...or some arbitrarily-chosen shorter period (but remember, the millennium is fast coming to a close ;)

> Could someone get away with a completely different character from his/her own?

I suppose that I have one of the more obvious* personas (personae?) around here; and I have certainly left a lot of tracks -- so here's the challenge: compose a bio for tsuwm*; gender and age should be easy, but what about interests other than words, politics, religion, thickness of skin, etc. two categories: originality and closest to the mark. I will consider this a learning experience. 8^)

*the supreme universal [word] master?? get real!!

Anna is hereby acknowledging the challenge, but not yet rising to meet it.

Since I've left you all with a yearning for a Capricious Piffle for a while, I feel obligated to take a whack at this.

It was a cool, autumn day on the little Pacific island of Tao Pulai when a small package fluttered to the beach from who knows where. It was a lazy day, so most were unaware of the occurance. Osaki Bumbo, a poor fisherman living on the island, was meandering along the coast when he came upon the teal package. The old man opened the unattended parcel. Somewhat shocked, he took a step back. Slumbering peacefully within was a tiny baby boy, nestled among what appeared to be the crumpled folios of a yellowed addition of the Samuel Johnson dictionary. Being such a fine day, Osaki was in a congenial mood and decided to take the baby home to his village with him. The little boy was well accepted in the tribal community and lived there for the better part of his childhood. He spent much of his time reading, juggling, fishing for bicycles and playing the bagpipes. But as was the tribal custom, at the age of 5, all young boys were submitted to tribal vote on whether or not they could remain in the village. Seen as a bit of an outsider already, on his fifth birthday, the little boy was swiftly voted off the island and shipped to Minnesota, where, after attending Harvard University at the ripe old age of 6, he became a garbage man. He served in this position until he was 23, when he was promoted to President of the Financial Institute of Sartorial Humbuggery, an occupation which he still holds. In his free time he enjoys eavesdropping, weather forecasting, pole vaulting, playing water polo, darning socks, yawning, armed robbery and, of course, etymology. Thus is the tale of the rather obscure life of our dear friend, Tsuwm.

I shed a tear over Jazzo's sorry story, but I heard it differently, from a reliable source...

There once was a bright young man who went to the hills of Minnesota to live with and care for his sick old aunt after her husband passed away. Being an orderly person by nature, he cleaned the cottage meticulously, chopped firewood and cooked her three tasty meals a day. After years of this work, he found he was becoming exhausted and began to take respite from the housework - initially short rests but gradually longer and longer - by perusing his aunt's large collection of dusty old tomes about language, poring over the seemingly endless supply of obscure words he found therein and marveling at the linguistic fun of it all.

Over the years he gradually cared less and less for his aunt, and more and more for his words, to the point where the old lady's health declined, until she eventually died. By then, however, the man's addiction to his hobby was so great that he did not even notice her death. Her body gradually decomposed, rodents fed upon her flesh, and one day a bear tried to make off with her remains, but the body became caught and the animal had to abandon the effort, leaving the broken skeleton slumped against an outside wall of the cottage.

A passing hunter spotted the body and called the local police. The sheriff, a French detective named Poirot, and his deputy duly arrived, to find the man inside the cottage, his nose buried in a large book. After a cursory investigation of the scene, the following conversation took place:

Sheriff (yawning and stretching): Deputy, read this man 'is rights, and arrest 'im for the murder of this woman. It's clear what's 'appened 'ere. 'E's killed 'er by throwing 'er body against the wall, he's 'acked off 'er flesh and left 'er lying 'ere as some sort of morbid trophy. For this despicable crime, 'e'll be flogged, imprisoned, maybe worse.

Accused Man: Cease your stultiloquy** and your pandiculation, you vermiform unipotent anachorism. This is sheer whigmaleerie. You wouldn't know the truth if you tumped it over. I came here in antemosiac times to care for this relict. For years I have been truly ruly, I have made her sipid meals, despite my defatigable disposition. Do you think my thanatophilia is so great that I would spanghew my aunt to death, excarnate her body and leave the evidence there for all to see! I am innocent! So your vopulatory plans are not only delible, they are full of inconcinnity. Here's what really happened...

Sheriff: Enough of this nonsense! Deputy, 'andcuff 'im.

Deputy: You want me to charge him?

Sheriff: Book'im. And I want to pursue a civil case against 'im for libel.

Deputy: You want me to instigate the necessary legal actions?

Sheriff: Yes. [Pointing at the man] Sue'im.
---
The name Sue'im stuck, although the court stenographer struggled with the spelling. Since nobody, not even the learned judge could understand more than a few words of his testimony, Tsuwm was found guilty of the murder, but was released on the grounds of diminished responsibility through word-induced insanity, on an undertaking that he never again appear in public. Thus Tsuwm became a recluse, his world restricted to just two sources of pleasure - the library which he inherited from his aunt, and his connection to the "real" world of words via his Internet connection.

**Acknowledgement to http://members.aol.com/tsuwm/, for those who have no idea what I'm talking about.

jazzy, that is sooo close to the mark it's not even funny... just change Harvard to the University of Southern North Dakota (at Hoople).

and marty, your entry has me bumfoozled!

In the beginning was the word. And the word was Aardvark. (This discounts “a,” which is indefinite, and unable to live unsupported by other words, and Aa, which is a fictional God-like essence invented by J.R.R.Tolkien)

But (to cut a long story short, and glossing over the gory details of creation) one word was not enough for a newly burgeoning world – especially when it was a Boering one like that – so it became necessary for a sub-creational functionary to be installed as a minor deity, with responsibility for universal (well- really planetary, but we all have to have some delusions of grandeur) etymological coherence.

There was no such being in existence, so one had to be created and, being created, had to be named. As it was deemed unseemly for the newly created sub-creational functionary to name itself, a title was hastily – and uninspiredly – invented (well - cobbled together would be nearer the mark – why can’t beings that create also create beings’ names with some imagination?)
The name chosen was, of course, The Sub-creational Universal Word Master.

the millennium is fast coming to a close

Yeah, very 'Fin de Cycle'.

jazzy, that is sooo close to the mark it's not even funny

You got voted off a little Pacific island when you were 5?

where do you think "they" got the idea for "Survivor"?!

WHAT THE NATIVES SUSPECT TSUWM TO BE:


....................TSUWMTSUWMTSUWMTSUWM
....................TSUWMTSUWMTSUWMTSUWM
...................TSU......................................WM
..................T.SU......................................WM
..................T.SU......................................WM
.................T..SU......................................WM
................T...SU......................................WM
................T...SU......................................WM
..................T.SU......................................WM
....................TSUWMTSUWMTSUWMTSUWM
.....................|...@@@@.................(on).......|
....................TSUWMTSUWMTSUWMTSUWM
......................................TSUWM
......................................TSUWM
...........................TSUWMTSUWMTSUWM...
...........................TSUWMTSUWMTSUWM...

WHAT THE NATIVES SUSPECT TSUWM TO BE:


I admire your graphical skills, belM, but you have to be wrong. No-one, not even the least sophisticated natives, could suspect tsuwm of being empty headed.

Ah, but I suspect belM was implying that tsuwm might be that perfect Turing machine - the one finally capable of passing the Turing test!

cheer

the sunshine warrior

You mean, like - a Grand Turer?

Or the winner of the British Turing Car Championship...

all right then; ::swagger stick under arm:: this challenge is showing definite signs of deteriorating into Yet Another UK witzelsucht and I think it's time to shut it down.

Let's not forget Johnny von Neumann, the American (kind of) who also made such a huge contribution to the early days of computers. Would you rather be a Yes man or a Neumann?

Would you rather be a Yes man or a Neumann?


Yes, please.
I love that 70s Prog Rock.

(even though it isn't Rocket Science)

Okay, here then is the rest of the story. TSUWM is my WADdy persona. In truth I am a mild-mannered computer geek who writes in normal English sentences and uses Capitalization and everything. How dull is that?

The Clark Kent of the AWAD world, so to speak?

Clark Kent of the AWAD world?

..and Clark Kent in the "real" world, too.


Join the club!