David Barton is on the warpath again. Unable to understand why he and fellow opponents of same-sex marriage are losing ground faster than you can say “I do,” he has set his sights on a new target: Starbucks.

David Barton

He’s calling for a boycott, and I must admit, it’s not a bad strategy. Starbucks hasn’t been shy about its support for marriage equality, and with its enormous influence over the American public, it is clearly a big player. I mean, who doesn’t base their voting decisions on the opinions of their favorite coffeehouse chain, after all? Take Starbucks out of the equation, the thinking goes, and gay-rights advocates won’t have the heart (or the caffeine-induced energy!) to go on.

Here’s what Barton had to say on the issue:

[T]here’s no way a Christian can help support what is attacking God. I’m sorry, you’ve got to find some other coffee to drink. You can’t drink Starbucks and be biblically correct on this thing. It’s just a real simple principle.

Shaming your followers into doing what you want — that’s the example Jesus left for us, right?

If you haven’t figured it out yet, I think Barton’s call for “biblically correct” Christians to side with him in boycotting Starbucks is a terrible idea. Actually, I don’t think we should be talking about it all (attention-seeking trolls are usually best left ignored), but it’s out there now. And, as an evangelical Christian myself, I feel compelled to respond.

Frankly, I find Barton’s words ill-advised and rather shortsighted. Starbucks supports gay marriage — so what? The company is not propagating a business model that requires its underpaid overseas laborers to put themselves in mortal danger on a daily basis. It’s taking a stand for “respecting diversity,” in solidarity with its 200,000 employees and millions of customers.

Maybe you disagree with their position; lots of people do, and that’s OK. But I don’t think it’s really a “Let’s-try-and-put-them-out-of-business” kind of offense.

Now, I’m not naive. I know Starbucks’ stance isn’t just about being a crusader for justice. If we learned anything from last year’s Chik-Fil-A debacle, it’s that these types of polarizing issues can be just as big a motivator for your supporters as they are for opponents. I’m sure Starbucks’ executives expected at least as many people to start patronizing their stores because of its pro-gay marriage position as they feared might boycott them.

It’s not just a moral issue for Starbucks; supporting gay marriage makes good business sense. It’s a fact that Nike, Intel, Verizon, McGraw Hill, Cablevision, Morgan Stanley and dozens more of our country’s largest businesses acknowledged earlier this year when they filed a brief with the U.S. Supreme Court in support of nationwide marriage equality.

As the companies pointed out in the brief, the current state of affairs creates a number of administrative headaches for them and their bookkeepers, and they fear it will hurt their recruiting. They say:

By singling out a group for less favorable treatment, Proposition 8 impedes businesses from achieving the market’s ideal of efficient operations — particularly in recruiting, hiring, and retaining talented people who are in the best position to operate at their highest capacity…potential recruits or employees [that] are members of a same-sex couple…may forgo the opportunity to work in California, and prefer other states (like Iowa, New York, and Massachusetts) or other nations (like Spain, Sweden, Denmark, the Netherlands, Portugal, or Belgium) where they can be married and obtain equal treatment and respect under the law.

Surely, a free-market capitalist like Barton can see where they’re coming from.

So, not only do I think boycotting Starbucks is misguided, it’s hypocritical, unless one also — following the clear biblical principles of fairness and equality — boycotts Apple, Facebook, eBay, Levi Strauss, Office Depot, Panasonic and any other business that has or does sign on in support of gay marriage.

If you feel obliged to boycott Starbucks because of its stance on same-sex marriage, then by all means, do it. But to be fair, looks like you’ll be signing on for a whole lot of boycotting.

Sounds pretty exhausting, if you ask me.

I don’t often go to Starbucks, anyway. It has nothing to do with their politics, or the fact that their logo is a topless, pagan symbol (anyone else surprised Barton didn’t even mention that in his sermon?). No, I’m just incredibly cheap and don’t like paying 10 times as much for something a plastic machine can make for me at home.

But even if that weren’t the case, I’m pretty sure I’d ignore this boycott. I’d rather see us try to base our consumer decisions on whether the companies do good work, treat their employees fairly and make the world a better place.

Maybe Starbucks is on that list, and maybe it isn’t. But that’s for you to decide — not me. And definitely not David Barton.

One of the others (Thomas, I think — hard to tell. Like I said: it’s dark) nudges me. I grunt, my sleepy, uncomfortable version of “Yes, may I help you?” only with extra crankiness. I think he’s pointing. I can’t really make out his hand, but I can make out what I imagine he’s pointing at.

Because that thing is glowing with a light of its own.

“It’s a ghost!” I hear one man cry hoarsely, the fear unmistakable in his voice. The others are redoubling their efforts at the paddles, and the air becomes filled with the splashes of their labors and the wonderfully colorful curses emanating from their mouths.

The rest of us are bustling with our own work. I don’t know exactly what the others are doing, but I know what I’m about. And after a few moments of frantic groping in the blackness, I find what I’m looking for: a gnarled, weighty branch we had gathered for firewood earlier in the day.

It would serve as a passable bludgeon, you know, provided that thing (which is gaining on us by the second; damn those shiftless sacks at the oars!) has a body.

Nearer and nearer it draws, moving impossibly fast. I look forward, my eyes straining, but finally being able to pick out the smudgiest of details in the gradually lightening dawn. The shore is within view (or is that just my imagination?), but I don’t see that there’s any way we’ll make it in time.

I’m pondering my chances of diving in the boiling waves and making for land, when I get a nasty shock. The men have stopped paddling. Yes, I can barely see, but the change is obvious. They’re not even looking ahead anymore; they’re facing the opposite direction. Strangely, in the dim glow that whatever-that-thing-is is emanating, I can see that they don’t appear to be afraid — not exactly.

I turn.

“Jesus?” It’s not I that speak; at least, I don’t think it is. But at that moment, I really couldn’t care less who spoke. Because it’s not a ghost on the water. It’s Jesus. And, all of a sudden, I forget all about the wind and the waves, and how tired and hungry and cranky I am. I am transfixed.

“Everything is all right,” he says. “Yes, it’s me. Don’t be afraid.”

It’s crazy. This is crazy. People don’t just walk on water — everybody knows that. And so, I want to be afraid. Actually, I want to be terrified. But there’s something about this impossible man’s simple words. Something calming, and oddly powerful.

They echo in my head. “Don’t be afraid.”

Don’t be afraid.

I love that story. As I mentioned last week, I recently decided to quit my job. In talking it over with one of my friends, he mentioned the passage I’ve been riffing on above, and I immediately rejected it.

“That’s a little much,” I thought. “I’m not one of the disciples.”

Which is a stupid thing to think, of course, because yes, I am. No, not one of the disciples, but I am a disciple of Jesus — at least, I try to be worthy of such a name.

And, I’d be lying if I said this passage hasn’t served as some encouragement over the past few weeks. There is at least one parallel I can’t deny: In the real text of the story, the disciples are described as “terrified” when they first see Jesus. And I have certainly been terrified about this decision.

I’m generally not an impulsive person, so to up and quit a decent job because “my heart tells me to” is pretty out of character for me. Plus, it took me a long time to get this job in the first place, and I hated being unemployed.

My epiphany came, oddly enough, when I was watering our vegetable garden about a month ago. I believe there are specific things — good things, great things, even — that God made us for and put us on the earth to do. And, that day in the vegetable garden, I realized that I wasn’t doing them. I wasn’t checking any of them off that list, because I was afraid.

I was afraid of a lot of things. I was afraid of failure. I was afraid of not providing for my family. I was afraid of being thought a fool. Maybe more than anything else, I was afraid of presuming too much on God.

And yet, when I thought of eternity, of how, when it’s all said and done, my works will be measured and anything that wasn’t done for the good of his kingdom will be burned away, those fears seemed a whole lot smaller. In fact, a greater fear took their place — a good fear. I became afraid that I was wasting my time, wasting the precious days God had given me on things I don’t really believe in. And that seemed to me to be a far greater sin than being a foolish 25-year-old (which, as my wife will assure you, I most definitely am).

Did I make the right decision? I don’t know yet. But I’m pretty sure I made it for the right reasons, and I think, sometimes, that’s what really matters.

Why, you ask? One word: portmanteau. Yes, portmanteau, which Merriam-Webster defines as “a large suitcase” or “a word or morpheme whose form and meaning are derived from a blending of two or more distinct forms.” For my purposes, I’m going to be referring to the second definition.

Last week, I wrote an article on a dinner that Newberg’s Painted Lady Restaurant is preparing for an event at the prestigious James Beard House in Greenwich Village. The theme of the dinner is “Newburgundian,” which is a portmanteau of Newberg and the Burgundy region of France, and that’s how I described it in the write-up. I thought the word fit well, because the theme meant taking certain resources of the Newberg area (local wines, produce and game) and preparing it in the style and spirit of Burgundian fine dining.

My editor, however, would have none of it. He had never heard of the word “portmanteau,” and he presumed most of our readers wouldn’t have either. Hence, he refused to let me use it. He offered a couple alternatives (“blend” and “mash”); I cringed and suggested “combination,” which is what he ultimately went with. (On second thought, “blend” might have been the better choice.)

I should clarify something here: I had already elected to leave the Graphic before this little tiff, so it didn’t actually factor into the decision at all. But, on reflection, I think the incident sums up pretty neatly my reasons for leaving.

Because, in the end, it doesn’t matter if “combination” technically means the same thing as portmanteau (or close enough). It’s not the word I wanted to use, or the one I thought would best convey what I was trying to convey.

I’m sure some of you are saying, “What’s the big deal? It’s just one word. It doesn’t matter.” And I have to argue that yes, it does matter, on two levels.

First, as a writer, words matter. You wouldn’t try to tell an auto mechanic, “It’s just one nut — don’t worry about it,” would you? If you did, you might not enjoy your drive home. And similarly, I doubt you’d feel very comforted if you heard your doctor say, “Eh, it’s just one dose. Who cares?”

For writers, words are our nuts and bolts. They are our doses. We want them to be precise, in exactly the right amounts and in exactly the right places.

But the words also matter to me as a man of faith. As a Christian, I try to follow the example of 1 Corinthians 10:31: “So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.” And so, that’s an exhortation not just for writers but for any possible endeavor. “Halfhearted” is not to be an appropriate description of any of our efforts. “Good enough” is not good enough.

I picked the portmanteau story because it’s illustrative, but there has been more than a few occasions during my time in the newspaper business that I have felt like my creative spirit has been pruned back. And most every time it happened, I would begin to regulate myself a little bit more — to, in essence, pre-squelch my own creativity and save my editors the trouble.

Now, here’s the really crazy part: At least in the case of the portmanteau, my editor was completely right. He was 100-percent justified in doing what he did. In journalism school, we were taught to write for a broad audience — specifically, sixth-graders. That’s not because J-school professors think people are stupid, but rather because journalists are to make every effort to remove any possible barrier to the reader’s comprehension of the material in the article.

Newswriting, after all, is not about showing off how big your vocabulary is. It’s about telling people information you believe they need to know.

So, yes, my editor was right (I wonder what he would think if he heard me say that!). But I’m still leaving. Because, maybe, I just don’t want to write for sixth-graders anymore.

No, I feel drawn elsewhere. I want to write things that inspire people, that change things for the better — even the tiniest bit. I want to write things that share — in simple, authentic ways — the joy I’ve found in following Jesus. But at the same time, I want to more deeply explore this faith I have, to cut through the prefab, one-size-fits-all answers that plague the evangelical church, and find what, if anything, we have to offer the world that will make it a nicer place. Yes, I know: “We have Jesus!” But surely, if our Jesus is the way, the truth and the life (as I believe he is), his church must be capable of being more than the source of trendy Bible covers, Chik-fil-A (as amazing as it undeniably is) and The Ungame.

In short, I want to write books (or more accurately, publish books — which appears to be considerably harder). I have no real guarantee that I’ll succeed, but I strongly suspect that if I didn’t give it my very best shot, I’d regret it. And at 25, I’d rather fail than have regrets.

Hence, the main aims of this blog are shifting along with the redesigned layout (which I hope you like, by the way). I plan to soon begin sharing in much greater detail the different projects I’m working on, probably well before August, which is my current end-date at the paper.

If you get curious before then or would like to share any other thoughts, please feel free to email me. Thanks for your support.

The horrific devastation that storm wrought is something that still haunts me when I think about it, but just as unforgettable was the incredible bravery and resilience I saw in the people of Joplin. What follows is a column I wrote for the Branson Tri-Lakes News just a few days after the twister struck.

An opportunity to volunteer with the tornado relief effort opened up for me Thursday morning, and I jumped on it.

I wanted to help the recovery, of course — I’m sure pretty much everyone in the Branson area has felt that desire — but, on reflection, I realized that wasn’t actually my primary motivation.

With so many people experiencing pain and devastation at a level our nation has — thankfully — rarely experienced in its history, and it happening so unbelievably close, watching the events unfold on a newspaper page or a TV screen in the comfort of my home didn’t sit right with me.

I wanted to see it first-hand, to be able to feel a human connection to this and to try to make some kind of real sacrifice — however small — to the people who are hurting so much.

So I called and signed up Wednesday to volunteer and, thinking I would be a part of the clean-up, I dressed for the day in the most rugged, torn and paint-stained clothes I could find in the back of my closet.

Despite my uniform, the job assigner at the Missouri Southern State University Student Center apparently thought the scrawny 22-year-old sitting before him would be better working on a computer instead of chainsawing 40-foot trees. He was probably right.

So I spent the morning helping organize a homeowners’ database for Americorps, one of the agencies serving in the area.

And although I was removed from the actual victims, it still struck me hard that every name was a real person whose life had been turned upside-down.

There were more than 200 entries on the list, and that came from just preliminary field work in one of four “zones” hit hardest by Sunday’s EF5 tornado.

Afterward, I took a short drive through Range Line Road and some other areas the twister tore through.

I figured, if given the chance, I could write about what I saw and felt for those who want to know, but can’t come themselves.

Now I know how truly foolish I was to think mere words would do the devastation any remote type of justice.

I could tell you that I saw metal walls crumbled like tissue paper, trees carved into jagged splinters and an entire retail store reduced to a pile of rubble, but that would miss the terrible, gut-wrenching tales of those who lost loved ones, homes and everything they owned.

But if I tell you, for example, about the now-homeless young man I met, who was volunteering Thursday after losing his job — not because he was fired, but because the twister wiped his place of
employment off the map — then you miss the scope of the event, because next door to every heartbreaking story is another and another — for miles in every direction.

And nothing I write could ever convey the raw, overwhelming emotions of watching through tear-filled eyes as a person sifts through the remains of where they once tried to build a life. Of course, I daresay that far more capable authors than me would find that impossible, too.

I’ve read that the city looks “like a bomb went off” in it, and I suppose that’s pretty accurate. It’s terrifying, though, to realize that, in a matter of minutes, nature can create destruction that is only rivaled by something that took mankind thousands of years to invent.

Once, as a staff writer for my university newspaper, I worked on an article four hours only to see the entire thing deleted by a computer crash. Given my reaction to that trifle, I know full well what I would do if I were facing what so many Joplin residents are: I would give up.

But, amazingly, that is not what is happening. In my very, very brief tour through the disaster area, and in a few short talks with those working in it, I saw a resolve and a determination I would have never thought possible. Yes, I saw sadness, but not hopelessness. There was disbelief, yet also resilience.

In a front-page article in The Joplin Globe Thursday, City Manager Mark Rohr was reported as being asked when Joplin would stop searching for the 156 residents still unaccounted for.

“We never give up,” was his response.

After seeing his city, I believe it.

I was bored last week so I made this thing.

15th Fox Film Festival Official Trailer from Fox Film Festival on Vimeo.

In the next Newberg Graphic, I’ll have a report on this weekend’s Fox Film Festival, a two-night event of first-time screenings and awards being handed out to the best George Fox University student movies from the past year. Just from what I’ve seen so far, I would say that most of the work falls into the yes-they-were-made-for-classes-but-they’re-still-pretty-awesome category.

Check out the festival preview above just to get a taste for what these kids can do. Here’s their schedule:

Friday at The Cameo Theater
Tickets are $4 for one or $6 for two | for sale at the door or through GFU

4:00 pm – Doors Open

4:30 pm – 3 min – Generational Anthem

4:33 pm – 6 min – The Hug

4:39 pm – 10 min – Draw Don’t Speak

4:49 pm – 5.5 min – Hourglass

4:54 pm – 7 min – Nerds

5:01 pm – 4 min – In The Mood

5:05 pm – 4 min – Red Riding Hood Re-Mixed

5:09 pm – 20 min – Timothy Truelove’s Date With Destiny

5:30 pm – Ends with collection of people’s choice award vote collection, along with DVD and t-shirt sales.

Saturday at Bauman Auditorium
Free

5:30-6:30 – Red-Carpet Celebration
6:30-9:00 – Award Ceremony

Films:
The Last Cookie
The Chase
Scarecrow
While We Wait

Documentaries:
Hero
Balloon Head
Juniors Abroad 2012: India
Pioneer

Thanks to Carissa Gobble, chairwoman of the student committee that puts this on every year, for getting that schedule to me. Also be sure to visit the festival’s Facebook page for more information.

Mary Owen

Thank you to all the people who prayed with us for Mary to be found alive and well, and to those who have continued to pray for her; also for all the well wishes that have been sent to her and to us. Thank you also to those who have been praying for us, her family; her friends; and for her and our other needs which have arisen. We have been inexpressibly blessed by God through His overflowing answers to your prayers!

The timeless wisdom in the following verse has new meaning in the light of Mary’s experiences, not just for her, but if we will take it to heart, for the rest of us as well: “Trust in the LORD with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek his will in all you do, and he will show you which path to take. Don’t be impressed with your own wisdom. Instead, fear the LORD and turn away from evil” (Prov. 3:5-7, from the New Living Translation of the Bible).

Last night, Tyler Clawson and I got to see an advanced screening of “A Good Day to Die Hard.”

That sentence is how this post would have started, if not for this lameness, which started right before the screening was scheduled to begin. So we never actually saw the movie, but the hour spent staring at a blank screen gave us plenty of time to talk about what the title of the next installment in the franchise might be. Admittedly, “Die Hard with a Vengeance,” “Live Free or Die Hard” and, my personal favorite, “Die Hard 2: Die Harder,” are tough acts to follow. But we did our best.

“Cross My Heart and Hope to Die Hard”

“Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death Hard”

“Roll of the Die Hard”

“Live and Let Die Hard”

“Because I Could Not Stop for Death, He Kindly Stopped for Me Hard”

“I Just Died Hard in Your Arms Tonight”

“I Don’t Know Why She Swallowed a Fly, Perhaps She’ll Die Hard”

“You Only Live Once Hard”

“To Be or to Die Hard”

“Romeo Must Die Hard”

“John Tucker Must Die Hard”

“If I Should Die Hard Before I Wake”

“Side Effects Include Nauseau, Vomiting, Diarrhea, Fatigue and in Rare Cases, Dying Hard”

“Only the Good Die Hard Young”

“Die Another Day Hard”

“Die Hard Trying”

“But I Don’t Want to Die Hard”

“As Long as I Know How to Love I Know I’ll Die Hard”

“Death Be Not Proud Hard”

“Timmy, Sit Down. We Need to Talk. It’s about Nana. She’s Very Sick, She’s in the Hospital and We’re Afraid She Might Die Hard”

If they take even some of these suggestions to heart, we figure they’ve got enough fodder for at least another dozen movies (a good title equals a good “Die Hard”).

What do you think the next “Die Hard” movie will be called?

But that wasn’t good enough for Hollywood — well part of Hollywood, anyway. In its infinite wisdom, it saw fit to reinvent the Great Emancipator in “Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter.”

“Hansel and Gretel” is a beloved fairy tale, which tells of two clever children who managed to outsmart a cannibalistic witch that had held them imprisoned and lived happily ever after with their loving father.

“Eh, we can do better than that,” scoffed Hollywood. And so it took the story, added guns, gore, a little sex appeal and a lot of leather, and thus was born “Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters.”

It got me and a friend, Tyler Clawson, wondering what would be the next harmless, revered or otherwise inspirational historical/cultural figures lucky enough to be selected by Hollywood for improvement. After agonizing months of cultural studies, studio profiles and data analysis, we painstakingly compiled the following list of mashup movies you’re sure to see coming soon to a theater near you.

Dr. Seuss: Grinch Hunter

Theodor Geisel, better known the world over as Dr. Seuss, is beloved for his whimsical and colorful tales that have introduced children to the magic of reading for years. But in “Dr. Seuss: Grinch Hunter,” the real Dr. Seuss is finally revealed: the last of an elite group of hunter-warrior-storyteller-environmental activists, a man whose way with words is matched only by his way with a 9-inch combat knife. A man whose treasured works of “fiction,” were inspired not by his fertile imagination, but by his real-life encounters with creatures from your darkest nightmares.

Mother Teresa: Occult Detective

The Roman Catholic nun trades in her habit and rosary for a leather jumpsuit and her holy six-shooter as she pounds the streets of early 20th-century Macedonia in search of the powers of darkness. Jennifer Garner stars as a young Agnes Bojaxhiu, an intelligent and tough-as-nails missionary in training. Curiously in tune with the spiritual world, she’s misunderstood and even feared by her convent brethren. But when the world is caught up in an evil plot hatched by the devil himself, only Mother Teresa can stop him.

Cap’n Crunch: Cereal Killer

Horatio Magellan Crunch thought his days of sailing the seas for adventure were long behind him. He had found a port, settled down and started a popular line of sweetened breakfast cereal. Little did he know that his greatest challenge of all lay ahead, as all he holds dear is soon threatened by an army of undead rice-puff monsters led by the evil Count Chocula.

Doctor Doolittle: Werewolf Hunter

Doctor John Doolittle, a physician and naturalist given the gift of understanding animal languages by his pet parrot, Polynesia, had his mind set on a life of pleasant adventures, discovery and time spent in the company of good friends. But that all changed the day he came home to find Polynesia brutally murdered by creatures he thought didn’t exist. And so began his brutal quest for revenge, to rid the world of evil, one werewolf at a time.

Tim Tebow: Sin Slayer

By day, a professional football player for the New York Jets. By night, a legendary demon hunter known by evil forces only as T-Squared. Tim Tebow stars as himself in this stunning film, where his greatest foe yet, the demon Beelzebul, seeks to lay bare his dual lives to the world — then destroy them both. Only by embracing his true identity — the prophesied “Heaven’s Heisman” — can he hope to save his season, and send Beelzebul back to Hell.

Steve Irwin: Crocodile Hunter

Oh wait. I guess that one’s been done already.

Mary Poppins: Nazi Scourge

Everyone’s favorite singing nanny is back, and this time, it’s personal. A few decades removed her adventures with the Banks family, Mary Poppins has taken up chain smoking and developed a cynical streak. Now a martial-arts master with a scathing wit to match, she punishes evildoers in far more permanent ways than sending them to their rooms. And when Nazi Germany initiates its plan of global domination, Mary is ready to clean house. Featuring a full lineup of new and updated songs, included “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (remix),” “A Spoonful of Cyanide” and “Feed the Graves.”

Scotty Smalls: Beast Slayer

If you thought it ended with “The Sandlot,” think again. From his first encounter with “The Beast,” Scotty Smalls develops a taste for blood. A baseball scout, he scours the big cities and small towns of America, looking for evil creatures of myth and legend. And when he finds them, it’s game over.

Steve Jobs 2.0: Android Killer

From the creators of “Robocop,” comes a new hero. … OK, even I can’t take this one any farther.

Barack Obama: Bin Laden Hunter

You’ve seen “Zero Dark Thirty,” but don’t think you know the truth. The untold story, of how a first-term U.S. president trained his body and mind for months in a secret compound and turned himself into the greatest single weapon the world has ever known. What follows is the shocking trials of a hero on a bloody, relentless hunt for the one man whose death will bring a nation peace — and a chief executive hope for re-election. Starring Will Smith.

So what do you think of our list? Anything we left out?

It would appear by now that all of the world’s time zones have cleared Dec. 21, 2012, with no obvious signs of the apocalypse. What a shocking turn of events.

Of course, I think most people knew the earth would keep spinning well after the dreaded day, but for those who had their doubts, I only wish a discovery my wife and I made this morning had come sooner.

You see, while digging through the manure pile outside the barn earlier today, much to my surprise, I uncovered this stone tablet covered in strange markings.

I took it to my wife, who is learned in such things, and we were both stunned to discover the artifact was actually a transcript of a conversation between two ancient Mayas, as the finishing touches were being put on their long-count calendar!

The Smithsonian and many, many other institutions have made inquiries regarding the piece, asking to study it and — no doubt — attempt to add it to their collections.

However, for the benefit of my loyal readers, I include the full translation below, before the hacks of academia have a chance to get their grubby paws on it.

Head fortune teller: Greetings my good chap! How goes the work on this, my most magnificent of calendars?

Mayan worker: Mostly fine, sir, but unfortunately, we do have a bit of a problem.

HFT: Oh, really? I mean, I knew that! Yes, we will discuss that more in a moment, but first, I must reveal to you all that the year 2013 will hold so that you might inscribe it on my calendar!

MW: But that’s just the issue we’re having sir. (Hesitates) I’m afraid we’ve run out of room.

HFT: What? Impossible!

MW: It’s true, sir.

(Transcript ends)

Man! Isn’t that just the darnedest luck? A special thanks to Joyelle Francke for coming up with the idea for this post.