Drift Reality

A few weeks back I reviewed Joe McGinniss Jr.’s debut novel The Delivery Man, now available from Amazon.com.

Today, I touched base with McGinniss Jr. and he was kind enough to spend some time answering a few question about his life, his perceptions of society, and his novel.

1. The Delivery Man takes a critical look at the so-called MySpace Generation. What are your impressions of this generation and the influences that have shaped their perceptions.

I wrote this book between 2002 and 2006. This was the age of Jessica Simpson, Paris Hilton, celebrity worship, breaking news on CNN when Lindsay Lohan or Britney Spears drove their car into a telephone pole on Sunset. This while we were invading and occupying Iraq, as thousands and thousands of young men and women, themselves members of the MySpace Generation were getting their limbs blown off half a world away while everyone and their mother seemed to be driving a new 11mpg Escalade or Hummer (some with yellow ribbon Support Our Troops magnets slapped on the back). This period, and the MySpace Generation that was coming of age in the midst of it, was plagued by the superficiality of celebrity worship, materialism, hyper-sexualization of young women while we waged war and the planet died. So America, and it’s attention-craving teenagers who all wanted to be America’s Next Top (fill in the blank), weren’t doing a whole lot that warranted a flattering portrayal. Besides, with a novel, one is free to exaggerate to make a point. In fact, if one doesn’t, it won’t make much of a novel. So are teenagers all empty, shallow, uninspired and unmotivated pop-culture addicts? Of course not. Are teenagers largely the products of their environment and society? Sure. Are parents, corporate media and politicians to blame for America’s Dark Years (2002-2006)? Mostly. Is there hope now for a more engaged and ambitious generation thinking beyond themselves and money and celebrity? We’ll see — but there are signs. Look at the youth vote in the Iowa caucuses. Times may be changing.

2. The Delivery Man is a pretty heavy novel. At times, I found myself struck by how stark your narrative was. Was the tone a conscientious decision or did it just unravel that way?

The tone was something I couldn’t seem to avoid. There was no way I could be true to the characters in their world — modern day Las Vegas and a teenage prostitution ring — and insert layers of character development and traditional character arcs. This isn’t that kind of story. To make the point I wanted to make, I wasn’t able to employ some of those traditional narrative devices. That would have undermined the story, watering down the point, taking the edge off. With too much irony or wry distance between the reader and the story, the effect is lost. It becomes something else entirely. I want it to be jarring, raw, uncomfortable at times. I want anyone who reads it to feel trapped, unable to escape until they finish it. I want it do be an experience. Too many novels and movies are a little this, remind you of that, but are forgotten the moment you put them down or leave the theater. Why bother? Then again, that’s what sells and if you want to make a living writing I guess that’s why you’d bother. I don’t know. Dark is what worked, it’s what fit best and what appealed to me as a writer at the time. So I ran with it.

3. You came to writing relatively late in life and found great success. What are your thoughts on making a jump like that?

I spent most of my young adult life interested in and involved in politics and policy. But I got burned out — lost my motivation sometime in the late nineties, when we were spending inordinate amounts of time on oral sex in the oval office discussions and very little time on things that mattered. At the time, I couldn’t see devoting my life to a world of triviality, compromise, and game-playing. So I started writing fiction, creating my own worlds with my own rules. I guess being in control felt pretty good after so much time working for other people and following their rules. Then again, as I discovered pretty quickly, fiction has it’s own elaborate set of rules and constrictions that can be equally maddening. And it was less a jump than a long, painful slog filled with self-doubt, no money and more stress than I can bear to think about. The first three years of it were endured because I didn’t know any better and always thought a finished publishable novel was around the corner. Kind of like success in Iraq. We’re always “turning the corner.” The last three years were only because I’d invested so much time and energy, had received enough objective encouragement that I was approaching something worthwhile and because my wife supported me emotionally and financially in ways that simply blow my mind when I think about it. There’s a quote from a great writer Roland Merullo that seems apt: “No one writes a novel alone.”

4. What are your thoughts on writing a novel? Do you have any advice for aspiring novelists?

Write. Edit. Read. Write. Edit. Read. Write. Edit. Read. Repeat. And don’t quit. And don’t write for some market you think is “hot.” Because by the time you’ve got something publishable, it won’t be hot anymore. Write something true. Real. Write clearly. Write visually. Write something you like to read. Write what comes easiest. Write not what you feel, not how you feel, because believe me, the reader doesn’t care how you feel. No offense, but everyone feels something unique. That’s not fiction. That’s not a story. I learned this the hard way after I spent about two plus years writing what I thought was a novel but was really just a bunch of autobiography badly disguised as fiction that was readable but really just a bunch of crap. So please, whatever you do, write actions, motivations, stories. People and characters are what they do — defined by their actions and reactions, not by what you think about them. And when you’ve written something you think is strong, after having reread it a few times, get an objective opinion or two. Listen to the feedback. Take in all constructive criticism and get back to work. For some, I’m sure it comes easier. For me, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

5. If a movie were to be made about your life, who would direct and who would play the part of you?

Excellent question. No one would make it and if they did, they’d lose whatever money they invested because I’d be the only one in the theatre — and even I’d probably end up walking out, going home and watching South Park reruns. But I’ll use this space to tell you that the greatest living director is Paul Thomas Anderson. The writer of the script would have to be Creighton Vero — he wrote the movie SPUN that came out in 2002 and is currently adapting THE DELIVERY MAN for the big screen. Who would play me? Is Paul Giamatti available?

I hate stereotypes, plain and simple.

I recall visiting a friend’s family Ohio way back when, and my friend’s Father asked why I was studying English literature.

“Shouldn’t you be studying math or science?” He asked straight-faced.

I remember looking at him for a few moments, trying to gauge his intentions before realizing it was a sincere question.

“No, not every Asian studies math or science,” I responded briskly.

Growing up half-Asian and half-Persian, I’ve been graced with a steady stream of racially-driven comments and insults, which have admittedly tapered off as I’ve gotten older.

There was a time that any racially or ethnically-driven comments would have boiled my blood but now that I’m older I have to find myself conceding that some of them are true.

For instance, it is a simple fact of nature that Asians love karaoke.

Do you want proof? Well, how about the fact that Seoul has 30 karaoke bars per square mile versus 5 in Washington, DC?

Just joking, I don’t think there are any stats that can substantiate my claim - but anecdotally, I will admit that I went out with a Filipino friend of mine who shall go nameless the other night.

After hitting several bars and clubs and appearing quite manly and dashing, we stopped at his apartment and sang karaoke on his home machine for about thirty minutes before continuing to the next bar.

That just doesn’t happen with non-Asians!

Want more proof? Here is a video I shot when I was living in Korea. Fast-forward to 1:00 in the clip and be prepared to be amazed.

Back in 2001, a little-known actor named Ricky Gervais co-produced a series with a littler-known producer/director named Stephen Merchant, which presented a comical perspective on the banality of life in an office.

The show received a great deal of both public and critical acclaim. After only two seasons The Office had turned into a global franchise, garnering numerous awards, spawning French and US adaptations and propelling Gervais and Merchant to super-stardom.

In 2005, the duo anted up once again and created Extras, a series co-produced by HBO and the BBC. This time the subject matter was the periphery of showbiz. The texture of Extras is a bit more gritty than The Office although the depth of both far supersede anything on American television.

In season 1, Extras traces the life of Gervais as he struggles to build a career as an actor. The season culminates when Gervais’ script is well received by the BBC who decide to produce his show (ironically about life in an office).

During the second season of Extras, Gervais has attained success through his television show but no credibility. His struggle is carried through the series finale, the culmination of which is an incredibly moving and honest soliloquy in which Gervais rails against the entertainment industry and laments the trajectory of his career.

I recommend purchasing the series on DVD because it is that good. I’ve embedded a clip of Gervais’ climactic speech because I believe it actually stands on its own as an acute commentary on today’s fixation with celebrities:

It is now 2008 and I’m going to be cheesy and reflect back on the year that was 2007.

I can’t believe how fast the year has come and gone and even more startling to me, are all the things that have happened in the past year.

I began working for a great organization located here in DC, independently launched a new blog focused on social media and technology, launched a collaborative blog focused on life in DC and started taking my life a little bit more seriously (although I do miss being a student somewhat).

I even made a (short-lived) decision to put Drift Reality on hold while I attempted to focus my energies in a new direction. In hindsight, it seems like a naive decision because it was about two months until the old yearnings to write about nothing in particular started knocking once again.

It is funny to think that I originally launched Drift Reality in 2001 when returning home from Korea, still so confused about what I was going to do with my life. Reflecting back on the past six years I realize the one constant has been my eagerness to move to another place, meet new people and document everything in Drift Reality.

In many ways, my initial decision to name the site ‘Drift Reality’ seems apropos based on the content that has emerged throughout the years.

I think 2007 was a departure of sorts because for the first time in ages I don’t feel an inexorable urge to move on but rather, to start building something in addition to Drift Reality.

I attribute these changes to a growing realization of the importance of relationships - with friend and with families. Those growing relationships are what have helped center me throughout all of the transitions and they are proving even more potent now.

These relationships form the ground and the fuel for everything I do these days it seems. I think without them I would still be writing hangover-infused gibberish (instead of sober gibberish).

So, in the first few days of 2007 I’d simply like to acknowledge all the people in my life who help me stay grounded and focused.

You know who you are.

Yesterday evening I was down in Ashburn visiting some friends when we decided to search for a good place to eat before heading to watch I am Legend.

Ashburn is not really known for its cuisine. Actually, it is not really known for very much besides being home to Redskins Park and having a high foreclosure rate so it is not really a destination that people go unless they know someone who lives there (which is the case with me).

However, its high per capita income and older demographic have fueled the development of a handful of good restaurants and Bangrak Thai Cuisine is one of them.

Bangrak has a great ambiance, amazing service, and top-notch food. I tried the Tod Mun, which was very tasty and followed that up with a delicious plate of Kao Pad Kaprow.

One of my friends ordered one of the dinner specials, a stew consisting of jumbo prawns, scallops and squid (I can’t recall the name) and asked that they hold the squid. They ended up bringing the dish out with the squid and the manager (also one of the proprietors of the place) came out, apologized, and then had a replacement sent out despite our assurances that the dish was fine.

At any rate, should you find yourself down in Ashburn looking for a great place to enjoy Thai cuisine, Bangrak Thai Cuisine should fit the bill.

About seven years ago I was playing intramural football on a damp astroturf field at Georgetown. I was running with the ball when I planted my foot in the ground to make a cut and lost my balance. I thrust out my left arm to brace against the fall and upon impact my shoulder popped out of its socket. As the rest of my body landed on the ground I instantly knew that something was seriously wrong.

It took about 10-minutes for Georgetown medical services to strap me up and take me off the field and to the emergency room. That’s when the real fun started. I sat in one waiting room for about an hour with no pain medication before being taken for x-rays, where a technician asked me to drop my limp, dislocated arm on an x-ray while he snapped away. Then back to the waiting room where I sat for another 30-minutes or so (with no pain medication) until a doctor cam in and in one quick move, raised my arm so it was perpendicular to my body and in slipped my shoulder.

After seeing how easy it was to pop the shoulder back into place I decided to pass on the hospital experience the next two times my shoulder popped out of place while playing basketball. Finally, after the forth time it slipped out I decided to have surgery done to replace it.

Over the past seven years I’ve learned a few things about the whole process and so I’m going to sum up my top-line recommendations when separating your shoulder. Just as a disclaimer, I have no medical background and you should probably consult with a doctor before deciding what to do with your shoulder. Just make sure the doctor isn’t at Georgetown Medical Center because you will end up sitting on your ass waiting for 3 hours before anyone sees you.

1. Don’t bang your shoulder against anything to get it back in
It is sad that Lethal Weapon has probably informed the majority of Americans on how to reset a dislocated shoulder. Banging your dislocated shoulder against something to get it back in is probably the stupidest thing you can possibly do. You are probably going to do permanent damage to your shoulder that will only be reparable through surgery if you start banging it against things. Your shoulder actually wants to get back in its socket. Raising your arm so that it is perpendicular to your body is how I managed to get my shoulder back in after that first time.

This man is not an orthopedic surgeon

2. The first time it pops out you can probably rehab it back to near-full strength
You probably don’t need surgery after the first time you dislocate your shoulder. Most studies seem to indicate that through physical rehabilitation you will be able to rehab your shoulder to near-full strength. If you don’t participate in many high-impact sports it won’t be an issue. If you do want to continue participating in active sports then you will have to work shoulder exercises into your workout regimen. If you participate in high-impact sports and don’t have any sort of workout regimen then you probably aren’t that good and maybe you should stop participating in high-impact sports.

3. If it pops out again, talk to an orthopedic surgeon about surgery
After the second time, the probability of a repeat incident will increase substantially so you will face a decision: stop participating in high-impact sports or get surgery. I waited four dislocations before finally having the surgery and that was probably too long because I play basketball on a pretty consistent basis.

4. Surgery sucks
There are basically two options when it comes to surgery: arthroscopy or open surgery.  Arthroscopic surgery can be done on an outpatient basis.  As a matter-of-fact, a couple hours after my surgery I was happily sitting on my couch watching the Bourne Supremecy, doped up to high-hell on pain killers.  The pain is less intense with arthroscopic surgery as well.  I’m on day 3 and I’m basically off pain meds already with very little discomfort (besides the fact that I haven’t had a proper shower since my operation).

Whichever option you choose, you’ll probably be facing a long path to recovery that is going to involve some physical therapy but you will be pretty functional after just a few days.  The good news is that within a few months I’ll be back to full strength in my shoulder and will be back on the court awaiting my next major injury.

The painting Devon liked the most - the one Devon told Chase he thought should “anchor your wall” - was the one that Chase was the most reluctant about: a girl sits on a bed and stares blankly out a window. Early-morning sunlight fills the room, bathing her in yellow. The girl wears her hair in a ponytail and her tan skin seems smooth until you move in closer and then you see the sores around her mouth and the white scar on her forehead. Outside the window is a sea of pink tile roofs that bleed together so that it’s impossible to distinguish one from the next. The painting’s title: ‘Carly.’

His art and girlfriend Julia, finishing her MBA in New York, are representative of a new life for Chase once he moves to San Francisco. His childhood friend Michele, a prostitute attempting to launch an escort business with another one of his childhood friends Bailey, is his current reality in Las Vegas.

Joe McGinniss Jr.’s debut novel, The Delivery Man is a story about the struggle of the individual to achieve the promise of something better while mired in the the dystopia of his past and present. And what better place to set this struggle than the City of Sin.

Aesthetically, The Delivery Man is on-point. In fact, it is one of the few narratives I’ve managed to finish in a while.

McGinniss does a masterful job structuring his novel, alternating between the present narrative and stark flashbacks - many based on actual interviews that he conducted with teens in Vegas.

McGinniss peppers the narrative with periodic intimations to future events, which keeps the momentum moving squarely forward. In fact, I gobbled it up voraciously in about two days and I have mild ADD.

Not your average Joe

The prose reminds me a bit of Dave Eggers, except less poetic and more edgy and visual.

The texture of the novel is a bit stressful to say the least. I read the majority of the book with a sinking feeling of despair in the pit of my stomach not unlike the feeling I had while watching Leaving Las Vegas, based on a John O’Brien novel or more recently, the feeling I had while watching the first few minutes of Rules of Attraction (the 2002 version), based on a Bret Ellis novel. Come to think of it, I have a feeling it won’t be long until I’m experiencing that same feeling while watching the film adaptation of The Delivery Man.

Ultimately, The Delivery Man is not only a compelling story about a young man’s struggle in Las Vegas, but also a statement about the latent ideology of the ‘MySpace generation,’ one of moral ambiguity and superficial excess, and the growing divide between the MySpace generation and those preceding it.

Now I’m starting to sound disgustingly cliche and that is my cue to stop writing and do something else.

Bottom line - order this book from Amazon or wherever you go to buy your books and you will not be disappointed.

For our final evening, we decided to stay in Grand Case. On Kris’ recommendation we headed out to L’Escapade, a fabulous French restaurant on the main strip.

We arrived only about thirty minutes before closing and Axel, the manager, seated us in the lounge and gave us a few complimentary glasses of champagne while they prepared a table near the balcony overlooking the water.

While waiting, we snapped a picture that doesn’t really provide a vivid depiction of the interior of the restaurant but does a good job capturing its ambiance.

L’Escapade

After a few moments we were seated and looking through their menu. We ordered lobster bisque to start. For the main course, my companion ordered the pan sauteed jumbo shrimps with a grapefruit risotto and I had the filet, which was served in a Bearnaise sauce.

The food was great and I thoroughly enjoyed our experience at L’Escapade. I would say the only drawback was the fact that the wind was starting to pick and it was even starting to drizzle a bit outside. On a clear night the place would have been perfection.

We finished our meal and had a final glass of wine before retiring for the evening and preparing ourselves to head back to the States and back to reality after a few days in Saint Martin.

After we left Happy Bay, the sky turned overcast and it began to drizzle slightly. We decided not to check out Pinel Island because from all accounts it was slammed with tourists on Sundays, so instead we decided to check out the view from Paradise Peak, located smack dab in the middle of Saint Martin.

The view from Paradise Peak was quite magnificent. The only downside was the curving one-lane road that one has to traverse to arrive at Paradise Peak. By the time you make it (if you make it) you are so on edge that it is difficult to fully appreciate the Saint Martin landscape.

That’s why you need to check out the Hidden Forest Cafe at Loterie Farms, which is located directly off the road that leads up to Paradise Peak.

Hidden Forest Cafe is a cute restaurant and lounge that gives you the distinct feeling you are sitting up in a huge tree house. You can sit in the lounge and you’ll have a great view of the surrounding Loterie Farms.

On occasion, random dogs will wander by and poke their nose in your table to see if you are the charitable type.

A Hidden Forest Cafe Patron

Don’t feed them though because they will end up joining you for the remainder of your meal and most likely, invite some friends over as well.

The fruit drinks are mouth-watering and the appetizers are quite tasty as well. We had a crab, pesto, and artichoke dip and some jump shrimp.

On an overcast day or for a quick drink in the evening, Hidden Forest Cafe is definitely a good destination.

We awoke the next day and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of bread, brie, and tomatoes on the veranda while admiring the view of Grand Case. While we ate, we decided that we would spend the first part of the day visiting the northwest beaches in Saint Martin.

We gathered our things together and set off for Friars Bay.

The moment we set foot on Friar’s Bay and observed the huge billboard promoting the latest installment of Pirates of the Caribbean, and the families and children milling about, we decided it would be a better investment of our time to check out the neighboring Happy Bay.

After trudging through a thin path surrounded on both sides by tall grasses for about fifteen minutes, we emerged onto a cliff that overlooked a small rocky beach. There were two locals fishing on the beach.

Could this be Happy Bay?

As I compared our current position on the shore to where I thought we were on the map, I found myself coming to the incredulous conclusion that the craggy plot of sand and rocks was the allegedly beautiful Happy Bay.

Shrugging my shoulders we decided to take a few pictures before returning to Friars Bay.

Is this Happy Bay?

Thankfully, my sense of direction is second to all and the shore we had stopped at was most certainly not Happy Bay. On queue, a trio of small French boys came rushing through the brush.

“Hey guys,” I asked. “Is this Happy Bay?”

“Non!” one responded.

“Happy Bay?” the other questioned.

“Come, come,” the third beckoned.

With that, the trio headed back into the brush, stopping every so often to look back and make sure we were still following them. After just a few minutes of walking, we emerged onto one of the most beautiful, isolate beaches in Saint Martin. We put our towels down nearby and began soaking in the sun.

No, this is Happy Bay.

For the first time since arriving in Saint Martin, there was literally no sound except for the ocean landing on the shore.