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February 4, 2004 #
 "I've got a bike, you can ride it if you like..." Google: Humbly, I would like to declare my candidacy for the job of Creative Maximizer. I believe this letter will show that I bring the necessary skills and that my credentials and passion are a perfect match for this demanding position. For instance, John McPhee and his volume on oranges1 and Nicholson Baker and his discourse on shoe laces and assorted minutiae2 are the bibles on which I lay my hand and swear an oath to obey the written word's exactitude. I dare say, finding the mot juste is not just a skill I possess; it is a religion, of which I am as passionate about as Robert Burton and his precious melancholy3. Trained by the Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Charles Simic, who taught me to notice the expansiveness of even the smallest, most commonplace object, I can turn out succinct and accurate phrases that inspire, compel, and enlighten - with the goal of persuading readers to experience their own broad palette of emotions. I quote a verse from my work The Bicycle Poems as an example: "I love to ride my bicycle, I love to ride my bike." The uncontrollable illusion created by the whirring spokes of a bicycle wheel like trying to get a song out of your head.4 Additionally, I know that the written word is malleable and that to keep up the writer must be as well. To this end, my mind is as flexible as a bean bag and as sharp as the aroma of the finest cheddar. If need be, I can ape Hemingway's terse descriptive passages and then the next moment tap the depths of my vocabulary and pen florid, extended prose a la Joseph Conrad. Once, to win a bar bet, I mimicked Neal Pollack's boastful style so convincingly I startled even myself and had to check my scalp to see that I had not, in fact, turned into the satirist. Thankfully, my hair was still there. At age five on a family trip to Old Sturbridge Village, I mastered Mad Libs instantly, intuitively knowing what punch line would bring the greatest amusement to the carload of family members. To me, the jumble is a Rorschach test, not just an enjoyable way to pass the time. Scrabble is a window to the human soul. And of course, quite simply put, the crossword is a sublime creation. I can bring this appreciation and these skills to Google, in its effort to mine words and extract the influence they command. I look forward to discussing this opportunity with you and the Google staff. Sincerely, Chris Gage 1 Oranges, John A. McPhee, Noonday Press; Reissue edition, April 1991 2 The Mezzanine, Nicholson Baker Vintage Books; Reissue edition, January 1990 3 The Anatomy of Melancholy, Robert Burton,New York Review of Books; April 9, 2001 4 The Bicycle Poems, Chris Gage, 2001 The Bicycle Poems I. It's turning out to be a truly fine year for bicycles. At once point demand was worldwide, aging like wine in barrels and wouldn't arrive here for another two years. II. Ah, the weather paragraph: A fine day for a ride, with a back-wind rolling off the hills, like a child losing his marbles down a flight of stairs. III. "I love to ride my bicycle, I love to ride my bike." The uncontrollable illusion created by the whirring spokes of a bicycle wheel like trying to get a song unstuck from your head. IV. The Sunday rider in hat and scarf has made a mess out of Euclid. He has no regard for Shackleton, no truck with Einstein -- no end in sight, no where to be. He describes a perfect, random path, where it appeared there was no such thing. Archives "The Other Page" powered by Removable Hype. RSS. Copyright © 2003 La Otra Página, Inc. All nights observed. Feel free to email "info(at)krucoff.com" for questions, comments, stock tips, and family gossip. |
