I’m about to turn 27 years old, and somehow I’ve made it through life — not to mention high school English classes, specifically — without yet having read Catcher in the Rye.

I’ve read a lot of books in my still young life, including a lot of classics. I devoured Old Man and the Sea, which still stands as perhaps my favorite book and which undoubtedly gave Papa Hemingway the Mike’s Favorite Author trophy, in a single night. (I know that’s not much of an accomplishment, as it’s a rather short book. Shut up.) But somehow, this post-World War II novel slipped by.

My bookshelf looks like “who’s who” of lit class syllabi, with the Hemingway, Orwell, Fitzgerald, Vonnegut, Updike. Those, coupled with my collection of journalism and political science textbooks, make for quite the geeky personal library.

I believe it was A Farewell to Arms I was in the middle of when a friend once asked, “Who the hell are you trying to impress?”

Honestly, I’m just looking for authors who’ll impress me.

Photo courtesy of Reini68 on Flickr

Two weeks ago, I became a father. Pretty wild, to say the least.

My lovely wife and I now have a handsome, healthy baby boy. See above. Thomas Eugene Keliher III, named after his grandfather, who is in turn named after his grandfather. This every-other-generation tradition for naming first-born sons makes me Michael John Keliher II.

Born on August 8 at 5:38 in the morning, Tommy — in this corner, wearing the yellow onesie — weighed in at 8 pounds, 2 ounces and was 20 inches long. “Long” because babies can’t be 20 inches tall, apparently.

What follows is a rather scattered collection of thoughts that spew forth as a reflect on the past couple of weeks. You’d expect more from a journalism student who fancies himself a “bit of a writer,” but you’re not going to get more. I have to finish writing this before naptime ends.

Tommy scared the hell out of us by staying grayish-blue (something like Pantone 2716) about 30 seconds longer than he was supposed to upon entering the World of Light, but he was fine. Those were, however, 30 of the longest “Are you sure those weren’t weeks?” seconds I had ever experienced. Once he got past that first bout of oxygen deprivation, he had four other little choking spells that turned him unpleasant colors and kept Mommy and Daddy unpleasantly terrorized. Apparently babies spend their first 24 hours or so “a little mucousy” and have trouble swallowing or coughing it up. Great.

Since then, the missus and I have spent the past 15 days getting used to sleeping in two- or three-hour bursts. Not ideal, but it’s easier for me than for her. I sense she’ll come around, though. She’s a fighter.

Now that we have a kid who can breathe normally, our cameras — video and still — are getting a stellar workout, and my Facebook and Flickr photo sharing skills are destined for glory. See also: the above photo is chock-full of awesomeness. Ain’t he cute?!

My employer graciously gave me two weeks off from work (thanks, again). What did I do with that two weeks? I tried to learn how to squeeze sufficient amounts of sleeping, eating, feeding, diapering and photographing into each 24-hour period. Hell of a lot harder than you might think — and then there’s dishes and laundry and family visits and the printer’s not working and we have ants in the kitchen and…

Just before he turned two weeks old, the kid had already experienced his first trip to the Nook. We considered baby-birding him some cheese curds but passed — for now. Still on the list of Important Things We Need to Do Too Early in His Life:

• keep a baseball near his left hand
• teach him to appreciate a good Jeep Wrangler
• instill a fiery sense of libertarianism
• make sure he always questions authority — but always appropriately, of course (let’s see what his mother says about this list item)
• show him the ways of the grill

And yes, the title of this post is indeed a reference to this:

That’s when I saw him.

He had just exited his SUV, parked directly in front of a sign clearly indicating the illegality of said park job. I don’t know whether he saw the sign, but I do know it would have been kind of hard to miss.

At this point, you’re probably worried. Worried about what this guy might be blocking — a fire hydrant, maybe a driveway. Worried about how much his ticket might cost — poor guy. That sucks, right?

But fret not, dear reader: He had his hazard lights on! It’s OK, really. No trouble here, folks — he’s acknowledging his boneheaded parking, so it’s quite alright.

What the hell makes someone think this is OK? This guy parked his car, drew attention to himself by flipping on these bright orange, flashing lights, and walked away. Two blocks away. It’s not like he was getting out to drop something in a mailbox eight feet away.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been prompted to vent in writing about this subject. As a columnist for the school paper in college, I wrote about this same matter in what I believe was my first column at that paper. I went back and reread it, and though it’s a bit amateurish, it’s pretty amusing, if I do say so myself.

You can read it here (see page 8 in the PDF, labeled as 9 in on the printed page). It’s probably worth checking out, if for no other reason than to see the awesome hair I was rockin’.

Photo courtesy of ettlz on Flickr

I love books. I love newspapers and magazines, too, but books are on a different level. Reading a good book, whether a novel or a work of non-fiction, is such a rewarding experience. Holding a book, smelling a book only makes the experience better.

When I buy books, I intentionally go to a used book store and buy old paperbacks. They’re usually cheaper, they’re cooler and they smell better. Something about old paper makes me happy.

Let’s see how my old books stack up against the Kindle’s big features: E-ink screen? Nope. Gigabytes of on-board storage space? Nay. Extended battery life? Not here. Headphone jack? Not included. EVDO wireless communication? Not a chance.

As I tally the results, it seems the old books are a clear winner.

The photo above is of a few books I picked up at Midway Used & Rare Books at Snelling and University in St. Paul. It’s one of the coolest places in the city. I’m also a huge fan of Sixth Chamber Used Books on Grand Ave. near Hamline.

Do yourself a favor and stop by. And if you’re asking, I’d suggest a nice Hemingway. I had fallen in love with Catherine by the end of A Farewell to Arms.

I’m going to be a dad! It’s a wild, crazy time at the Keliher household, but of course, it’s all very good news and very exciting. Our close friends and relatives keep asking if we’re ready, if we’re nervous, if we’re prepared to deal with what will eventually become a teenager.

My answer is always, “Of course we’re ready.” Mostly because I’m absurdly arrogant, but also due to the fact that I practically raised two of my three siblings, one of which is 14 years younger than me. Plus, it doesn’t matter if we’re ready; this things gettin’ born in August whether we like it or not!

For now, though, until we actually have an externally residing child, we won’t know whether its a girl or a not-girl. But we can’t very well refer to it as It for nine months, can we? So our unborn child is Kermit. Because, at the time we bestowed the name on the child, it looked an awful lot like a tadpole. And of course, the name Kermit does nothing if not evoke images of a certain frog.

And here’s the really fun part for all of my geeky friends: Kermit is an active twitterer. Find him here, @KermitKeliher. So follow Kermit to stay in touch and have a little fun.

It’s going to be a wild ride.

During my last visit (a quick trip to find some ciabatta bread; the Breadsmith was out!), though, I noticed a few things that bugged me. The magic of WordPress lets me get these things off my chest and, simultaneously, creates the illusion that people are listening and actually care. So here goes nothin’.

Dear Kowalskians:

Your fancy ceramic tiles in the store are nice and all, so congrats on that. But have you ever actually stood in a grocery store with hard tile floors? I was there for about five minutes and started to get a headache from the noise of the carts rattling all over the place. And if I were pushing a cart, it would have been the retail equivalent of driving over those grooves carved into the side of the freeway to wake me up before I veer off the road. Unnecessary.

Remember above when I said something about this being a “quick trip”? I lied. Admittedly, it was during the post-work, cookin’-dinner evening rush, but I quickly grabbed one thing and then waited in the express check-out line. One more time: I waited. In the express line. In a store like yours, where it seems a lot more folks are carrying little baskets than pushing big, full carts, maybe it makes sense to have more than one express line. After all, when there’s six folks in line, it quickly ceases to be “express.”

Of course, those things little nits at which I’m picking, making arguably too big a deal about too little. But there’s another thing that really bothers me, and I think it’s a bigger deal: the silly arrangement of your check-out lines. You know, that wall of magazines and impulse bait you have that separates the cashier’s side of the register from the customer’s side.

Here’s why it’s silly: I have to wait in line several feet behind away from both the cashier and my designated “stand here while you pay” spot. Then, when it’s my turn, I have to approach the cashier with my goods, back up three feet, and walk down the other side to my pay spot. Meanwhile, while I approached the cashier with my goods, the over-eager customer in line behind me has already started shoving forward, so I have to squeeze between her and the magazine rack to jump over to my side of the aisle.

It’s logistical chaos. And the worst part is, I see absolutely no purpose for it. I hope I’m missing something, but even if I am, it better be something big because this is just silly.

</rant>

Photo (of the Kowalski’s in my home town of Lakeville) courtesy of Bill Roehl on Flickr

…new guitar strings. Elixir lights, in the case of guitar shown here.

The inspiration for the short and sweet “happiness” theme goes to my friend Rick Mahn, who has, to date, written 285 posts on the subject (if my Roman numerals-to-cardinal numbers translation is correct).