[Sr. Mints]

This is pretty much the extent of my Stampede participation this year:

The bad-ass 1880s cowboy bounty-hunter assassin who sold me my Condo

My opinion on the Calgary Stampede hasn’t changed much in the last ten years: been there, done that, bought the double-deep-fried, sugar-coated t-shirt and $12 pint of beer.

I’m not against, or hate the Stampede, nor do I think ill of anyone who likes to revel in the pseudo-western atmosphere, and I’ve also learned pretty well how to circumvent the craziness and revelry.

And, you know, not many cities get ten days where coming into work drunk at 2:00 p.m. is acceptable. So, hey: the Stampede certainly has some things going for it.

In the summer of 2010, I was viewing five to ten open houses per week when I was in the market to purchase my first home. During Stampede week, my brother came with me to a newly built condo complex, where we were greeted by a man who revived my Stampede spirit.

Dressed in stone-washed black jeans, an urbane collarless pinstriped shirt, a brown bandanna around his neck, and cowboy boots that were aged to perfection, the man also sported a dark cowboy duster coat, a well-worn, matching Smithbilt hat, and to top it all off, spurs that ‘ka-chinked’ with every step.

This dude was bad-ass!

The rest . . .