Really, the biggest hurdle, for me, to writing more — more often, more thoughtfully, more substantively — is finding the motivation to actually sit down and write. It’s a struggle to make it a priority, which is too bad. I enjoy writing. It’s something I tend to do well, and it helps me think more critically about the things I believe, the news stories I encounter, the people I meet, the work I do, the stories I tell.

This writing muscle of mine needs exercise, but just like lifting weights or setting off for a brisk morning run, this sort of exercise requires plenty of motivation. I’m not being paid for my writing — at least not directly, not like a newspaper columnist or a professional blogger — and I have a family and friends and all sorts of other hobbies to occupy my time.

It’s time to make “wanting to write more” enough of a motivator to write more.

I’ve been telling myself this for months, but now that my desire to write is in writing, it’s official. Recently, my inspiration has come from two friends. One is Rick Mahn, who wrote a post called “Doing it wrong,” in which he bemoans the inclination to hold back, reminding me — these are my own words — to just write, damn it. Get on with it!

Another is Andrew effin’ Miller. Miller joined the crew at Fast Horse after running a kick-ass campaign during our nifty summer intern-search program. I knew right out of the gates that this kid was a one-man media empire. (Andrew Miller Omnimedia has a nice ring to it, no?) Most significant is the daily writing he does for his blog, The Miller Times.

If he can do it, why the hell can’t I? There’s nothing special about him (lie). I don’t intend to publish a piece on a daily basis, but I certainly plan to write more. More frequently. More intelligently. More effectively.

And to do that, I’m going to need my own little content strategy, as we marketing folks call it. I’ll write about that soon.

[photo]

Tonight’s drive home from work featured an album I can, after some consideration, confidently describe as perfect. I don’t mean that it is without technical flaw; I’m sure a close listen would turn up a few hiccups here and there. Rather, I mean it is nearly unmatched in its ability to make me giddy. Even depressing, heart-wrenching music makes me giddy in a way — joyful at the songwriter’s skill for putting into words what most just put into mild alcoholism.

The list that follows contains some albums I consider to be perfect. Amazing. For-christ’s-sake-buy-it-now good. This list is far from complete; I plan to add to it over time, but for now, I can’t help but share these incredible works of music.

In no particular order, the first additions to my Perfect Albums list:

• “August and Everything After” by the Counting Crows
• “Lifeline” by Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals
• “Sky Blue Sky” by Wilco
• “Live at Java Joe’s” by Jason Mraz
• “Purple” by the Stone Temple Pilots
• “Z” by My Morning Jacket
• “Led Zeppelin III” by Led Zeppelin
• “I and Love and You” by the Avett Brothers
• “Return to Cookie Mountain” by TV on the Radio
• “Only by the Night” by Kings of Leon
• “Gold” by Ryan Adams

Perfect. Perfect. Don’t even start arguing with me. Rest assured, though, I’m well aware this list is far from complete. This was mostly compiled off the top of my head. And for the record, the Ben Harper album is the one that prompted this post, but “Sky Blue Sky” is the album I first described as perfect. Thank you, Nels Cline.

What albums would be on your Perfect list?

(Update 7/24/2010: Now that we’re squarely in the middle of summer, I’ve again come across what might be my favorite — not the best; my favorite — album of all time, which should be on this Perfect list: Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti.)

(Update 2/23/2011: How could I forget the Red Hot Chili Peppers?! I hereby add “By the Way” to this list. And for god’s sake: Beck’s “Guero.”)

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 nap time 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.

UPDATE July 12, 2011: I received a Kindle as a Christmas gift, and I love it. Truly love it. It’s a nearly perfect device. I never thought I’d say that. And you know what? I still love a good old paperback even more.

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).