Let the golden age begin

Have you been reading the missives at The Morning News from Gary Benchley, Rock Star, regarding his move to New York to start a band and change the world of rock as we know it?

Before my stepdad dropped me off at Carl’s place in the East Village I was thinking about what brought me here. It has been a tired summer in Albany. How many times can you go stand in the back of Valentine’s and watch Monkey Gone Mad play “The Bb Song”? Or Sirsy rock out with “Uncomfortable”? Not many times if you want to keep your sanity.

I am not only a vocalist, guitarist, and drummer, but also a liberated man, and I am glad that mom has finally found some loin-heat. But all right. It’s three weeks ago, and they’re in there making noises, and the walls in this house are thin. I am glad for her, but I don’t need to hear all that.

So I’m pounding the skins, drowning out the animal noises from the other room. Trying not to think about how my mom gets much, much more than I do, albeit from a man who sells Snap-On Tools. And right as I’m in that part of “What Is The Light” where the shit kicks in, my mom comes to the door, all sweaty, and asks if I could just do something quiet for a little while because Jad and her are trying to have a conversation. Close up that nightgown, zip that zipper, a conversation. It is time to leave Albany.

That was from part one. He’s now on part seven. Rock on.