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?

5 August 2003

True Believer

I've been enjoying a new monthly magazine published by McSweeney's in San Francisco called The Believer, or as I like to call it, the Bee Lever (harness the power of bees for your heavy lifting).

It's an odd amalgam of literary appreciations, publishing industry editorials, notes on philosophy, interviews with pop culture figures (Pat Benatar, Jack White, Martin Short), and humor about tools, mammals, and motels. Although the opening editorial often has the tone of an insider's rant from a trade journal, I like the spirit of it all. Which is: let's stop all the bickering and get back to loving literature.

But my favorite pieces have been the semi-regular features by Jim Shepard about movies. His choices are interesting (Badlands, Babette's Feast, and, in the current issue, Goodfellas), his cultural context relevant to today, and his length and depth are after my own heart. (The piece on Babette's Feast and "weepies" dovetails, perhaps, with my tirade against Lilya 4-Ever.)

[Update August 10: The piece on Goodfellas did not materialize in the current issue but will be in the September issue.]

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