Unaware of the rules
Sometimes we miss the most obvious factoids. Ever since that young Harry fellow with his owl came into our world, there have been multiple copies of the books left on the corners of tables. The movies have been on TV over and over again, in and out of translation. I even ended up in the neighbourhood of a “launch” two summers ago, although I never saw either a rocket or a ship. Above all, I never learned the rules of Quidditch.
This evening (in fact, pretty much any weekend evening), one of the movies is on TV, and although I’m not watching, certain images are distracting me from the more important task of wandering around eBay. That car, according to IMDB, is a Ford Anglia. I’ve never been in one, but it makes me think of cars that were around the university parking lot way back when. Students couldn’t afford anything much more upscale, and gas has always drained the penny jar. Big American cars were costly to operate on pin money budgets.
The boy is being chased by something that resembles an angry lacrosse ball, while he rides a broom and chases a pingpong ball with wings. My son assures me that it IS a game, with rules, but when someone casts an evil spell things can get nasty. That does sound like lacrosse and pingpong. Anyhow, unlike people my age, when he falls off his broom there are no serious injuries (other than to pride, I’ll bet). I can hear his friends after the match, beriding him for falling off something better fitted to sweeping out the mudroom.
And how about that actor with the cool accent (even in translation) that I spotted in a Tim Allen/Sigourney Weaver movie this afternoon? I guess it pays the rent.
