The April 28th Page Spread in Roz's 2009 Fake Journal

Above: the April 28 page spread from my 2009 fake journal. I used Ziller Acrylic ink with a dip pen and Schmincke pan watercolors. Click on the image to view an enlargement.

You might remember that I mentioned taping a show called, "Morphed" on National Geographic Channel. It was about how turkey's came from raptors. This was something I commented on back on my April 21 page spread and when I saw the show come up in the next week or so I was pretty interested. Well I watched the show last night and it was worthless! And boring. One paragraph of information that they kept beating into the ground and then showing computer animation of past animals and repeating and repeating after each (frequent) commercial break (through which I fast-forwarded to save some time).

The really sad thing was that the turkey was little in evidence and when he was it was only a large Tom strutting about with full presentation of tail feathers. They never thought to show the hen who STILL looks exactly like a raptor! (See my April 21 sketch if you don't believe me!)

So the only thing I got out of this show was a weird dream last night that the oxygen in the atmosphere was getting used up (part of the show had been about low oxygen levels and the mass extinction of the large dinosaurs) and we had until December 15 (!). It was a vastly scary and entertaining dream and this morning, after I got over my initial irritation with the show's producers I realized, hey, that would be a great idea for a fake journal: the earth's atmosphere is going and we have limited days left! It could be fun to find out what a journal keeper would note in those circumstances.

So I guess I got two things out of the show. But don't bother watching it!

Below is the text from today's page spread.

Verso:

09.04.28 7:30 p.m.
The cardinal pair were busy in the compound grounds today. The femail had an air of satisfaction.

Recto:

Sunny, 61 degrees F. and cloudless. Stunningly beautiful today. I spent it riding my bike back and forth between old Hwy 5 and the derelict Ford Plant. With the wind, against the wind, with the wind again. Over and over; finally back to the compound. Lou keeping up…despite his Bob Hoskins physique.

This morning I held Chuck's hand. His breathing was shallow…difficult. "Never give up," he said, squeezing my fingers firmly. "Tell my boys…" he paused. "Everything," I said. He nodded ever so slightly. Then he was gone. I could see the clock on the bedside table—9:53.