The Wandering Wordsman is not in today.  He is in New York, celebrating the 222nd anniversary of the state’s admission to the Union, among other things.

Clearly you are here because you want to see this week’s edition of Know Your Picture Characters.  It has been said, though, that you can’t always get what you want.  And this statement bears repeating.  However, it has also been noted that, if you try sometimes, you’ll find you get what you need.  What you need is reassurance that the entry you seek has not disappeared but is merely delayed, and here it is: Know Your Picture Characters will appear on Wednesday, or, in case of unforeseen delays, Thursday.

Happy birthday, Mr. Jagger.

I really do regret to say
That there is no new post today
A precise cause I cannot state
Though one can always speculate

Most like the weekend a role plays
I was away about three days
Returning home late Sunday night
To a world near devoid of light

And inspiration sometimes lacks
For us poor literary hacks
In vain we struggle, all for naught
To come up with one useful thought

I rose early on Easter morn
(A fact of which none did me warn)
A practice known to cause heads pain
And oft disorganize the brain

I could go on, let tongue wag loose
But really there is no excuse
No post today (it’s not just late)
And all one can do now is wait

“Huh?” said Zell.  “What’s going on?”
“Oh, what now?” muttered Squall
Quistis said, “I’ve no idea
What happened here at all”

“I don’t remember anything”
Said Terra, looking blue
Locke, sarcastic as always
Said, “Gee, that’s nothing new”

“Who are all these ruffians?”
Asked Steiner, ever flustered
“Ah, who cares?” said Amarant
His energy unmustered

Tidus asked, “Are you guys dead?”
“Oh, no.”  “No, we’re quite well”
“Sorry, but where I come from
It’s often hard to tell”

Selphie, Rikku, and Eiko
Did quickly disappear
Everyone else tried real hard
To not so loudly cheer

Cloud wandered into the room
“Uh, guys?  This is my show
The title’s The Jenoviad
In case you didn’t know”

“Oh, great.  Here comes Cloud again”
“This guy hogs all the glory”
“Pardon me,” said Auron, cool
“But this is our story”

“You can wait your turn,” said Cloud
“We’ve not yet hit the mid”
“We’ve not even shown up yet!”
Cried Yuffie, Vincent, Cid

“Seriously,” Tifa moaned
“How short will you us cut?
Aeris hasn’t even died”
Poor Aeris shouted, “WHAT?”

“That may be so,” said Zidane
“But we will wait no more”
Shadow said, “This sitting out
Has made us rather sore”

“Fine,” said Barret.  “When I’m through
None of you’ll be upright”
“Oh,” said Irvine, “I don’t know
I-I don’t like to fight”

“Fools,” said Sephiroth, on high
“They really are the worst
None of them has realized
That today is April 1st”

For those of you who weren’t around on Monday, here it is again:  I wrote a novel.  It is a digital novel, titled The World, and it can be found at the Amazon Kindle Store.  The price is six dollars: cheaper than going to a movie and far more entertaining, especially considering the movies that usually come out at this time of year.

Now, I would not ask you to buy a book entirely sight unseen, which is why I have made the introduction and first chapter available to read on this website.  Simply click the button for the “Book” page underneath the banner and start reading.

If you are interested in purchasing the novel, first you will need an amazon.com account. Then, if you do not own a Kindle, you can download the free Kindle application from the Amazon website for iPod Touch, iPhone, or PC (a link for the PC version is provided below). Then you can go to the Kindle store and buy it (using the other handy-dandy link I provided).

Buy the Book!

Download the free Kindle application for PC

This is a follow-up to last week’s entry, specifically to the fifth resolution on the list.  It is intended to serve as a reminder that with the arrival of new things comes the passing of old ones, that the new year cannot start unless the old year finishes.  Or, in the words of Dan Wilson, “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

The noble Cardboardery had humble beginnings. A crate left over from moving in. A box that once contained spoons. Pieces of a table. A hanger. In those primordial days none suspected how far it could go.

Soon, however, the raw materials that would fuel its awe-inspiring expansion were discovered. Diet Pepsi. Beer. Box upon box of Little Caesar’s pizzas. In time it seemed that no amount of cardboard, however great, could satisfy its rapacious appetites.

Yet the noble Cardboardery was ever the gentle giant. Never did it do harm to its neighbors. Never did it lord its might over the lesser -eries. Not once did it catch fire, despite the protestations of critics.

Sadly, like all Mankind’s purest, most laudable endeavors, the noble Cardboardery came to an end. When this seemingly unstoppable juggernaut surpassed the bounds of the closet, its fate was sealed. Just like Icarus flying too high on his wings of wax, the noble Cardboardery achieved a greatness too great for mere mortals, and it drew the wrath of the Gods.

Their vengeance was swift and horrible. They decreed that the noble Cardboardery be disassembled at once, else they would rain down sulfur and brimstone upon its majestic peaks, turning the surrounding apartments–and perhaps all the Earth–into a Hellish holocaust. In an act of typical divine cruelty, they further stipulated that those to take apart the noble Cardboardery would be the very same that had so lovingly given it form. For days the halls were filled with the lamentations of those who had tasted the capriciousness of the Gods at its most bitter.

And then there was nothing.

But do not dwell on this catastrophe, this act of inhuman destruction. All good things must come to an end. Remember the noble Cardboardery as it was: a shining symbol of Man’s triumph over nature, a testament to his tenacity in the face of unbelievable odds and his ability to look into the Void and see what might be. And remember too the miracle of construction: that which has fallen can always be rebuilt.

The author apologizes for his bizarre closet fixation, and would like to assure readers that the site will return to more traditional content next Monday. However, we all have things that we would like to do, not all of which can be achieved: hence the New Year’s resolution. So the author will simply say: tune in next week.

This post is for all you out there who miss seeing pictures on this site.

In honor of the new year, I thought that it would be a good idea to look around my apartment and come up with a list of laudable things to plan to do but then forget about before February rolls around.  The list is as follows:

1. Occasionally use dining table for dining (or, failing that, at least for sitting)

2. Solve disc storage problem

3. Sit in rocking chair

4. Never again go into roommate’s bathroom

5. Solve cardboard storage problem

A poem of mine modeled after Ernest Thayer’s “Casey at the Bat” appeared today in the Minneapolis Star Tribune.  Unfortunately, due to space constraints, they were unable to print the work in its entirety.  Here is the full poem:

Nathan on the Mound: A Ballad of the Republic Sung in 2009

The outlook wasn’t perfect for the Laketown ten that day;
The score stood four to two, but with three innings left to play.
And then when Punto popped up short, and Young was out at home
A most familiar muttering was heard throughout the Dome.

Even then a few fans left, to be looked at askance.
The rest remain’ed in their seats, for they believed in chance.
Insurance or no insurance, they would stick around
Just in case Joe Nathan got a chance to take the mound.

But Nathan was the closer; before him, Guerrier and Crain.
And the former was beleaguered and the latter was in pain.
So from that diehard audience excitement now did bleed.
It seemed not at all likely that Joe Nathan’d get the lead.

But there was something mystical that day in Guerrier’s stance.
And Crain he swore to heav’n above he’d let no man advance.
And when the turf had quieted, and all was said and told
There was Guerrier with three flipped K’s, and Crain received a Hold.

From 20,000 throats and more there rose a thund’rous roar.
‘Twas one that always would arise, regardless of the score.
It echoed off that Teflon dome and shook the very ground,
For Nathan, mighty Nathan, was advancing to the mound.

There was grit in Nathan’s bearing.  There was grit upon his face.
There was grit in ev’ry step he made to gravely take his place.
And when, responding to the crowd, he gave a gentle wave
There could be doubt in no one’s mind; Joe Nathan’d get the save.

Twenty thousand mouths yelled out when he ground ball in glove.
Twelve thousand eyes were on him (to see better, some did shove).
And when the condemned batter stepped into the batter’s box
A smile sprung from Nathan’s lips; he’d beat those damn White Sox.

Now Mauer tried to call for heat, but Nathan shook him off.
“Use my best stuff?  Against this guy?” he fairly seemed to scoff.
And from his pitches that poor batter nearly had to jump.
“That’d be too easy,” Nathan said.  “A walk,” declared the ump.

Then from the stands there rose a noise, like some great devil’s song.
Sure, the call was obvious, but the ump’s always wrong.
“Sue him!  Sue the umpire!” one blustering man said.
And he would’ve seen some lawsuits, had not Nathan shook his head.

A smile of benevolence went out from Nathan’s face.
Where is the challenge in a save, without some men on base?
He got the crowd to settle down, ended the nasty calls.
And pitched to the next batter.  Said the umpire: “Base on balls.”

“Cheat!” the angry fans exclaimed.  “He’s on Guillen’s payroll!”
But one stern look from Nathan and they swallowed their words whole
They saw the smile leave his lips, his hubris drain away,
And knew that he would let no more men get on base that day.

Now Nathan blows out his cheeks, looks like a thoroughbred.
He grinds the ball into his glove until it must be dead.
And now Joe Nathan holds the ball, and now he lets it go.
The clocking man’s astonished, for his gun reads: one-oh-oh.

Oh, somewhere in this land of lakes the people see the sun.
Air fills with scents of barbeque, and children races run.
And somewhere life is filled with song, and somewhere hearts aren’t grave.
But there is no joy in Laketown—mighty Nathan blew the save.

As those of you who have been paying attention may have realized, today’s post is the 100th content post to be presented on this website.  What does this mean?  Well, with four posts per week, it means that the experiment has been going on for approximately 25 weeks, or just under half a year.  And what does that mean?  Almost nothing.  However, because everyone likes big, round numbers, I have included something in today’s entry to mark the occasion, though if you do not wish to waste most of your day, then I will recommend not putting a lot of effort into finding it.