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Showing posts from February, 2011

"Happy Evil Visitation Day To Me ..."

My birthday is Tuesday, March 1st.

I thought I'd give you time to get me a present. I'm not getting any younger, you know? There's got to be some benefit to getting older. Checks are acceptable.

This year I decided to find out how birthdays got their start.

Turns out that birthdays were not always celebrated ... much less even counted. The ancients (they lived a long time ago) developed calendars after they noticed that the moon had cycles. Before then, everyone noticed that they got older ... they just didn't track it.

The first birthday parties started as protection. These ancient guys believed that a person was visited by evil spirits when they had a birthday. So to protect them from harm, they called up all their friends to have a party. The more good cheer ... the less opportunity for the bad stuff to happen. Noisemakers were used to scare the spirits away and candles were signals to the gods to send a "prayer" to be answered. Blow out the candles and ma…


Last week, I went to lunch with a friend that I hadn't seen in years. It was one of those lunches that makes you feel like time stood still .. you know reminiscing about stuff, telling lies ... laughing. I felt like I was 20 again ... until I heard, "Hey, Momberg ... been growing your forehead since I saw you?"

Reality hit: What happened to my hair?

It used to be on the top of my head (and the sides and back too). It was long ... it was dark ... it was ... the 70s.

And I had a moustache. A big bushy Groucho Marx moustache which took up most of my face (the glasses took up the rest).

Hair, the musical, had just come out. So us 20- somethings wanted HAIR ... Long beautiful hair ... Shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen.

Ah yes.

Hair is a funny thing. We really care about it.

When you're a baby, you really don't know if you have any or not ... but your parents do. If you are a girl and bald, count on having a bow stapled to your head. If you're a bald head…

Sam I Am

You probably missed me.

That's what all writers think when we are "behind" in our work. In my case it's been more than a week since my last blog ... and I know you were probably going through withdrawal.

I have a Sammy conversation for you:

Last week we took Sam out for breakfast (his favorite meal). I told him we would pick him up at 9AM. I had him repeat it a few times so that I knew he heard it. Sunday morning at 9 sharp I walked into the lobby at Menorah Manor and to my surprise ... no Sammy. He is usually ready and waiting a half hour early.

So I took the elevator to the fourth floor and was greeted by one of his nurses who said, "Oh there you are. He was so worried about you. He wasn't sure you were coming ... you are so late."

"What?" I asked, "I told him that I would be here at 9."  

"He said 7."

I just shook my head and walked into his room. He was snoring with the big headphones on and his pants unzipped.



The best breakfast this side of New Orleans is served on Sunday mornings at The Ozona Pig.

It's not right down the street ... unless you live in Ozona, Florida  right across the street from Molly Goodhead's. It takes me about 45 minutes to get there from my house ... even on Sunday morning.

Ozona Pig is a barbecue restaurant .. and a good one. Opened Monday through Saturday for lunch and dinner, The Pig decided to share their kitchen with a talented cook and her devoted husband.

Donny Ford is the guy who created the electronics for my man cave (consequently, he's my hero) and  he is married to Ann ... who has always wanted to have a breakfast restaurant. Their friends own Ozona Pig ... don't typically open on Sundays ... and offered the place to Ann and Donny to do their magic.

Donny invited Debbie and I to check it out last weekend. I'll admit, driving to Ozona on Sunday morning to sample breakfast sight unseen was not on my bucket list. But ... it has made my To…