Kiss My Converse
One of my favorite movies – minus the few violent scenes and the offensive language – is The Last Dragon. Yes I’m a girl and don’t normally enjoy watching martial art movies, but I like this one and have seen it at least 40, if not 50, times. That’s no exaggeration.
In Berry Gordy’s The Last Dragon, Leroy is on a quest to achieve the highest level of martial arts, known as “The Final Level.” When a student reaches the “Final Level” they possess “The Glow” and he is one of the best in the world. When his entire body glows, he is the greatest fighter alive.
However, before Leroy can claim his title, he is repeatedly confronted by his adversary, Sho’nuff, who wants to prove he’s a better fighter. In one scene, Sho’nuff and his cohorts arrive at Leroy’s dojo to coerce him into a fight. Leroy responds, “But I do not wish to fight you.”
Sho’nuff says, “Well who is it that you wish to fight then?” One of the female goons smacks Leroy in the mouth, but instead of fighting, he maintains his composure and bows.
Sho’nuff acknowledges the bow, but he wants more. He snaps his finger, points to his feet and says “Kiss My Converse.” Leroy looks at the faces of his students and rather than show them the wrong example, he concedes. But before Leroy can get a good smooch of his Chuck Taylors, Sho’nuff delivers a kick to Leroy’s mouth instead, knocking him on his behind.
Sho’nuff says, “You may not wish to fight me, but you will Leroy.” As he and his goons leave the dojo, Sho’nuff asks: “Who’s the baddest” and they respond by saying, “Sho’nuff.”
Stay with me, I think there’s a correlation somewhere.
Last night, just after 9:30 p.m., I was, among other things, extremely tired and cranky. I wanted to go to sleep. My eyeballs were already tucked in their drunken REM blanket, all I had to do was stagger to the bed and fall down. I never made it.
Instead I heard a ruckus outside, followed by a loud boom and then some kids arguing. When I peeked outside the window, the scene that played out on the street was “but I do not wish to fight you.” Everything was under control whereas if they just got back into their car, I could have gone to bed. No harm, no foul. But no. Someone had to get all Last Dragony and request a kiss of the converse. Unlike Leroy who only used his martial arts to defend, the girls in the street were more like Sho’nuff and wanted to be the baddest. So they fought.
Arms were twirling in the air like they were at a double dutch competition, only without the rope. I’m assuming someone was hoping to land at least one of those punches on a face, but it’s hard to tell who you’re hitting when your arms look like a windmill, on crack.
I’ve never been in a fight, but if I was, this is how I would envision it. The other person is screaming and yelling at me. Their blood pressure is going through the roof and maybe they’re turning red. Me? I’m as cool as a cucumber and in my mind, I’m thinking: you fool, what a waste of energy.
So I’m standing there, not even bothering to work up an emotion and the other person decides to pull back their fist to hit me. They approach. I punch them first. They fall down. See, I didn’t have to go all windmill on nobody. There is no verbal “wah”, “wah” followed by my arms moving in a circular motion like I’m the karate kid. I punch. They fall.
Fighting can be so logical; if people were a little more patient, they would have a lot more wins in the W column. If that doesn’t work, then I have very long arms and can keep them at a distance until the police arrive. But like I said, I’ve never been in a fight, but that’s how I would envision it.
Anywho, instead of only two girls fighting, everybody is fighting. One girl is being dragged across the street by her hands while another one is punching her simultaneously. Neighbors are outside with flashlights being nosy and inspecting their vehicles parked on the street.
Side: I learned after the first time someone hit my parked car not to leave it on the street. Now I make sure I park that baby in the driveway where only an Act of God can wreck it.
Some people are yelling for the fighting to stop. Then another person gets hit by mistake and now they’re fighting; so much for being the peace maker. This goes on for about a minute, but less than two. Then everybody stops fighting, get back into their car and drive away. And cut! Like it was all rehearsed.
I don’t know why the mêlée suddenly stopped, but I knew the police were on their way. It was difficult to tell who was declared the winner with all the windmills in the street blocking my vision. I say, if people are going to fight, do it right. I prefer organized fighting: a specific date, tickets, a boxing ring, a referee and a better view. I like closure, now I have no clue as to who won. Perhaps there’s a write up in yesterday’s paper, all is not lost.
Maybe the freedom fighters knew they had three minutes to do their business and get the heck out. In Maplewood, you have two minutes, or less. Maplewood police do not play. I once saw a boy riding his bike up the street toward the park. A few minutes later, the cops had him and his bike in the back of their car heading toward the police station. Maybe that wasn’t his bike.
They have nothing to do, but scoop up little children who threaten the reputation of one of NJ’s finest towns. I will say we don’t have too much trouble around here. In eight years this is the third time that the cops have been called. And just to be fair, I made the first call.
You can read that story here: http://tinyurl.com/c6h3np.
Of course, had those kids been just a few blocks up the street, the police may have “bang, bang” first and asked questions later. But since I live in the shoddier part of Maplewood, affectionately renamed Maplehood; they tend to ask questions first to be sure they’re not shooting anyone that would reduce them to desk duty.
So the only thing that had “The Glow” was the siren lights from the five cop cars that arrived on the scene. Unfortunately the police missed the traveling Sho’nuffs of Maplehood by a few seconds. One of the cars involved in the scuffle returned to the scene and told the police what happened. No more than five minutes later, the police had the place cleared out and the neighborhood was restored to the peace in which we are accustomed to living.
So the next time a cry goes out and someone wants to know who’s the baddest, I’m going to respond: Maple’hood Police.
Sho’nuff.
In: In the Hood · Tagged with: Converse, Fighting, Police
