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?

14 April 2008

Cropped Album Cover of the Week

Art Garfunkel as Simon McCabe in Joseph Heller's Pistol Pocket (unreleased)

The year was 1970 and the story has become pop music folklore. Art Garfunkel was jetting around the world to shoot films like Carnal Knowledge and Catch-22 while Paul Simon was moping in New York trying to write songs for the duo's next album. When Art accepted a role in a third film instead of returning to New York as planned, this time to shoot an acid Western somewhere in Central America, Paul flew into a rage. Art tried to explain that it was Joseph Heller's directorial debut, that he would get to play a womanizing caterpillar-wrangler, that principal photography had just begun, and that he'd already learned his line, but Paul would hear none of it.

Art bailed out of Pistol Pocket and booked a flight back to New York to record the album that would become Bridge Over Troubled Water. (The film was never completed for reasons unrelated to Art's departure.)

While Art was en route, Paul felt so bad about denting his buddy's acting career that he almost shredded the bitter songs he'd written in his absence: the one about being the only livin' boy in New York, the one about the long-gone days of harmonizing with "Frank Lloyd Wright." (Art had been an architecture student.)

But when Art walked into the 52nd Street recording studio still wearing the ridiculous mustache [see above] that he'd grown for the Heller flick, Paul, thinking that Art was hedging his bets, was so incensed that he forced him to sing those songs anyway. (Actually, Art simply liked the rugged look he'd suddenly achieved, enjoyed the sense of security it gave him on the subway where he'd previously been taunted by children, and never had a chance to explain to Paul that it was a fake mustache anyway. Somewhere in Central America, a property master was fuming.)

How it ended up on the cover is anybody's guess:

Bridge Over Troubled Water

Posted by davis | Link

Reader Comments

April 16, 2008, 03:07 PM

Brian

That's funny. In the full image, Garfunkel's got a huge chin, which bears a resemblance to the face of a young John McCain.

April 16, 2008, 11:57 PM

davis

I think John McCain was married to Carrie Fisher for a while, so that's another film connection, too.

April 19, 2008, 09:17 AM

Maya

You are both incurably silly wombats. In certain Polynesian countries they would deepfry you and serve you up as afternoon snacks.

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