If you’ve been following my adventures in conservative politics and the new media, then you might know that this is my third website since last July. That isn’t ideal, of course– not if you want to draw readers to your blog. But my life changed so much in 2012 that the moves were necessary. To anyone who got lost in the shuffle, my apologies.
Between November of 2011 and November 6, 2012, I was a Herman Cain supporter, a Rick Santorum grassroots volunteer, worked for Restoring America Project PAC, wrote and edited at Tea Party Tribune then worked for Americans For Prosperity. In the meantime, I started writing for Integrity, which consists of blogging for their business clients’ websites.
Here at Lowering the Boom, you’ll find conservative-themed images, stories and commentary. But don’t expect to find a lot of snarkiness. It’s just not something I’m good at.
— Becca Lower
First entry, Friday Fiction …
“He’s the Dummy…”
It’s not what you think, compadre. I know it looks like he’s got nothin’ goin’ on upstairs.
But he has his moments.
Tony’s got jobs in town, when he can. He puts up shingles and paints barns for folks who can’t get their kids to do it.
Then on the weekends, a Saturday or a Sunday afternoon, I take pity on him and let him work with me at the Bijou, right on the square.
He’s not very funny, but he does what I tell him — better than the others before him.
I’m still gonna have to kill him.
(Hat tip to Protein Wisdom’s Darlene Click!)
A few days ago, I felt like I just had to get away from my apartment for a while. It just so happens that the one year anniversary of my move to The Valley of the Sun falls on this week. And we’re suffering an early foreshadowing of mid-summer, with almost 10 days in a row of 100 degree-plus heat.
So I went out to the restaurant in my neighborhood that’s quickly become my favorite. It’s called Hula’s Modern Tiki. And it’s a place that’s hard to describe, like a lot of Phoenix restaurants. Rarely does a place stick to just one thing, especially if they want to, well, stick around.
Hula’s has a melange of Mexican and seafood dishes, mainly tiny tacos and sandwiches, but everything has pineapple or something that makes you think of Polynesia. Even the brownie and ice cream dessert (which I tried for the first time on that night) came with an umbrella like you’d expect to find in a coconut drink on a tropical beach.
Anyway, when the waitress came to take my order, somehow she’d remembered me from the crowd of people who eat there every week. She specifically knew that unlike that night, I normally ate lunch (or as I reminded her, and she agreed, weekend brunch). It’s probably something every waitress knows how to do, but it touched me. For someone to remember when I visit, it meant something. It, in a very small -and yeah, maybe superficial- way, meant that I belong. That it was like a home away from home. And that’s not something I take lightly.
When someone takes the time to notice, and takes the time to care about what’s happening around them and with those around them, it really does make a difference. Even if it seems like a small gesture to you, it can mean the world for one other person.