Catch Me If You Can - the musical

 Hi there

Yesterday my friend and I went to the Gryphon Theatre in Wellington and saw the local Kauri Theatre production of "Catch Me if You Can - the musical".  It was the stage musical version of the popular book and movie about the young teen guy who robs, forges, steals identities.  While still young he impersonated and lived for a time as an airline pilot, a lawyer, and a hospital doctor. His arch enemy is an FBI detective intent on catching him.

 Leonardo De Caprio starred in the movie version.  I had read the book years before the movie came out, and enjoyed it.

I did have reservations over whether the movie/book could be turned into a good musical. I figured it would be difficult to do.... But the show worked. I loved it. 

All the actors, singers, dancers, musicians, stage lighters, the band, the director couldn't be faulted. The songs fitted into the plotline perfectly. The static set worked like a dream, and the stage size suited the dozen spirited dancers without anyone stepping on toes

 And I do love local productions because the performers always enthusiastically perform their hearts out.

 As we customers entered the building, we were greeted by a plane stewardess who exchanged our theatre tickets for a boarding pass. The foyer in parts resembled an airport-

My face had a wide grin upon it during the entire show. 

My Driving Licence ... Again .... (Sigh)

 Hi there

Well, the doctor signed off on my driving licence.  So did  optomotrist.

Everything was ok to renew my licence.  

I took in the form to the Automobile Association who were handling things on behalf of the Transport Department.

"Oh," said the young woman behind the counter, and looking at the optomotrist's form.  "It says here that you need to be checked out again in a year..."

Uh-oh, she's obviously remembering about the two-year thing...

"When you're ... your age ... Oh, no, she thinks  I'm ancient... driving licences are given out every two years.," she pointed out.

"Yes."

"And for you, your optomotrist says 'one year'"  

"Yes."

'And no night driving'."

Uh-huh."  I had glaucoma, and I'd helpfully written that down too.

"I'll have to ring up the Transport Department," the AA woman said.  And she did.  Some guy at the other end apparently pulled up my info.  There was a discussion, of which I could only hear one side.  It didn't sound too good,

So ... now I was on the Transport Department's watch list?  Great.

And that's how things stand, as of today.  She'd dated the form, signed it and said I'd hear whether I was accepted by Transport for a renewal of my driving licence....

***

At the optomotrist's office I found Tui, the optomotrist's guide-dog-in-training, a Labrador.  Oooh, I went all gooey inside, Tui was one gorgeous doggie.  And I bought a $20 charity 'guide-dog-in-training' plush puppy -

Those Mobile Phone Conversations

 Hi there

There are so many people who walk past me and talking loudly on their phones.  I've always wanted to join in.

Last week, I did join in.

 "Yeah, I really feel frisky, " this guy said loudly into his mobile.

 " Goodness, it's a frisky day for me, too, " I called out.

He looked embarrassed, then grinned widely.

I think I'll join in more mobile phone conversations.  Those loud people deserve my input.  Anyone else interested?  Let's start a habit.

Visit to the Doctor for Driving Licence Renewal

 Hi there

It was time for me to visit the doctor.  To renew my driver's licence.  The nurse and the doctor would be checking on my cognitive skills and my eyesight.  I was stressed out over it.

The nurse greeted me cheerily.  "Hop on the scales," she said.

"My goodness," I mused.  "There's now a law for what weight you have to be to drive a car?"

She looked at me, horrified. She was figuring I had been seriously thinking that.

"I'm joking," I said quickly, hopefully before she thought I was away with the fairies.  Younger people never can believe that older people have a sense of humour.  But I would have to watch my words.

"How many animals can you name in 30 seconds," she said.  "... Go!

I started listing household animals.

I transitioned to farm animals.

Then African animals.

Then birds  (oooh, were birds included as 'animals'?)

Then rodents  (think, lorraine, think!)  :Weasels, stoats, minks....stoles-"

Stoles???  Stoles?  For some reason I was getting muddled up with mink stoles. For goodness sake, I wasn't in a Doris Day or Audrey Hepburn movie...

I was stuck... So busy thinking about mink stoles, I couldn't move on.  My brain went blank for the last couple of seconds before the 30 seconds was up.

Still ... Because I had spoken at a fast speed, I still got 27 out of 30.  22 was average.  Not  many people got the high 30.  I think, because of the stress.

Whoopee, I passed the other cognitive tests too: memorising a full name and address,  drawing a clock face reading 1.05 pm, almost getting the day's date right - I mean, come on, I'm retired.  Retired people rarely know the exact date; they're too happily enjoying the day to worry about a dateline

I failed the doctor's eyesight test, couldn't follow his finger when he drew a big circle in the air. So, I now have to go to an optometrist for an appropriate drivers' eye test.  I may lose my licence.

At no time was I asked anything about road rules...

.

Those future dreams we had at secondary school

 Hi there

When I started in the third form at Wellington East Girls' College, way back in the late 1950s, the teacher asked the students what job they wanted when they left school.  She began to work her way around the room.  "Daphne-?"

Daphne perked up.  "I'm going to be a hairdresser," she announced confidently.

"Margaret?"

"I want to be a hairdresser."

"Julia?"

"Hairdresser."

"What about you, Valerie?"

"I'm going to be a model."  Valerie was topping out at 4ft 11 inches.  The class doubted her modelling dream would happen. But Valerie's declaration had jogged a few other third form minds.

"I want to be a model, too," said another girl.

And another.

The rest all wanted to be hairdressers.

Noone mentioned typing as a profession, even though we were all in a Commercial class.

Me?  I stood out.  "I'm going to be a librarian," I said.  Goodness, I loved reading.  

In the end, I only knew one young lady from my class who took up hairdressing.  She lasted four months as an apprentice but was caught sleeping in the breakroom and fired instantly.

No-one ended up a model.

I became a typist.  (read this blog for periodic episodes about my "Typist in Charge" career).  I figured most of us, if not all, ended up as typists.

However, as a sideline, I did manage to get dozens of plays, poems, and stories accepted by The School Journal, and plays, stories and a romcom series broadcast over Radio New Zealand.  I wrote articles and stories for magazines, newspapers, and anthologies.

All thanks to Mrs Heely, my fourth form english teacher who had asked every individual class member to write a play about The Pied Piper of Hamelin.  She loved my rendition.  She sparked a love in me for writing.

Later on, in my thirties, I worked in Government Buildings.  I met Mrs Heely in the lift and told her about my work for The School Journal. She was tickled pink over my success.  She was working up the road at The Correspondence School, and we kept in touch...

above:  this design was on the pocket of our dark blue school blazers. In my day, we also had the school motto inscribed there, in Latin:  "lumen accipe et imperti"  It translates as "take the light and pass it on".  A good motto but not, I feel, as good as my one from Manukau Intermediate in Auckland's Royal Oak which was "Learn By Doing".  

The WEGC above design was on the Old Girls' Association metal badge, which for some obscure reason I still have. 

 

 

Those Quiz Shows

HI there

above: "The Chase UK" .  Goodness, who doesn't love this programme? 

Just after I retired I was determined to try out all new things -  my friend and I auditioned for tv quiz shows, and we were chosen for several.

Very few people realise that in some quiz shows there is (or was?) an audition to first get through. Quiz questions are asked by the production people, forms filled in, people are graded.  The tv people know how clever, or not-all-that-clever, are the  participants. .  Me, I probably fitted into the not-all-that-clever category.  

So, because  the tv people know the quiz intelligence level of all candidates, they know how to get a mixture of different intelligence types to sit on the one panel. "Ah," we think from watching on our sofas at home, "that one guy is really clever, he out-ranks the others by miles.  What a pity, he's being held back by them."

I used to wonder why the losing participants always vehemently thank a host for a totally fantastic day.  I mean ...  they lost the game.  All they did was sit or stand there and answer a few questions.  Most of them wrong.  How could the day be so fantastic?  It should be terrifying and embarrassing, surely?

But the fantastic-ness comes from behind the scenes.  Many tv shows keep the participants around for most of the day. Often the applicant gets a nice hotel stay included (twice I was flown return to Auckland).  

A good meal or two is included, a tour of the studio, meeting  tv personalities. Perhaps there's a silly game so that you can memorise your fellow quizzers' names and backgrounds.  The lovely production people can make the time enjoyable.

On 3 different shows, I won $800, a music system, and another music system.  On another, I flunked out miserably.  On yet another, I was a panel contestant for an end-of-season show where the whole of the New Zealand viewing public was batting for the super-intelligent guy who had made it through several weeks already.  He won...

Continuation of "That Was The Worst Week That Was"

 Hi there

Remember my telling you about the storm that hit Wellington and my backyard shed was destroyed.  Luckily I had all my past memories and stuff in plastic bags so everything was salvageable.  But the weirdest thing was how much of that stuff I was now classing as rubbish.  Seven bags-full.

Ten days after the storm, I had finally found a rubbish firm to take the broken remnants of aluminium away.  Thank goodness.  My heart sang as every last bit of my shed disappeared down the street.

And thanks to the Citizens' Advice Bureau who helped me in the hunt to find that rubbish collector.

However ... the hex on me continues.  

After getting rid of the pieces of the old shed on Friday, I went to the beach on Saturday and Sunday.  On arriving home on the Sunday afternoon, I heard what sounded like a waterfall coming from my bathroom.

Somehow, miraculously, the cold water tap over the bath ('tub', if you're American) was gushing out water like it was a branch of the Huka Falls. I couldn't turn off the tap.

I called practically every plumber in both The Yellow Pages and from Google.  They were all out enjoying the only extremely fine day Wellington had been given this summer (okay, okay, I am exaggerating.  But only a little.).  Even one plumber answered me from his luxury hotel in Fiji to tell me he was definitely not available.

In the end, it was my own plumber who answered my call.  He arrived at 5pm that Sunday.  He fiddled around with the outside water outlets, installed a new washer, and  charged me $20.  I was ever-so grateful to see him.

Let's hope that hex on me doesn't continue...