Thoughts on a Friday

I used to eat Nutella by the jar, but no longer. 

-How I've missed doing this.
-Doing Thoughts on a Sunday doesn't have the same affect as Thoughts on a Friday.
-I have school work to do today, but that makes me all the more want to do Friday's thoughts.
-So I shall.
-At the moment, I'm being journalistic and trying to work out the beginnings a soft-lead story.
-So far, so good.
-I hope I do okay on it, because my news reporting prof is tough as nails.
-He tends to rip his students to shreds, I guess as a way to buffer us for "the real world".
-Ok, I'm sure the real world is in fact tough, but not everywhere, depending on where you work.
-For my last pretend news assignment, he wrote on my paper that my opening sentence was "kind of lame."
-Wow, I've never had that happen before.
-I'm not so much offended by it as I'm mildly surprised.
-Is that what they do in the real world of journalism?
-But I'm only in college.
-Okay, perhaps it was a little weak, but not lame.
-And maybe I am a tad offended by that.
-Ok, maybe it was.
-He is, however, a pro at grammar, and definitely knows what the hell he's doing.
-After all, he's apparently been in the field for about 30+ years.
-He gets frustrated easily when he sees something that have unnecessary words like "entirely destroyed." Nope, that would be just destroyed by itself.
-If he were to check this blog out, he would probably want to crumple it up into cyber space because nothing here is CP Style (Canadian Press) and/or grammatically incorrect.
-I've used he quite a lot.
-Before I take up half this space rattling on about my prof, let's move on to something completely different, shall we?
-And it's not going to be about the news.
-Maybe one day, but not today.
-Unless it's about Rob Ford, whom I enjoy ripping.
-Or would that be considered libellous?
-This vid was just begging to be found.
-All the more reason for me to get a cat one day.
-Snow? In Manitoba?
-Oh my.
-It's supposed to be cooler here in Ontario, but with no snow accompanying.
-Pumpkins.
-My goal is to make a pumpkin loaf this season.
-Going to Graceland.
-My article is going no where, and my computer's running out of power.
-Goes to show where my priorities are, eh?
-Turkey time!
-My thought priorities: food, and food.
-Oh, and study.
-Thanksgiving this weekend, whooo.
-And we actually have company this year!
-As for previous years, I was in school.
-You know, it's the 50th anniversary of Dr. No? And if the opening doesn't interest you, this might.
-Ta ta!

As of a few years ago, I associate the fall season/Thanksgiving with this particular piece. 

From here and here

To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

   Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

   With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

   And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

      To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

   With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

      For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

   Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

   Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

   Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

      Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

   Steady thy laden head across a brook;

   Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

      Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?

   Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

   And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

   Among the river sallows, borne aloft

      Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

   Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

   The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Image from here