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Chapter Fourteen June is Bobbing Out All Over
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Hey kids, move your cursor over the photos for Bobs fun-sized captions!
Dateline: June 1, 2001
The WPYX "Wakin' Up with the Wolf" morning crew has a pretty cool job. We find them in a building near an Albany meadow,
cracking each other up. Joe notes that their microphone smells like cigarettes, to which the
smart aleck guy (there's always at least one of those) says, "What is this,
Piano Man?’
I sing the copy of a local Toyota dealer's ad to the tune of Vapor Carioca (really fun) and we
do "Earl." Afterwards, at a diner we discuss The Bobs doing our own morning radio zoo.
We could sing a few tunes, discuss current events (those of us who read the papers, that is),
be our usual wacky selves. Ideally we'd go from city to city doing it for, say, a week at a
time. So if anyone reading this owns a radio station and wants to pay us to do this, let's tawk!
Later in the day we croon "Caravan" and "Chickens" for the completely opposite end of the
spectrum - Music Of Your Life station Moon Radio. Host David Allen has an incredible Hirschfeld Frank
Sinatra on the wall and swags us Keely Smith, Frank Sinatra and new Jane Monheit CDs. SCORE!
Our shows at the Van Dyck in Schenectady are great (as is the food - now you knew I was gonna
get food in here sooner or later), Back at Motel 6, the lobby door is locked and there is no night bell. We bang on the glass
until the night manager lets us in, saying there's a sign to go to the side door after 11p.m.
(which there isn't). We revise Joe's observation from yesterday:
apparently they leave the light on for you but the phone's off AND the
door's locked! Seeing as they woke all of us up twice during the day (we were trying to catch a
nap in the time change) because of a billing error (theirs), I can smell the complaint letter
a-brewin!
Richard and I diner again in the a.m., where I read in the morning paper about the new
"Arthritis Bra." Designed for women with joint or movement problems, this front-hooking
We get to the Doubletree (from the ridiculous to the sublime, I tell you) in time for a
nap. But as soon as I'm totally unpacked in the spacious suite, I notice a huge puddle on my
bed, soaked through to the mattress. I call the desk, and they
have someone come help move me two doors down to an identical room. 10 minutes later
I find a similar puddle accumulating on the sofa. I am horrified to discover it's my own fault
- one of my plastic water bottles has imploded in a bag I was carrying!
A knock at my door - the bellhop hands me two free passes to the hotel's award-winning Sunday
brunch "to make up for the inconvenience of having to change rooms." Too embarassed to reveal
the cause, I take them with a quick "That's really not necessary, but thanks!" I casually mention this incident to the
Bobs on the way to soundcheck, adding that whoever is nicest to me will join
me at brunch. Thus begins a hilarious chain of door-opening, snack-saving, mike-adjusting
and heightened concerns for my general well-being that conclude with Matthew threatening to reveal my
"ruse" if I didn't take him!
Dateline: June 3, 2001
I finally just said that whoever showed up at brunch at 9 a.m. would be my guest and we'd all
split the cost for whoever else came. Richard is the only one who makes it!
But I'm so tired from yakking with Jim and Maria and sleeping poorly in an extremely comfortable
room (it frequently happens - am I not worthy?), I'm sad to not be very hungry as garlic
and onions waft from the omelet bar.
The "Quality Inn" on Easton Avenue in Somerset, NJ is literally
down the street from my old high school, Rutgers Prep (where we’ll be singing at the dedication
for the new music building next fall!). We sneak showers before heading to the House Concert Chez
Ira Rosen in Highland Park, site of Jerusalem Pizza,
where my brother and I satisfied many a Christmas Eve pizza jones in the early 80's.
Dateline: June 4, 2001 We drop the car at Newark and limo to NYC with the only driver in the NY-NJ metro area who has
apparently never been to Manhattan in his life. You know it's bad when Matthew and I have to give the guy
directions to Broadway and 41st from the Lincoln Tunnel.
As we curve around to the Tunnel
entrance (you always have to pay to leave NJ, never to enter it), Smoov Jazz plays on the radio
as Richard, Joe and I geek out about the cheesy, Kenny G-like arrangements.
Another stop at the Lionel Show on eyada.com, an internet radio show that is always a complete
blast (and it's archived, if you wanna hear it).
It's our second time with Lionel, an extremely funny, no holds barred, equal opportunity
offender of all races, religions and creeds - with incredible musical taste. We do the
"controversial" tunes - "Earl" and "Bongwater Day," then part company for 24 hours.
As a recovering Musical Theatre Geek and Sondheim Fanatic, it is my sworn duty to witness the
FOLLIES revival, which is miraculously playing on this, a Monday night. I am thrilled to score a
half price orchestra seat somehow at TKTS and head for the theatre after a nap and a slice of
pizza (FINALLY!). I'm nonplussed by the stars of the show (although Blythe Danner looks
FABULOUS) but LOVE Betty Garrett, Polly Bergen and the other one-number show-stopping mega-gals.
And although the book is very weak, it's a haunting, beautiful production that I find moving
and depressing and completely worth it. Back at the hotel I e-mail my pal, fellow Sondheim Fan
in San Diego Mark Somers, who saw it a few months ago so we can compare notes. A photo of Mark with
Barry Manilow is on my refrigerator - but that's another story!
Dateline: June 5, 2001
Wow. Slept perfectly. So relaxing. (It's about time.) Ah, the Weather Channel! Ah, a channel
devoted to theatre geeks on Manhattan Cable! Ah, air conditioning in New York in June!
Actually I can't complain - although a tad humid, the weather was marvelous for a two day Big
Apple spree. God, I wish I had a week here (and a free hotel, and, oh, several thousand dollars
to blow). Richard and I discuss "Moulin Rouge" and the jazz he heard last
night, over a charming European style breakfast at the hotel (did I say SCORE?).
Then it's off to a special lunch way downtown with my British pal Sharon, with whom I worked in
Hollywood several years ago. At the time we both slaved away at a personal management for a
long list of 80's rock star clients like Richard Marx,
Duran Duran and
Meat Loaf. Now Sharon works for
a much smaller management company in New York in a huge, beauteous SoHo loft -
guarded by the only truly evil cat I've ever met. I treat her to birthday lunch delivery
from the amazing
A Salt and Battery, Our shows at the Bottom Line aren't as packed as the last time (hey, it’s a Tuesday night)
but still rock. I work the old "You asked for it, you got it, Toyota!" commercials into
"Signs on a Line." Matthew tells us of the huge meal he had at Katz's deli, we pack the second
show with requests, and Richard surprises the crap out of me during "Share A Load."
For several years, he's been pretending to flash me, opening his shirt with
his back to the audience right before the last verse (when I sing, "I think that sock is mine").
Usually he has a T-shirt on underneath his top shirt. Tonight, to my extreme shock he exposes his stomach
and entire chestal area to me and I can't continue the song, screaming and laughing.
Matthew is similarly destroyed. We eventually continued, "Share Some Clothes."
Dateline: June 6, 2001
Afterwards we van it for 2 hours in the rain, whizzing through dark green mountains and streetlamps,
trying to make headway west to Grand Rapids. Susan has brought along some great musical
selections like the Hi-Los to escort us. Sometime after Frank Sinatra's "What'll I Do" depresses the hell out of 50% of the van, we reach our charming stopover - Carlisle, PA's Motel 6. I still haven't gotten to the Continental,
a cool martini bar literally across the street
from the Tin Angel. Ah well. I'm exhausted but jumpy and sleep poorly, although I never turn
on the TV. That's a first!
To drive west with the Bobs on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, click here.
©2001 Amy Engelhardt (text/page), Alex
Stein (goofy captions)
Dateline: May 31, 2001
IT’S JOE FINETTI'S BIRTHDAY!!!! And he gets to spend it on a plane to Newark with me!
After a bad, bad movie, Antitrust ("In the real world, when you kill people, they die for real!"),
the flight attendant brings Joe a birthday ice cream sundae (I confess I set it up!).
Later that night, Burger King employees somewhere off of I-87 refuse to recognize Joe's Birthday
authority (despite his donning of their crown) and screw up his order. Finally reaching Albany,
we can't find our Motel 6. The phone number on the itinerary rings into oblivion. Joe observes,
"Well, they left the light on but not the phone."
although I have to run to Rite Aid upon discovering I left my
whole makeup case back at the motel in Albany. DOY! Joe looks like Johnny Bravo
(a.k.a. Greg Brady) in his current leisure suit, the Special Limited Edition 20th anniversary
T-shirt is a hit, and some guy tells Matthew after the second show that sometimes our banter is so unfunny it
makes the songs seem that much more hilarious. We ride home in a downpour perusing character
trading cards from the Burning Man Festival that a fan autographed and gave us...and I still
don't fully understand...
Dateline: June 2, 2001
apparatus actually sounds like a great idea. But the NAME! When Richard asks if I've seen his
Incontinence Glasses, I choke on my toast.
Joe and I play Scrabble on the tiniest
board in the world (I think he got it in a Cracker Jack box) as we have an alarmingly
well-informed discussion about Three's Company during the rainy Mass Pike ride
to Lexington. Matthew reads the paper, misquoting a blind man's historical summit of "Mount Everett."
Isn't that in Washington?
Lexington High School has SIX entirely student-run, non-faculty supervised a cappella groups.
Music Director Brian O’Connell (former head of the voice department at Berklee, my alma mater)
has inspired a barrage of music-loving high schoolers with
energy, chops and rabid enthusiasm, packing the 1500-seat auditorium with fans and friends
(and some Bobheads who were lucky enough to get in). It was hot. Very hot. The auditorium
was hot. But the kids were great (lots o female groups, which a cappella needs - I'm tired,
OK?!) and we had a great set.
After the show, my longtime pals Jim and Maria Gregoire and I attempt to find an open
restaurant. (Good luck in the Boston 'burbs after 10 p.m.) We end up at a terrible
Bickford's in Woburn, where after 20 minutes of waiting for a waitress, we get
Skittles from the machine and I suggest leaving a trail to our table. Jim, a member of the
amazing Boston band The Soundkings, tells me that
the foot-tall KISS action figure mounted to
his Cherokee dashboard suddenly toppled forward last month, breaking off its left arm.
Ironically, Jim himself broke his left arm last year. Coincidence? HE THINKS NOT!!!
On the road, we hit Dunkin Donuts (see Bob Tale, "M.A.T.O."
for elaboration on this topic) for coffee somewhere in Rhode Island.
They advertise
a morning coffee "Box-O-Joe" special. Matthew and I ponder folding Finetti into the cardboard
contraption. As we pass the giant bug on the exterminator building off of I-95 in Providence, a
slow, classical piano piece plays on the radio. I tell Richard, "hey, that's me playing something FAST!"
About 60 of Ira's friends (and 5 or so serious Bobheads wearing vintage Bobs T-shirts) witness a
truly intimate full, 2-set show in Ira's dining room. And the rabbi living across the street gets
an earful, too - we leave the windows open for ventilation. The request-packed concert was
a hoot, especially as simultaneously translated by the Bobs fan who spoke Klingon.
Thanks for a great time, Ira! (If anyone else is interested in having the Bobs do a house concert, e-mail me!)
After a visit at my mom's place in Edison, my longtime friend Michael and I head back towards
Somerset. I can't resist Friendly's, where we dine on foods my brother
and I used to eat regularly as kids. As I told Michael, you don't go there because it's good!
In high school I was obsessed with the Reese's Pieces Sundae. These days
I'm... well....unfortunately excited about the thought right now. (Jeez, there I go again with
the food!) It's both odd and completely not odd to be popping in and out of places that were so
important to me while growing up. Every time I visit New Jersey it hits me like I ton of bricks
how I so do not live there anymore (hey, it's been 15 years).
Matthew and Joe head off to take friends out for incredible dinners (god, we all love New York).
Richard and I cab to the Roger Smith Hotel, where the Toyota Comedy Festival
is putting us up.
SCORE! We check in alongside The Temptations.
Richard deepens his voice as he sidles up to small talk the
road manager, who ignores him! After a Greek diner lunch (we couldn’t decide on a pizza place),
we part company again at TKTS: I'm on a mission.
an entirely British-run fish and chips restaurant I'd been
dying to try since I read a review in New York Magazine. It doesn't disappoint - and although
I love the pickled egg, I can't bring myself to go near the pickled onion! The
Dandelion & Burdock soda
imported from the UK, was a nice surprise - like cream soda with ginger. I’m
afraid I'll be making special trips downtown now every time I'm back in NYC!!! We head out together
on the E train uptown as memories of teenage weekends taking this train to acting classes
at Lexington and 53rd flood my mind.
No, I didn’t order a 7:15 a.m. wake up call!!!! (Proving that every silver lined hotel stay has
one cloud.) I watch game shows like To Tell the Truth until we check out and head to Penn
Station, from which we NJ Transit to Trenton, then Philadelphia. As we burst through the tunnel
under the Hudson on familiar tracks (I rode into New York every weekend as a teenager), it's
perfectly natural somehow to bullet past my past. Are those broken down trains near Harrison
the same ones from 20 years ago? Was I ever in this train car back when it was Conrail? Do I
recognize that CATS poster (Meow and forever - I THINK NOT!!!)? I watch the garden apartment I
grew up in whiz by near Metropark. Bye.
Bobs groupie/temporary roadie/driver Susan meets us at 30th Street Station in Philadelphia with
our home away from home for the next few days - a Chevy minivan. Richard posits that its
mileage per gallon will be severely altered as we load to the lip with luggage, merchandise,
and, as I add, in my exhausted delirium "1000 extra pounds of fatass." We kill the hours before
our Tin Angel gig at a cool coffee
house near Independence National Historical Park. Matthew and Susan
start play the first of many cutthroat games of backgammon. Richard reads the weeklies. Joe
and I mock the Liberty Bell (hello, it’s freakin’ broken! How in the hell can it do its bell
duties?) and its attendant reenactors (hey, nice wig).
The Tin Angel’s upstairs has been reconfigured to accommodate more people. Backstage, next to
where we signed the wall last November, now there’s a "Hello, Amy Bob" from rockin’
singer-songwriter Bet Williams,
and posters announce my pal Bob Malone's gig in August.
Yeesh, it's a small world! It's a loony set. Joe’s version of "My I’m Large" is funnier every
time I see it. I spill beer all over myself accidentally during the "A Cappella Choir" encore
and Joe can't continue. Etc.