Come to Carmichael’s during Olde Tyme Christmas for a book signing with Kentucky journalist, Al Smith

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Come to Carmichael’s during Olde Tyme Christmas for a book signing with Kentucky

I’m going to get existential today, and there is nothing you can do about it – ponder that line for a moment – so, for those who would like to skip the Erin Day in the Erin Day Article, the following is for you:  Al Smith, a local broadcast journalist of Kentucky fame for over 50 years, will join the lovely folks at Carmichael’s Bookstore this Saturday, December 8th, starting at 1pm.  We are talking about the Frankfort Avenue location.  The address is 2720 Frankfort Avenue.  I have that memorized now.  The phone number, too: (502) 896-6950.  Al Smith’s book is a memoir.  It’s called Kentucky Cured: Fifty Years in Kentucky Journalism.  It costs $19.99 in paperback.  I think, I find, I actually like paperbacks better.  Kentucky Cured ruminates on Smith’s incredible career in reporting, his dealings in “cause journalism” and his discovery of the fantastic and rich history our dear Kentucky offers to its homelanders.  I really do love living in Kentucky; if you ever asked, that’s what I would say.  Smith is going to sign this book as part of Frankfort Avenue’s Olde Tyme Christmas celebration.  There might be cookies (NOT VERIFIED).  You can find them close by either way.  I’ve been craving an iced sugar cookie from the Homemade Pie Kitchen.  That needs to happen soon.  It’s going to be 63 degrees and rainy on Saturday during Olde Tyme Christmas – stormy weather usually makes bookstores cozier, so this should be added incentive to walk into Carmichael’s, shake hands with the good peeps, buy some books, hear some stories and get everything gift-wrapped by the truly lovely, lovely people who work for my favorite booksellers.  Buy local.  Love local.  Live local (you can’t help this one, if you’re thinking technically).  So, again: Al Smith.  Journalist.  Memoir. Kentucky Cured: Fifty Years in Kentucky Journalism.  Carmichael’s Bookstore.  Frankfort Avenue Olde Tyme Christmas.  Saturday, December 8th, at 1pm.  Christmas is coming.   

That’s 318 words of informative reporting to help you plan your weekend and do it with literary pizzazz – it actually sounds really, really nice.  Especially the part about cookies.  That was an off-the-cuff flash of genius I added.  I didn’t plan that one.

Here’s the article I want to write about Al Smith; here’s how he inspired me today:       

Christmas is 19 days away.  It’s really not that many.  Perhaps if you are 5 – and the agony of eternity is jingling oh-so-merrily, oh-so-incredibly-slowly away – 19 days is akin to water torture.  Santa Claus is water torture.  But it’s nothing.  It is actually quite depressing how much nothing there is to 19 days as to their incredible speed.  Days are supposed to be precious, right?  A gift, right?  Those are the things we print on cardstock and mail to each other a few times a year.  Good Luck.  Happy Birthday.  Merry Christmas.  Thank You. 

Many combinations of two words. 

The paper is usually nice and flourished; sometimes there is glitter involved.  People like these things.  Or – well, people say they like these things.  Or – well, people assume they are supposed to like these things.  Or – well.

People hate these things.  I hate these things.  Love the Earth.  Save a tree.  Don’t send my anything you didn’t write yourself.  Don’t send me anything.

Give me yourself.  That’s cliché, too. 

Point: in 19 days everything that ever was, ever, can suddenly stop.  That can happen in 19 minutes.  19 seconds.  19 increments-of-time-smaller-than-that.  Or 19 syllables.  19.  19 letters.  Whatever.  Things change.  Everything changes.  Did you know this?  That sunrise this morning: different.  You’ll never see that again.  The coffee beans that woke you up: different.  Grown, cut down, roasted – gone now.  The skin cells sloughing off in your coat: different.  The balance of chemicals, minerals, enzymes: different.  The combination of water molecules in the river: different.  The number of birds you passed.  The humans alive on the planet today.  YOU = DIFFERENT. 

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