my favorite restaurant

My favorite restaurant would have to be Johnny’s Pizza. The closest one to me is in Fayetteville, GA, next to my old high school. Johnny’s brings the New York pizzeria flavor that I miss so much down to us here in Georgia, who are missing out. The best thing to get on the menu is probably the simplest – a slice of cheese pizza. With the thin, yet crunchy crust, perfect amount of sauce and cheese that falls off the slice, a cheese slice, or a couple of cheese slices, never fails to hit the spot in your stomach and your taste buds.
The atmosphere of Johnny’s is very typical of any New York pizzeria, with red booths, wood covered tables and a counter you can walk up to not only for ordering but also for light conversation with the hostess. With a TV in every corner, showing everything from the news to the current soap operas, to a pizza eater’s favorite sport channel, Johnny’s guests are always entertained.
Johnny’s is the place for memory making. From being the perfect teenage date spot, to just a hang out spot for you and your closest friends, the atmosphere encourages you to sit and stay a while. The staff never rushes you so many of my favorite memories have been made long after the plates have been cleared. Doing anything from writing my best friend a song about his deceased mother on a napkin, to dreaming of leaving Fayetteville and never coming back, Johnny’s is the place for good dreaming an great food.

I want to go home.

So today in the middle of the afternoon, maybe an hour after I had finished wasting away at a Kohl's department store register, I sat at home on the computer, getting ready to type this blog. Suddenly, a siren goes off. Not just in my subdivision or anything. Across the whole town. Now, to understand why I started freaking out, you have to understand where I'm from. In Queens, we didn't have tornado warnings. Granted, we had 9/11 and blackouts and things like that, but I've learned to handle mans mistakes. But as Cory [[the gay man on my job]] said "Mother Nature's a freak." So when she decides that it'll be 70 degrees one minute, then hailing the next, I tremble.

Back to trying to do my blog. I get up and call my best friend and Chuck E. Cheese's to ask him if he heard the sirens. He's nowhere near phased. I describe how the wind had been blowing at 25 mph then just stopped randomly. He's still not phased. I describe the strange orange color outside and how I took 5 water bottles and 5 bags of popcorn into the pantry with me and am going to spend the night there. He's still not phased. Then I hear glass shatter. He flips out.

I stayed in the pantry until I was sure I wasn't going to die. When I finally got the gall to re-enter my living room, what do I find but glass all over the floor. See, Mother Nature threw a quarter sized peice of ice at three of my living room windows and put a tree on my roof. Because that's exactly what I needed. So here I am, at 1:30 in the morning, writing this blog about how this blog almost didn't get written.

Reporting from my room

With the advent of the cell phone, video cameras, and other means of recording whats going on right now, a journalist can be anyone from the girl next door to a two year old who can click and point a camera. If the American Dream is having the ability and equality to be whatever you want, this works perfectly. You can stream live video from your cell phone straight to YouTube, and have a million hits on a video, so long as its news people want to hear. But what about the American Dream of those journalists who went to school to learn how to do their profession to the tee, only to get stuck in this society, where professionalism and crudentials almost don’t matter anymore. Being a child of this era, I think it’s great that just about anyone can make enough YouTube videos and get famous. Many rags to riches stories have started this way. But there’s always the chance that people who are actually doing their jobs as journalists are losing their credibility, because just about ANYONE with a decent phone on their camera and a somewhat steady hand can tell a story.

Granted, now we can find out about news as it’s happening. But is that making everything beetter for everyone, seeing everything as soon as possible and from an eyewitness account? This is what the 21st century holds for us. Maybe the American Dream changes over time.

Hope That You Can Keep It

1. When I first looked at PostSecret, I liked the idea of having secrets that you can tell everyone but still keep secret
2. I think the images were a good manifestation because they left you a visual imprint of what the author was trying to get across.
3. The writing clarified what was in the image, but still only served as a backdrop.
4. The images spoke more to me simply because I'm a picture person.
5. My Favorite Secret
I think this secret is arguing that not everyone in jail is bad but they still all get a bad rep for being in a place that has a negative connotation.