Abercrombie & Fitch. My experience with A&F is limited to just walking by the store in the mall. But what the hell? Four big (4’x4′) framed pictures of buff male models, with essentially no clothes on. Music so loud it sounds like a dance club ten feet outside the store. What little I can see of the lighting inside seems to be exceptionally poor. People/kids shop for clothing like that?

I know, I know, you’re thinking I’m an old fuddy-duddy, and you’re probably right. But I remember being a teenager and shopping for clothes. Would I have shopped in a store like this if it existed in my day? I don’t know.

First off, the images of models — I fully understand and appreciate the concept of using handsome/pretty, buff/slender models to sell clothes—to sell anything, really. But how do naked models sell clothes? Doesn’t the potential customer want to know what the clothes look like on the models? I mean, I’m all impressed with the 17 year old’s six-pack abs, but that look requires going to a gym, not buying a shirt at A&F.

Attractive, naked models can bring eyes to the image, but usually the image shows the product, or at least the product name. Such images with no product shown, and not even the company name anywhere, seem wasted.

The music — I like loud rock music, too. Granted, my prefered rock is at least 20 years older than the stuff they’re playing in A&F, but still, rock and roll is supposed to be loud. But dear God almighty, how do the sales staff in the store talk with customers? Dance clubs are loud because people want to dance, not talk, or think, or . . . hmm. I was going to say, “shop,” but people in a dance club are, in effect, shopping.

The lighting — do teenage shoppers care what the clothes actually look like, or is it sufficient just to have something with the A&F label? Well, thinking on what I’ve seen teenagers wearing now a days, maybe they don’t actually care what they wear looks like. So maybe they don’t need to see the clothes and know whether the pants are black or blue, or the shirt is white or pink.

Actually, something that cracks me up about the clothes today’s kids wear is how identical they are to what I was wearing as a kid in the 70s and 80s. I mean, really. I could show you a picture of a kid and you wouldn’t be able to identify whether it was a 70s teen or a 00s teen. You know, I wonder if A&F stores are really just second-hand stores, selling old junk they found at the Goodwill store.

Hey, more power to them. I think it’s fine that 30 year old styles keep coming back. But it does make 30 year old movies with depictions of the predicted future look pretty dumb. If designers just keep bringing back styles from generations past, we’ll never get our plastic, color-changing, self-cleaning fashion look. Imagine if the 80s movie Back to the Future 2 showed people wearing the styles of the 70s. Who would have believed it? Who wouldn’t have laughed at the lack of imagination of the wardrobe designers?

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I’m finding a funny thing about writing a daily blog that my family reads: many stories I would tell my family about my life since the last time they saw me, they’ve already read here.

Trying to make conversation can be awkward.

“Interesting thing happened to me yesterday: this guy approached me in the Walmart parking lot . . .”

“Yeah, I read that in your blog.”

“I took my son to a comic book shop last week . . .”

“That was funny when I read it on your blog.”

“Man, I tell you, it’s been hot down here lately . . .”

“I know. I read your complaint about it in your blog.”

Fortunately, and ironically, my wife doesn’t read my blog. All my recent stories are unknown to my wife until I verbally tell her. It’s funny when she asks me about something and I can say, “If you read my blog, you’d know.” If she read my blog, I’d have little to talk about at the dinner table.

If she read my blog, she’d see this note that I love her, and I’ve missed her over the past few days. <insert big hug and kiss> (We’ve been seperated for a few days, with her at home with our boys and me in my hometown with my mom.)

But, she’ll never see this [virtual] public display of affection. This’ll just be a little secret between me and all of you.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I had to go to Walmart to pick up some stuff. I took my two-and-a-half year old with me. We had to park pretty far out in the parking lot, and as we were walking toward the store, a clean-cut young man approached us with a fist full of pamphlets.

I knew what he was coming to say, and as soon as the young man got close enough to start his spiel, “Hi, I’m a professional . . .” I waved him off with, “No thank you.”

He nodded politely and moved on. But I caught a glimpse of the pamphlet he was carrying. It looked like it had a pretty cool, color illustration—something with swords and armor and horses.

Did he say he was a “professional” something? By the time that term struck me, he and we were too far apart to change my mind. Damn. That illustration on his pamplet, and his use of the term “professional” got me intrigued.

Anyway, we went on in the store, bought what we needed, and headed back out. Just outside the exit door, I saw the young man sitting on a bench holding his pamphlets. He looked tired, hot, and maybe a little dejected. I stopped and asked him if he was the guy that approached me in the parking lot. He confirmed he was, and pulled out one of the pamphlets.

“This is important information about Revelations that you can read.”

I took the pamphlet, thanked him, and then moved on with my son. I didn’t get a chance to look at the pamphlet until I got home.

The image is pretty cool. A sky scene, with a big moon in the center background, and four horsemen on flying horses (without wings). One horseman, on a white horse, wearing silver and gold armor, pulling taunt a mighty bow, is a white-haired king (with crown). This is presumedly, God. The other three horsemen are obviously evil—probably War on his red horse, Death on his pale horse, and . . . who is this guy on the black horse? He carries a set of balance scales (Death has his scythe, War has his bloody sword). I guess I need to read the text on the reverse side. (I was going to read the text anyway.)

Well, apparently, the rider on the black horse, with the scales in his hands, is Capitalism. I kid you not.

I didn’t expect that. I had always thought the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were War, Death, Famine, and Pestilence. According to this pamphlet, famine is part of Capitalism, and pestilence is part of Death. And one Horseman is actually a good guy: God (Jesus). Hmm. I’ll have to research this story further.

I’ll keep this illustration; it really is cool. But I never found out what the evangelist meant by “professional”. Professional what?

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

The funeral service was very nice. As part of the memorial, some of the family wrote a note about my step-dad. This is the story I related:

I was around 13 years old, and trying to cheat on a book report for school. I hadn’t read the book, and the report I wrote was pure bull. But I, being a smart and wily teenager, knew I could fool my teacher. My mom had me read my report in front of her and my step-dad, and I put on a confident air as I read. When I finished, the look on my step-dad’s face scared me: confusion and disappointment. He easily saw the errors in my report, but he didn’t want to believe it. He asked me a few questions about the subject of the book, and I tried to continue the deception. My ability and will failed me the more I tried.

My mom and step-dad let me go back to my room without saying what I knew they knew. A few minutes later, when my step-dad came to my room to talk with me, I was in tears. I wasn’t crying because I knew I had been caught; I was torn up because of the look of disappointment on my step-dad’s face. He didn’t want to believe I was being so deceitful.

In my room, he didn’t show anger. He didn’t scold me. He just asked, “Why?” Through my blubbering, I admitted that I just hadn’t bothered to read the book. He hugged me firmly, and long.

After I calmed down enough to listen, he talked to me. He told me what he thought of me: he was disappointed in what I had just done, but not in me. Then we talked out my options for that report.

I don’t remember the end result of the book report (probably wasn’t a good grade), but I remember vividly that hug and that talk in my bedroom. It was a simple thing that made me want to be a good, better, person.

***

That story is a good example of what he was like as a step-dad. The term, “step-father” has a lot of negative baggage, so I dislike using it to describe this man. That’s why I prefer to say, “step-dad.” He was a regular, daily, positive part of my life since I was 7 years old.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com