Yesterday was the third annual Baconfest at Dad's Garage (here's photos from 2007 and 2008), and I'm pretty sure one of the top things they recommend for a recent heart surgery patient is "eat bacon," so I headed down. For chrissakes, I've been to all of them so far -- that's not a record you take lightly, friends.
But my parents and cardiologist will be thrilled to hear that I played it pretty cool. I only had three beers, spread over four hours. Granted, in my new weakened/healthy/lighter state, that's enough to get me tipsy and babbling. And I only had three handfuls of bacon. I think two years ago, I had that much in the first fifteen minutes.
The Elk and the Wall (another three-time Baconfester -- at the very least, we deserve medals or tattoos) also showed up, good times were had. I went a little lighter on the photos this year, but did have the Elk take this one just before my first handful of bacon (first bacon since pre-surgery, no less):
I call that picture "America." The bacon tasted great, by the way.
They also had a face-painting booth, which adopted a policy that I'd like to see all face-painting booths take on: the customer would pick a design from a list, such as a star or butterfly or whatever, and the painter would proceed to draw phalluses on the cheek, along with a message like "No cock = sad" or "I love anus." I thought that was pretty awesome, although I may have felt differently if I were walking around with "I take it in every hole" scrawled on my face.