but do they listen? Do they? Boy is someone gonna catch it hot when I get home. That’s their P45s in the post.
You just can’t get the staff…
If you could possibly stand out in your front yard at 3am tonight for half an hour I think we can get this whole sorry mess sorted.
Are you sure they weren’t the crystal people?
My ID is also my name, or at least my common name. All my friends call me Lee. My full name is Hugh Leroy Marsh, III. Yep, I’m a third so grandad got hugh, my dad got Roy, and I settled for Lee. I once looked up the meaning of the names and found Hugh meant intellectual, Lee meant lion or lion-like, and Roy was for royality or king. Hmm. Intellectual, lion-like, king, … naaahhh didn’t really fit any of the Marshes.
Well upon the birth of my first son, we considered a making him a fourth (IV), but after 3 strikes, I figured the name was out-o-here. I kidded my wife, at the time we should name the kid, Boggy, but eventually we settled for Jonathan David.
Jon, grimmaced once about the commoness of the name. I reminded him he could have turned out Boggy Marsh and if he keeps second guessing his dad he could end up sitting out in the same.
So friends in the real world know me as Lee Marsh, so it only seems fitting that folks here on C&F should know me as the same.
Wow, after the Tale of Sir Bloomfield, I hesitate to raise my head…but I’ll give it a go anyway.
Badgers, to me, symbolize tenacity, the absolute refusal to just roll over and die. I’ve always admired them for that.
(besides, I personally throw in with any animal the size of a placemat who will attack a moving 4 wheel drive)
And I am, of course, the only person on this board from Wyoming at the moment.
(I’ve been told I’m the only person in Wyoming, period, but that’s another thread.)
Tom
I should have been inspired when I chose a name for the message board. I wasn’t. My orginal America online name was Mamakash, and I kept it as my email address name ever since(I am not with America Online at this time, however). My conure’s name is Kashi(Japanese for ‘confection’), I am her mother, thus comes the name “Mamakash”
I used “Brenna Ferry” for my X-files fan fiction. Probably should have chose that name. Ooh, I am a woman of great mystery!
Didymus is after the disciple Thomas who was also called Didymus (The Twin). Thomas is also know as Doubting Thomas because he said that he would not believe Jesus had risen until he put his fingers in the holes where the nails had been driven. I’ve touched the holes…
After listening to Dr. Laura on the radio a few times, I realized that I had taken on a new identity 14 years ago upon the birth of my oldest son. He’s really a Junior, but we call him Paul (my middle name) in order to avoid confusion.
It was amazing how much of a change can be wrought by having a child. Suddenly a parent’s own needs and wants become (by choice) very unimportant. I guess one’s children really do become their reason for being.
Also, when Paul was older and first enrolled in school, his friends (and even their parents) addressed me as “Paul’s dad”.
So…how else could I be known to my fellow whistlers?
On 2002-03-05 11:25, brownja wrote:
And they all called me Bloomfield after that.
You mean it’s not because you live in Bloomfield???
Imagine my chagrin.
jb
No. In fact I resented it when I found out that there was a Bloomfield, CT.
Vinny: [blush]thanks.[/blush]
Cees: 
MM: LOL! Why is it always 3 am and always the front yard?