There I was, unshaven and unwashed, half-reclined in my new comfy chair, surrounded by several of my favorite snacks, prepared, (as one can ever be for these apocalyptic events), to face eternity.  Perhaps global warming can be attributed to altering the prophecy.  Maybe the interpreters of Mayan hieroglyphs were, well, less than literarily precise.  As a calendar maker myself, (albeit the factually challenged, personally crafted sort that I make each year for my grandkids), I am aware of the pressures of collecting anniversary–esque data and photos, entering them into a visually compelling layout and clicking the “Publish” button in time for their birthdays.  I can only imagine the Mayan version of all of this, as my ancient counterpart, who had just finished etching the last entry to the 13^th Baktun, (about 400 years of data compared to our measly 12 months), with a rock and a jaguar tooth, thought for a minute about starting the 14^th, then decided to take a break to attend an ōllamaliztli match, and just never got back to it.

Personally, I was grateful for the temporary distraction.  My heart has been aching and I admit that I was having flashbacks of my Hebrew scripture that cited far less evil conduct than our own prompting incineration by a wrathful God.  There has been evidence of foretold signs:  Man’s inhumanity toward man; the rise of false prophets, (I’m going with the irrepressible Wayne LaPierre and John Boehner); and incongruous and unnatural behavior, like bestiality or Tom Cruise playing Jack Reacher.  Maybe I’ll build an ark.  Does anyone know where to get a ruler marked in cubits?