A not so lone Archivist with the usual archival work about to explore the world of social media for a while.



“Mommy, they are just like me.” 

My oldest son is six years old and in love for the first time.  He is in love with Blaine from Glee. 

For those who don’t know Blaine is a boy…a gay boy, the boyfriend of one of the main characters, Kurt.

This isn’t a ‘he thinks Blaine is really cool’ kind of love.  It is a mooning at a picture of Blaine’s face for a half hour followed by a wistful “He’s so pretty” kind of love.

He loves the episode where two boys kiss.  My son will call people in from other parts of the house to make sure they don’t miss his ‘favorite part.’  He’s been known to rewind it and watch it over again…and force other to, as well, if he doesn’t think people have been paying enough attention.

This infatuation doesn’t bother me or his father.  We live in a very hip-liberal neighborhood, many of our friends are gay, and idea of having a gay son isn’t something that bothers either of us.  Our son is going to be who he is, and it is our job to love him.  End of story.

He is also six.  Six year olds get obsessed with all kinds of things.  This might not mean anything at all.  We always joke that he’s either gay, or we have the best blackmail material in the history of mankind when he’s a 16 year old straight boy. (Take that naked bath time pictures!)

Then the other day we were traveling across the state listening to the Warblers album (of course), and in the middle of Candles, my son pipes up from the back seat.

“Mommy, Kurt and Blaine are boyfriends.”

“Yes, they are,” I affirm.

“They don’t like kissing girls.  They just kiss boys.”

“That’s true.”

“Mommy, they are just like me.”

“That’s great, baby.  You know I love you no matter what?”

“I know…” I could hear him rolling his eyes at me.

When we got home I recapped this conversation to his Dad, and we stood simply looking into each other’s eyes for a moment.  Then we smiled.

“So if at 16 he wants to make a big announcement at the dinner table, we can say ‘You told us when you were six.  Pass the carrots’ and he’ll be disappointed we stole his big dramatic moment,” my husband says with a laugh and hugs me.

Only time will tell if my son is gay, but if he is I am glad he’s mine.  I am glad he has been born into our family.  A family full of people who will love and accept him.  People who will never want him to change.  With parents who will look forward to dancing at his wedding.

And I have to admit, Blaine would be a really cute son-in-law.

The Text Message

Great post from my friend and colleague on the work blog I help edit…check it out

Google+ Gets The Social Network Parody Treatment [VIDEO]

Google+ Gets The Social Network Parody Treatment [VIDEO]
Each day, Mashable highlights one noteworthy YouTube video. Check out all our viral video picks. Just when we thought we’d seen the last of the ever-popular The Social Network parodies, someone went and skewered Google+ through that cinematic lens. Early adopters, rabid invite seeke…

Gentrification and Gramma

So I left the Giant last night with my groceries…hot and annoyed.  This little old woman (African American) came along side me—which is something because I walk at a healthy clip.  My first reaction, living where I live, was to ignore her.  I assumed she would be crazy (there is a lot of that in Columbia Heights).  But she wouldn’t let me and walked along side of me telling me what she thought was the funniest story about a woman “asking a white girl for five dollars.  Can you imagine?  Five dollars!”  She left me when we reached her apartment tower on the corner of Girard St with a  “have a nice evening young fella.”  It made me smile.  It also made me consider the intersection of the rapidly growing (upper) middle class population and the folks who were probably born and raised in CoHi.  We sort of co-exist but rarely interact.  Obviously gentrification benefits me, but I wondered what this little old woman thought of the change happening around her.  My other thoughts turned to my grandmother.  This woman who walked with me went into a building that is for seniors.  It’s being renovated, but it’s still a bit stark and a little scary.  My grandmother lived in a lovely senior village before she died surrounded by the Central Massachusetts countryside.   I remembered that my grandmother, too, would approach strangers with a little story to tell.  Maybe it’s an old lady thing.  I got to my apartment a couple of blocks and a world away from the senior center on the corner of Girard hoping that old lady had a grandson who loved her.

this hat…

I wore my social media hat all day…finding a record to base a blog post on for work (http://blogs.archives.gov/TextMessage/) and then being sucked into new and exciting ways my colleagues and I might use social media at work and for work.  Between creating Google+ Circles, pinning on Pintrest, answering questions on Quora, and tweeting (latest one to @johnboehneroh, douche), I need a drink.  a big, stiff drink.  It’s exciting on both a personal and professional level, I think.  I worry, though, that there is little buy in at levels above and below me.  But, carpe diem, as my good friend Denise said the other day.  Carpe, god damned, Diem.

The good news is that I discovered that very few of my friends actually use most of the newer media.  Everyone is on Facebook, some on Twitter, few on Google+, hardly any on Pintrest, and none on some of the other ones I discovered today.  I’m not the only totally clueless one out there!