Americans in Bed

Next week, HBO will be debuting Americans in Bed, a documentary of candid interviews with 10 couples on sex and relationships from the comfort of their own bed. My friend Leon (pictured in the trailer still below) opened up his bedroom to talk about his polyamorous lifestyle alongside then-girlfriend Blanca. We'll also hear stories from a pair of newlyweds, a couple that's been married for 71 years, a pair trying to regain the trust lost from infidelity, and a couple navigating the joys of marriage and parenthood while another tries to find the sizzle their relationship once had. It'll be interesting to peek into these couple's lives and see a tiny cross-section of America while remembering all the different ways love can take shape.

Americans in Bed premieres Monday, August 12 at 9 pm on HBO. Here's the trailer:

Returning to the Dominican Republic

Apologies for the silence around here the last couple weeks, but I had a beautiful excuse: I was in the Dominican Republic! For years my father has expressed this wish of traveling back to Santiago with all three of his kids, something he hadn't done in 20 years. While my siblings have traveled there plenty over the last few years both with Dad and with other family members, I hadn't visited my DR family in nine years. (You might remember my vacation there in 2009, but I traveled to a different location on the island and so didn't get to see anyone I knew.)

One of my reasons for staying away was the fact that I spent practically every childhood summer visiting the same village, seeing the same people, doing the same things. So as soon as I had a say in where I could spend my vacations and a budget to make those travel dreams happen, I flew to new places: Mexico, St. Lucia, Costa Rica, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Czech Republic, Thailand, and planting my restless feet across the U.S. I wanted to see the world and it wasn't going to happen if I kept returning to the same places. I love my extended family, but I guess I'd grown to love my wanderlust more.

But the excitement my father felt in the weeks, days leading up to the trip was contagious. Oh goodness and when he realized we'd be there during Dominican Father's Day, he was just beside himself. It was complete coincidence as we barely even remember when American Father's Day is, but what perfect timing. Once there, I remembered all those little innocent escapades I had as a child, biking off with the local boys to climb hills and trees, poking the bats out of their holes in the trunks and knocking down fruits to eat, the women that I came to know as sisters, the smells, the tastes, visiting my godfather's farm to hose down the pigs and feed the animals. All the kids I'd said goodbye to nine years ago now towered over me and a new batch of faces had taken their place. And while I'm happy for the progress that has made its way into this village in Monte Adentro, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't yearning for the old dirt roads that used to lead us city children to their next adventure where frilly dresses stood no chance against the mud and our curiosity.

It was bittersweet, too, as a walk through the local cemetery made me realized how many people - including two grandparents - had passed on since I was there last. Despite all the faces that filled my grandmother's house as we celebrated our reunion, I still missed seeing her toothless grin as she sat on her rocking chair saying "crapola" about one thing or another. I wish I'd seen her more and I wish I'd grown up with a closer bond with my grandparents, but it's too late for all that now.

The trip was too short. Trips that mean so much usually are. But we filled those five days with laughter and stories that made me realize just how important it is to stay connected to family. There were people that I'd forgotten how much they used to mean to me and it shamed me a bit. So instead of acting as if goodbyes are just words you say casually, I listened, I made eye-contact, I didn't wipe my cheek after their wet kisses, I said, "You mean a lot to me." Because as much as I would love to return and nurture those ties, I know things happen. Work demands your attention, life picks up speed, goals pull you in other directions, unexplored corners call your name, you run out of money, and before you know it, years have passed, children have grown up, the old have moved on. When I hugged my older aunts and uncles farewell I wanted so badly to cling to those moments because I didn't want to forget.

Dad thinks this trip was our gift to him and it started out as such, but, I tell him, this trip was also an unforgettable gift to his children.

The Bean

I've been spending lots of time in the Union Square area lately. The beauty of being a freelance writer is that I can work from wherever there's an Internet connection, but I usually end up working from home because it's cheaper than buying food at a café just to sit there for a few hours. Plus, I'm always guaranteed a spot at my dining room table.

Well working alone in your apartment day after day can get pretty boring so this week I've been tagging along when A. commutes to work and writing from random coffee shops instead. I'll grab breakfast and finish my morning shift just in time to meet up with him for lunch. Then I'll shift gears and work on personal projects in the afternoon. (Notice the increase in blog posts lately?) I have a hard time concentrating in total silence so the coffee shop buzz is the perfect amount of ambient noise to keep me from zoning out. Distractions still happen, but getting through my work is much easier now because I'm not busy trying to find ways to fill the silence.

If you're looking for the perfect little coffee shop near Union Square, I can't recommend The Bean highly enough. I've met a friend for a quick meet-up at the 824 Broadway location before, but yesterday was the first time I worked from there. It was love as soon as I settled into a cushioned seat by the windows. The vibe is mad chill with that right amount of buzz where there's activity all day long without getting too noisy. The music is good, but easily fades into the background and can be tapped into when you feel like paying attention to it. The space is bright and sunny, the seating is really comfy with pillows spread along the window seats, and most importantly, there's WiFi. I spent a full 8-hour workday there yesterday and took advantage of their $5 lunch special (a sandwich, chips, and a bottle of water), which is not bad at all for the area. Another bonus is that they actually know how to properly butter and toast a bagel, a skill you'd think would be easy to master, but you'd be surprised. When you find a place that does it well, you latch on. I definitely intend to do so.

What are your favorite places to work from? Right now I'm spending the rest of the afternoon on the Union Square Park lawn where there's shade from the sun, a breeze in the trees, and free Internet connection in the air. And now that this post is done, I think I'll lay back on the grass and get started on my next read. Happy Friday, everyone!

Childhood Summers in the City

Every time summer comes around, pockets of makeshift water parks spring up throughout the far corners of the city. Illegally-opened fire hydrants spray their contents clear across the street, the children dodging traffic, squirting each other with water bottles, and pulling their shirts over the hydrant's mouth, squealing as the jet stream pounds against their chest. The cars roll up their windows and drive through slowly hoping that the water cools and cleans their vehicles. And sometimes, if you caught the light just right, you could see where rainbows begin.

Whenever I come up to a curb and see the river gurgling beyond my toes, I remember holding onto my dad's hand while my sister held onto his other, two little girls inching their jelly sandals close to the edge of the water before starting the countdown.

"3…2…1…Jumpy!"

In we'd splash, shocked at how cold and good the water felt on our feet as if we hadn't done the very same two blocks before. For kids who never got to swim in a pool (we didn't even know how to) or lived near a playground with a sprinkler, this was a good as it got and we loved it. I couldn't imagine a childhood summer existing without our street river ritual.

Living in a walk-up apartment in the summer had its drawbacks. Going outside unsupervised wasn't an option because, you know, "drug dealers" and there weren't too many places to play anyway. We had no lawn to run through and the park was more of a concrete trap where the steel slide would lick at your thighs on hot summer days. There were no rubber foam landings or plastic play sets; you simply learned fast and accepted that bruises were just a part of it all.

But as kids you make the best of your circumstances because in truth you don't know that anything else could exist and imagination has no care for boundaries. A plastic bag tied to a long red yarn became a kite flown from our fifth floor kitchen window. Water balloons were filled in the bathroom sink and then dropped untied into the bathtub like a ticking time bomb before racing to the front door and back. I couldn't even tell you why we found that so amusing, but we did. The best were afternoons where Mom would turn on the shower (we were a family of bathers) to "cool down the house." It was the 80s and we had no concern for the environment. We'd plug up the tub and lean over the edge to catch the falling water with our hands, cupping them tightly to keep the droplets from slipping through our fingers and into the pool below. Overturned plastic Push Pop bottoms became little boats in our make believe sea.

I think about these things when the topic of where to raise my future children comes up. When I think on my own gritty childhood, I smile and then immediately wonder if I was deprived of some other way your youth is supposed to be lived with bike races down hills and laying on your back in the park pointing at shapes in the clouds. That would've been nice, I say, to grow up with my toes in the grass, but I treasure my moments just the same and made the most I could with the world I was given. And I know my kids will do the same whenever they arrive and wherever they call home.

Image: shop.jameschororos.com

Around the Corner

Sometimes I like to pretend that someone somewhere out in the universe is watching the story of my life play out, eagerly anticipating the next episodes because they know something wildly incredible is about to happen and I have no idea.

What would you want the next chapter in your story to say?

Image: flickr.com