Obviously a Canadian

Ordinary bacon is delicious, but boring. It doesn't help you fill 4 hours of a languid Saturday.

That's how Bacon Man came into existence.

You don't have to eat anything else all day, if you make an entire package of bacon. You will have enough energy to take on the day after drinking too much Canadian whisky the night before. You will have enough energy to take on a 2-hour shinny game with strangers on the rink behind your house.*

(*you will be an invinsible Canadian)

My purse - the Pacific Ocean purse in which I constantly lose things - it's like putting my head into Hurricane Katrina - was the bacon receptacle. I met a girl last week who has the identical purse - same colour and everything. She keeps full-sized cheesecakes in hers.

I could probably fit all the ingredients to a cheesecake and a ham in my purse, but I'm trying to diminish the gasps and pity every time I get a massage. After this morning's appointment I feel exceptionally greasy - almost as though I've been smothered in bacon fat. My masseuse was from Mexico, so I don't think she has malicious plans yet to smother someone else in bacon fat. But maybe that's what lured her to Ottawa. That's a normal Canadian sentiment right? Right after wanting to throw up Canadian whisky in the snow and cover it with more snow?

Every blog post feels like my life. 3/4 of the way through each day and each post, I have to ask myself how the hell I got here.

But reflection is futile when you have a bacon man!

(As an addendum, I'm torn between the soundtrack of Do you hear the people sing? from Les Miz, or whatever song it is that goes along with Mel Gibson's "freedom" in Braveheart. You may think that suggestion is irreverent, but just stare at the bacon man. He has lots and lots of heart.)