Errata is a web journal written by Robert Davis who has neither spent a night in a ghost town nor pulled a turnip from the earth. He doesn't even know if turnips grow in the ground. Perhaps on trees, like candy corn. Therefore, Errata is a non-commercial project.

Observation #1: It may be appropriate, when leaving a movie theater, to say "mysterious."

Observation #2: It may be appropriate, when leaving a movie theater, to say "mysterious" at the top of your lungs. Bring your eyebrows together before you say it. Effective!

Observation #3: Same for books. Even at libraries.

There is a prize for people who correctly guess the thing about Metropolis, Nevada.

Except where the text specifically states otherwise, Errata's vagaries are indicated vaguely and its authors are indistinct in the traditional way of the Internet, except where the authors lay claim to their work. In some cases Robert Davis lays claim to work that is not his own but has been abandoned like so many ghost towns. Except where held presently, fistfuls of dirt are suspended via dispersal, or dispersed via suspension (in the air), and thus their dissolution is their transcendence, or their transcendence is their dissolution. And yet our eyes tear, and our vision is impaired, demonstrating for the umpteenth time that one entity's gain is another's fit of sneezes. Except where indicated, storms shall outlive the clay upon which they rain, unless storms are improperly delimited by their clouds, which dissolve, rather than by their inevitable return. Thus the clay loses, unless the clay is said to own the storm, to use it to make itself heavy, to make itself cling to white garments, refuse dispersal, cake upon the facades of abandoned buildings, and sit like Man [sic] upon the earth where it is pelted by a storm that it owns. In which case the clay still loses, if you ask us.

Some of the above is legally binding and should be considered a mental contract between Errata and those upon whom it acts. The bit about the prize should be considered an overstatement insofar as prizes differ from dirt and prize dispersal differs from dirt dispersal. Please recall that ownership is a weight and, therefore, hope that you do not win the prize.

One day Errata or its representatives will call upon you for a favor. It is expected that you will hop-to without delay.

You may contact Robert Davis by email unless it's about the rock that was thrown in anger. The rock is more properly called a clod. Why do you continue to raise the topic?

25 July 2003

Bad Boys II

2003, United States

director: Michael Bay

It takes a certain kind of talent to make a Will Smith character loathsome, but the makers of Bad Boys II do it with extreme efficiency. I liked only one thing about this movie: the first big car chase is shot with the camera very low to the ground, which looks kind of cool. Feel free to leave after this chase, because the movie goes on from there for what seems like an eternity. The third time that I mistakenly assumed we must be coming close to the end of this loud, jittery, unfunny, unthrilling pile, the characters still hadn't been to Cuba, still hadn't assembled the team for one last raid, still hadn't stood over the scale model of the compound and pointed out who's going where, still hadn't radioed back to the guys to say that "we're in," and still hadn't driven through a shanty town to rip down the occupants' houses and clotheslines. Yes, the cops treat innocent bystanders and corpses as recklessly as they do criminals. The closest that these characters come to standing for something other than their own destructive whims is when Martin Lawrence tells his sister, Gabrielle Union, that the bad guys only care about her because she's a pretty face. That someone responsible for this movie created this scene recalls a well known conversation between the pot and the kettle. This movie is better than Traffic at arguing against the drug war, although that was certainly not its intention. Lock up these aimless narcotics officers. In a sound-proof cell, please.

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