Action Girls Kick
I don't watch many movies. I know this because when Jesse and Erik and Mike and their wives and other assorted friends get together for trivia I might as well not be on anyone's team for that segment. But I've come to realize through perusing Netflix that at some point in my life I must have been better informed, for I have added a host of "must-see" movies to Jesse's queue.
Recently we streamed a ridiculous but somehow wonderful computer hacker flick starring Robert Redford which makes the "Unix" scene in Jurassic Park and the entirety of Swordfish look technologically accurate. My favorite scene from Sneakers, entitled "How to Defeat an Electronic Keypad," can be viewed here.
Despite being ridiculously out of touch regarding movies of late, I do know enough to know that the kicking in of doors and even kicking in general is a common element everywhere, from spy-flicks to crime-TV. My friend Laila and I might have accidentally scared some poor woman in a movie-theater restroom when she walked in on us practicing our kicking after watching Charlie's Angels.
One of my favorite memories of my little sister is when she was around three, jumping and practicing kicking on her full bed. I had gotten her some flare-legged jeans and she called these "action pants." Her mother was unsure of where she could possibly have learned this terminology, so I asked her, and all she would say was that "Action Girls kick." Apparently, flare-legged pants help them do this, even moreso if they are sparkly in some fashion.
I guess I should confess here to all of you (in case it wasn't already apparent), that I am an action girl. The night before last Jesse and I were up late picking up the house and I went out to throw something in the recycling bin while he was on the deck smoking. Sadly, it never occurred to me that he might have just pulled the door mostly closed and left the doorknob locked, that is, until the moment I heard it click into place behind me.
It was midnight, none of the doors were unlocked, and Jesse had just recently gone through the whole house locking windows after he'd noticed a few were unlocked. Fortunately, Jesse had his cell phone with him. Unfortunately, he was in his socks, and I was in a t-shirt, and it was chilly. He looked up the numbers of a few locksmiths and tried calling their afterhours numbers but never got an answer from anyone.
Eventually, he sort of half-heartedly threw his shoulder into the door into the garage. It didn't go anywhere, although to his credit it probably would have at least shuddered if he'd been wearing shoes that let him get a proper running start. But in watching him do this I realized that it was just a door. If tiny Stana Katic as Kate Beckett on ABC's Castle could plausibly kick in doors, surely I could.
So with Jesse's permission I gave it a fairly solid but probably not full-out front kick just beside the doorknob. It did not open.
"Kick it again," he said. "The doorframe moved."
I did, and it swung open into the garage.
Oh how Jesse laughed at me. He even took a picture of the splintered doorframe and has threatened to upload it to Facebook. Some of the hardware on the frame went flying off but the door actually still closes and locks, albeit not well. Jesse said I'll have to help him fix it and I'm strangely OK with that, although not necessarily the part where he calls his dad for help and tells him how this happened. I think I've formulated a good three-word defense, however.
"Action girls kick."
Recently we streamed a ridiculous but somehow wonderful computer hacker flick starring Robert Redford which makes the "Unix" scene in Jurassic Park and the entirety of Swordfish look technologically accurate. My favorite scene from Sneakers, entitled "How to Defeat an Electronic Keypad," can be viewed here.
Despite being ridiculously out of touch regarding movies of late, I do know enough to know that the kicking in of doors and even kicking in general is a common element everywhere, from spy-flicks to crime-TV. My friend Laila and I might have accidentally scared some poor woman in a movie-theater restroom when she walked in on us practicing our kicking after watching Charlie's Angels.
One of my favorite memories of my little sister is when she was around three, jumping and practicing kicking on her full bed. I had gotten her some flare-legged jeans and she called these "action pants." Her mother was unsure of where she could possibly have learned this terminology, so I asked her, and all she would say was that "Action Girls kick." Apparently, flare-legged pants help them do this, even moreso if they are sparkly in some fashion.
I guess I should confess here to all of you (in case it wasn't already apparent), that I am an action girl. The night before last Jesse and I were up late picking up the house and I went out to throw something in the recycling bin while he was on the deck smoking. Sadly, it never occurred to me that he might have just pulled the door mostly closed and left the doorknob locked, that is, until the moment I heard it click into place behind me.
It was midnight, none of the doors were unlocked, and Jesse had just recently gone through the whole house locking windows after he'd noticed a few were unlocked. Fortunately, Jesse had his cell phone with him. Unfortunately, he was in his socks, and I was in a t-shirt, and it was chilly. He looked up the numbers of a few locksmiths and tried calling their afterhours numbers but never got an answer from anyone.
Eventually, he sort of half-heartedly threw his shoulder into the door into the garage. It didn't go anywhere, although to his credit it probably would have at least shuddered if he'd been wearing shoes that let him get a proper running start. But in watching him do this I realized that it was just a door. If tiny Stana Katic as Kate Beckett on ABC's Castle could plausibly kick in doors, surely I could.
So with Jesse's permission I gave it a fairly solid but probably not full-out front kick just beside the doorknob. It did not open.
"Kick it again," he said. "The doorframe moved."
I did, and it swung open into the garage.
Oh how Jesse laughed at me. He even took a picture of the splintered doorframe and has threatened to upload it to Facebook. Some of the hardware on the frame went flying off but the door actually still closes and locks, albeit not well. Jesse said I'll have to help him fix it and I'm strangely OK with that, although not necessarily the part where he calls his dad for help and tells him how this happened. I think I've formulated a good three-word defense, however.
"Action girls kick."