Zach Selwyn

Actor. Musician. Host. Writer. Dinner Guest.

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  • Zach breaks down the crowd, the Seattle Mariners and Lenny Kravitz’ penis.

    Live from August 4, 2015…

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  • Check out our write up in Entertainment Weekly today! And PLZ go and SUBSCRIBE and give us a 5 star rating!!!

    Anna Faris producing new comedy podcast ‘Missi & Zach Might Bang!’

    Anna Faris producing new comedy podcast Missi & Zach Might Bang!

    CRISTINA EVERETT@CRISTINAEVERETT

    Anna Faris is expanding her presence in the podcast world.

    The Mom star and host of Anna Faris is Unqualified has launched a new podcast featuring Gone Girl actress Missi Pyle and actor-musician Zach Selwyn. Titled Missi and Zach Might Bang!, the new show is a fun mix of celebrity interviews and improv and is being executive produced by Faris and her Unqualified co-host/producer, Sim Sarna.

    “[Missi and Zach] have spent their careers navigating Hollywood as actors and musicians, and now they are taking their multitude of talents and launching their podcast,” according to the show’s press release, which adds that it will feature “an array of improvisational songs, stories, laughter, and the immortal question… Will they ever bang?”

    Anna Faris Comedy Eric stonestreet improv music Might Bang Missi Pyle Podcasts Unqualified Zach Selwyn
  • country Music Paul revere Beastie Boys Rolling Stone Sugar Ray tucson Zachariah Zachariah and the Lobos Riders
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    Anna Faris Don't Mean Nothin itunes Missi Pyle Music podcast Richard MArx Right here Waiting Sim Sarna truth Zach Selwyn
  • HACIENDA is streaming everywhere. Here is a music video for the song “When I Return (I Promise You)” – GO stream or download! (CDs coming soon!)

    americana jason isbell Joshua Tree Music pioneertown rhett miller ryan adams steve earle todd snider Zachariah and the Lobos Riders
  • vskiyPuTWo17189lY-NBiBEr90tCA4WwzD0ag4abUtuY3EAp6y9xrIpkTvevCUc5N6gF5wJr7W3fPucQWvBEWrlfXx6gac13fj5ryJCFacIA-dj3Xdcptyy1KIVXCJNVF7SLAE-UvNDQhSaS0ROcex98Flgu3wf0Rbkb-RBd51u8KEdmMql_dAzntlevDDBM7gPA2XvoQdhIQYoK7uU3kHlhfmc

    This past weekend, I decided to have a yard sale. It sounded like the perfect idea. A fun and social way for me to unload the over-crowded boxes that had been shoved in the back of my garage and turn them into some serious cash. After all, who wouldn’t want to buy my old snap button western shirts I once wore on tour with my band? Or my vintage t-shirt collection that ranged from soft 1970’s Wild Turkey Bourbon logos to an original Rick Springfield Working Class Dog Hanes Beefy-T? Or even the dozens of valuable beer coozies I had collected rifling through Goodwill crates across the country that I just never used? And what neighborhood fashionista wouldn’t jump at the chance to own a pair of my wife’s designer leather pants for a steal at $100? Or any of the hundreds of blouses she had earned working in the fashion industry for twenty years? The way I saw it, my yard sale was more of a vintage pop-up shop than a junk sale – and I was expecting nothing but a hipster, gypsy crowd with millennial money in their wallets and a dream of buying an old suede fringe vest on their minds.

    Oh how wrong I was.

    The Craigslist ad I had placed stated that the sale would begin at 7 o’clock in the morning. However, a crowd of freakish haggling ghouls began showing up at 5:30, knocking on my pre-dawn door asking me if I would give them a sneak peak into my wares before everybody else arrived. Some came by van, others by bike. One man, I had assumed by the sleeping bag he carried, had camped out on our sidewalk the night before like we were about to release tickets to a One Direction concert. Suddenly, having a yard sale became somewhat frightening but I thought of all the time it would save me having to deal with ebay and those pesky fees, shipping costs and trips to the post office.

    Our first early morning visitors were two Spanish-speaking men who were very interested in knowing if we had any “tools for sale.” Having only owned a screwdriver, some nails and a hammer in my illustrious DIY carpentry career, I calmly told them no – before inquiring if they would be interested in a brass Jackson Browne belt buckle.

    “No, gracias,” the older gentleman said. He took a look at my daughter’s rusty Frozen decorated bicycle before driving off.

    The guy with the sleeping bag asked if we had any bedding and/or pillows for sale. I told him no, and asked him if he’d be interested in a Jane Fonda Workout vinyl record.

    No sale.

    ExKQ4GeS_dLCuP1y8yrXR4GwzJ35__jsYfbOYulVTc5tsqpxt2VD_13UyyiD8XPFYnNjhSwp4J88-SCEy2_Jzz1u-DKux0xHXuHk999O9oUjZx98-XSfnYcIvciNfFCLemJ12B2FrM0T1OefbkMQot7N4o5KP5l5SekZ3qb_R1k21d_FpKNJCjHVAxRwWdd0BJmPJZPZ0gH3sOegIPcw4drl_xl
    Vintage T-shirts. Priced at $10. Sold for $1.00

    Our next visitor arrived around 6:00 a.m. She was an older, haggard bag lady who had over 45 satchels draped off of her weathered bicycle. In the knapsack that was slung around her shoulder she carried an actual brass tai-chi sword that she insisted on wielding in front of my son in a terrible re-enactment of her early morning lesson she had just taken in Griffith Park. After frolicking around the sidewalk like Westley in The Princess Bride for 25 minutes, she finally walked in and inquired about buying some iron rods and curtain rings we had recently taken down from our inside windows. Originally, these rods were purchased for $300 when my wife was doing some interior decorating to her old home in Laurel Canyon. Feeling generous, I offered her the rods and rings – with the curtains included – for $200. She stared at me as if she was about to run me through with her weapon. She mumbled something beneath her breath and eventually moved onto the junk table I had assembled in the back corner. She picked up a set of hippopotamus salt-and-pepper shakers and giggled while examining them.

    “These are fun,” she exclaimed.

    “My mom brought me those from Morocco,” I told her, lying. In reality they were Goodwill purchases I had used as a prop in a film I had made with my brother in 2011.

    “Could you do ten bucks?”

    Again, she laughed and twirled around the yard and started speaking what seemed like French to nobody in particular. She wrote her name down in a tiny notebook she had hidden in her stocking, ripped the page out and handed it to me. As she pressed it into my palm, she whispered, “Call me when you realize you’re asking way too much money for everything.”

    I looked at the slip of paper. Her name was Laurette Soo-Chin-Wei Lorelai.

    Around 7:15, the floodgates began to open. More and more groups began appearing, asking for mainly larger items such as furniture and floor lamps. I was somewhat amazed that no one had snapped up the Crosley turntable, the Pablo Neruda collection of poetry or the coffee table book Nudie: The Rodeo Tailor. After 45 minutes, I was beginning to wonder if that sword-carrying woman was correct… Was I charging too much?

    I quickly Googled Yard Sale Etiquette.

    According to yard sale laws, the average price of most of your items that are not bulky or still in the packaging – should be around $1.00. My average item was in the 5-10 dollar range, and in my mind, totally reasonable. It wasn’t until I made my first sale that I had a change of direction for the rest of the afternoon.

    In 2007 or so, I had bought my son a collectible Star Wars denim jacket with R2-D2 and C-3PO sewn on the back at a trendy Farmer’s Market for $45. Even though he had probably thrown up and peed on it a few dozen times during his toddler-hood, I felt that $30 was a fair asking price. When I mentioned this to the interested woman who had been measuring it up against her own 3-year-old’s torso, she scoffed and hung it back on the rack.

    “Ay de mi!” She said in Spanish.

    Determined to make my first sale, I decided to bargain with her.

    Now, I come from a long line of world-class bargainers. My mother and late grandma used to waltz through Canal Street in New York City with peacock-like confidence, able to nudge an unwavering vendor into dropping the price on an imitation Louis Vitton handbag from 500 dollars to roughly 50 cents in under three-minutes. Together they played the street like silver-tongued Jewish barter hounds, satisfied only when departing the area with 3-5 purses, imitation Rolexes and fake Prada luggage beneath their arms. They have been taking me to the secret inner space of fake handbags since I was about two-years-old and as far back as I can remember, they were the Ronda Rouseys of price negotiating… In fact, I recall one legendary trip where my mother actually made a profit while buying a purse.

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    Canal Street Fake Handbags. Fertile Hunting Grounds for Jewish Women Across the World.

    Throughout the years, I have mastered the talent myself, but mainly when talking down a woman who once offered to cornrow my hair on the beach in Puerto Vallarta. I have also, never really been the haggled, only the haggler… Nevertheless, I felt that my family history had prepared me to challenge this woman over the Star Wars jacket to the very end… and I would not give in.

    “Maam, could you do 25?” I asked.

    “How about one dollar,” she said.

    “What?” I screamed. “This is Star Wars! Like, collectible!”

    “Senor, I will give you two dollars.”

    At this point I knew my grandmother was watching down from heaven like a boxing trainer watching her prizefighter take hits in the ring. I refused to back down, so I just slowly lowered my price until she agreed. I decided I would not go lower than 18 dollars.

    “20 bucks,” I said.

    “3 dollars,” She barked,

    “18?” I pleaded.

    “Adios, senor,” she said, walking away. Oh my God! What was wrong here? Had I lost the sale? Was I going to be stuck with this jacket in my garage for the next 30 years? Like most hoarders I thought to myself, maybe when my son has a kid of his own, he will give this to him… but I knew that was a long way off. Finally, I surrendered. Mainly as a way to break the ice and make my first sale of the day.

    “Maam? 3 dollars is fine,” I said. The lady reached in her wallet.

    “How about two?” She offered.

    I paused. I looked up at grandma, undoubtedly shaking her head in disappointment from that great Nordstrom’s Rack in the sky.

    “Fine,” I said. She pressed two wrinkly dollars into my hands and just like that, I was $42 in the hole, but I had made my first sale of the day.

    As the day wore on, my prices dipped lower and lower. I sold a handful of action figures for .25 cents a piece, a stack of vintage T-shirts for a dollar each and had the day’s biggest score when an unopened buffet dish that we had received for our wedding in 2004 went for $4.00. Nearly every item of clothing I was selling dropped in price by 99% by noon. My wife’s leather pants went for two bucks. The Rick Springfield shirt went for a dollar, as did the Mumford and Sons shirt, some Jack Daniel’s glasses and a silver booze flask that had an engraving of a man bass-fishing while naked. As the yard emptied, my wallet grew fatter and fatter – albeit with one-dollar bills – until I found myself exhausted, bored and anxiously wanting to count the bankroll in my pocket. My guess was that I had made $100 or so, based on the flurry of quick deals I made unloading the DVD collection, stacks of children’s books and my unbelievably large collection of novelty trucker hats… which had sold to some professional tree service men who had been working on a job a few blocks down. (Which might explain why if you drove by Franklin Avenue last weekend, you saw six guys on ladders wearing hats with My Other Car is Your Mom on them).

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    A customer scoffs at the $7 asking price for a pair of diamond earrings.

    The most disgusting sale of the day went to the three ladies who argued over who would get to wear my wife’s used LuLuLemon Yoga pants. In retrospect, I probably could have sold them to some perverted Japanese businessmen in a vending machine for $60 a piece. Instead, I settled for – yep you guessed it – a dollar.

    A crisis struck when I sold my son’s old Nintendo Wii console for ten bucks. Originally, he had wanted $100 for it… Which is 90 dollars more than what the smug bastards at GameStop will give you for the same item. Convincing him that I was a master salesman, I let him give me the Wii to sell at the yard sale instead. Sadly, I buckled early and let it go for $10.00 and I threw in some accessory called a Skylanders Portal. Not even sure that the console worked, I was just happy that I had made a double-digit sale. My son was not thrilled at all.

    “You’re the WORST!” He screamed at me. “That was worth at least 300 dollars!”

    One thing that kids fail to recognize is how fast technology loses value in today’s ever-changing world. Still, there was very little convincing him that I had struck a decent deal and he continuously stuck his head out the door and screamed at me for my “epic fail.” Ultimately, I ended up giving him the ten bucks even though I was the one who had bought him the original console for $275 back in 2010. Screw technology.

    ryzegamer
    My son, the gamer, was pissed when I unloaded his old Wii for $10

    Around 4, the traffic had dwindled down to some neighbors, who we basically just handed items for free to get the stuff off of our property. Although it seemed like a bunch of things had been sold, I was still staring down a massive pile of clothes and books and toys and albums and knick-knacks and just straight up garbage. I prayed for some Saudi billionaire to walk in with a briefcase full of cash and just tell me he was taking the whole lot for $50. Alas, it looked as if my day was over. I cracked a beer and peed on a cactus.

    And then, like a boll weevil out of a nearby hedge, Laurette Soo-Chin-Wei Lorelai re- appeared, tai chi sword in hand, pushing her bike in my direction with a Cheshire cat-like simper on her face.

    Like a panther she strutted around the sale, inquiring about every single item remaining. She decided to mention that she was a regular on “the scene” and that she could tell you what was going to sell the minute she sets foot in someone’s rummage sale. She offered to help me whittle down my items to try and resell the next day for the bargain price of 10 dollars an hour… I relented. All I was thinking was “get the hell out of my yard.”

    I started gathering everything that was left over and throwing them in boxes. She suddenly slid next to me, holding the iron curtain rods, the rings and the hippopotamus salt-and-pepper shakers from earlier.

    “Ready to make a deal?” She asked.

    “Lady,” I said. “Give me five dollars and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

    She handed over a bill, pressing it into my palm and stared directly into my eyes.

    “Told you so,” she said.

    That night I didn’t finish cleaning up. I was too wiped out. I left the majority of my once valuable wardrobe out for whoever in the neighborhood wanted it. A few things disappeared, which I didn’t even care about. It might be cool to see the neighborhood homeless guy wearing my old Blues Traveler T-shirt.

    The next morning I threw all the remaining crap into my car and drove it directly to the Out of the Closet Thrift Store. I shoved it into a filthy back room along with thousands of other donations. As we unloaded all the boxes and unsold clothes and books and toys, they asked me if I thought the huge haul of stuff was worth more than $500. After all, a big donation would serve as a great tax write-off at the end of the year. Unaware of this little loophole, I figured that, yes – this crap was definitely worth more than $500.

    They gave me a slip to present to my tax preparer and I drove home, satisfied that I had at least made a donation that would help me out financially.

    As for my bankroll, I finally had the chance to count my earnings at the end of the sale. For nine hours of bargaining, labor and sweating under 100-degree weather, I had made a grand total of $47.

    Somewhere up in heaven, my grandma was shaking her head in disappointment…

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    Somehow, Wham! Fantastic, Donna Summer and the Jane Fonda workout vinyl did not sell.

    DOWNLOAD ZACH’S NEW SONG: NIRVANA T-SHIRT!

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    Comedy first person essays funny gaming humor short stories star wars vintage clothing vinyl wii yard sales Zach Selwyn
  • Zachariah & the Lobos Riders are set to release their newest 6 song EP “Cloud Road.” Z details how this surprise record came about…

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    Cloud Road EP * 2020 By Zachariah & the Lobos Riders

    In December of 2019 I blew out my knee playing basketball. I vowed to return to the court within a year and elected for surgery in January of 2020 – Following the surgery came the Norcos. As a decent wine drinker, painkillers were never my thing and I have been able to avoid them after major surgeries – of which I’ve had my share… But this time, things were a little different. Lying in bed, unable to walk or barely get up to use the bathroom, I would play a lot of music and drift off into the spacial tranquility of a few pain pills. At first it was 2, then it became 3 and I was pretty soon out of my bottle… The doctor had told me it would take about three days to not need them anymore, I was on day 11. What came to me during these lost moments was a lot of lyrics about childhood memories, dreams dying, and the main street that I grew up on in Tucson Arizona in the 80’s and 90’s… Cloud Road. The first song is the raw file you hear “Cloud Road Painkiller Freestyle.” That was done in one take off the dome. I quickly understood why so many artists get involved with Vicoden, Percoset etc. These five songs came to me in three days. The sixth was written for the TV show “Breaking Bad” but ultimately not chosen.
    CLOUD ROAD  (CLICK FOR SAMPLE)

    A different approach for me for sure. A nod to my teenage years in Tucson dying to go anywhere… now looking back and realizing I have gone everywhere. What’s next? I need another motivating factor to push me into whatever is next…

    PRAY TO THE LORD

    Back in high school, my friends and I would drive around all night and break into unlocked cars and steal stuff. We then took the stuff to Zia Records for trade money, Play it Again Sports for cash and second hand shops… One night a few guys broke into my old football coach’s truck and he was watching us from his window. At one point, one of the guys said he saw him flash a gun. We ran. The part about dropping my high school ring at the scene of the crime is based on a separate incident involving a girl’s bedroom when her boyfriend stopped by – but combining these two incidents into this song made sense.

    MY MIND GOT MIXED WITH WANDERING

    Yeah, where does the motivation go? I think I speak for a lot of young people here when I talk about how we all want to find that one comfortable place but then see something else a little more appealing just around the corner. I wasted a lot off my 20’s looking for something else and not recognizing what was in front of me.

    JUST A LITTLE INTERMISSION

    Again, painkillers had me rapping to myself a lot. And for some reason I was doing it in a Humpty Hump – Special Ed voice… This is a nod to the 90’s hip-hop I loved – and it’s really just a joke – as most of my rap songs are.

    CLOUD ROAD PAINKILLER FREESTYLE

    When putting this EP together, I came across this a week before releasing it. It is the seeds that grew into the title track of the record as well as the “Intermission” song. I was rapping into my phone on a galaxy of pain meds… In a studio this might actually be dope.

    THE BALLAD OF JESSE PINKMAN

    Since I rhymed about Jesse Pinkman in “Intermission,” I felt like this fit on this record as well. I wrote this before a season of breaking Bad and sent to the EP’s, tweeted about. And had a lot of show fans RT it as well. Ultimately, someone heard it and said they did not need any new music. So FUCK THEM. This song deserves to be heard, even if the show hasn’t been on for six years.

    “ALEXA PLAY RED FUCKIN WINE!”

    RfW_3000x2

     

    Acid Rap americana Cloud Road desert Mac Miller springsteen steve earle ZAchariah Lobos Riders
  • Re-Examining the 1997 NBA Draft – If I Had Been Selected…
    (Originally published @Nerdist Sports 2017)

    At the end of my senior year in college – despite having not played organized basketball since high school and maintaining a 1.8 blood alcohol level for four years straight, my friends dared me to declare for the NBA draft. I wrote an official letter the NBA commissioner David Stern and presented my accolades: Six-foot-two. 3.8 G.P.A. Fraternity scoring leader and dunk contest winner on the 8-foot hoop in the parking lot.

    I wasn’t selected.

    Looking back now, I have to argue that I might have been a better pick than 75% of the players in the 1997 NBA draft. Sure, the draft produced perennial all-stars Tim Duncan (#1), Chauncey Billups (#3) and Tracy McGrady (#9), but for every one of those guys, there are three Ed Elisma’s (#40), Bubba Wells’ (#34) and Ben Pepper’s (#55). Who’s to say that if I was chosen in the late second round I wouldn’t have made a better impact than a guy like 44th pick Cedric Henderson?

    I was too short to be a forward, my high school position. My handle wasn’t strong enough to compete for a point guard slot, so basically, my only shot was to be drafted as a shooting guard – and my guess is I would have been picked somewhere around 46 – where Orlando took Alabama marksman Eric Washington. (Whose best year came with the Idaho Stampede in the NBA D-League in 2010).

    Due to some late garbage time minutes, I estimate I would have averaged roughly 1.2 points a game… Which is more than draft picks C.J. Bruton (#52), Roberto Duenas (#57) and Nate Erdmann (#55) ever averaged in their careers.

    The 11th pick of the draft was a guy named Tariq Abdul-Wahad. Nobody past the top 10 picks truly ever made a big statement in the NBA. Sure, Stephen Jackson (#42) was a key piece to the 2003 Spurs, Bobby Jackson (#23) was a sixth man sparkplug and Mark Blount (#54) was a dependable center for a few teams – but overall, 1997 was pretty mediocre… Even though I once bought into the ESPN theory that Jacque Vaughn (#27) would be the next Allen Iverson.

    My own personal draft journey began after a two-game playoff run in the annual 1997 fraternity basketball challenge.

    It was in a game against Pi Kappa Alpha. Their starting point guard tried to take me off the dribble to the left. I stuck my arm just above his bounce and poked the ball free into the open court. I ran after it, scooped it up and laid it in for the victory. My fraternity, Alpha Epsilon Pi had won our first play-off game in 10 years. In our next contest, we gave the brothers of Sigma Alpha Epsilon a good run, and I poured in 21 points. Ultimately, we lost on a late technical foul call when I got kicked out for calling the referee a “dickbag.”

    It was after that game, while consuming a lot of Natural Light beer, that I decided to declare for the draft.

    On draft day 1997, I sat on my mother’s couch with baited anticipation as the others had their moments. I ordered some pizza for my family. My mother thought I had lost my mind.

    As the evening progressed, I had seen enough of the long, tailored mustard and pinstriped suits making their way to the podium to shake David Stern’s hand. I watched as guys like Tony Battie (#5), Danny Fortson (#10) and Antonio Daniels (#4) put on those crisp new NBA caps. I accepted the inevitable as the first round telecast came to an end.

    The second round was only on the radio, so I sat in my Civic, listening in.

    “And with the 48th pick in the 1997 NBA Draft, the Washington Bullets select Predrag Drobnjak from KK Partizan, Serbia.”

    Really? A guy named Predrag was taken? Nobody could even pronounce his name. So what if he was a six-foot-eleven three time Euro League National Champion? I played on the frat tournament second runner-up team!

    Most of the players from the ’97 draft ended up overseas, injured or, in Ron Mercer’s (#6) case, involved in a strip club assault or two. I was no different – except for the fact that I never played one minute in the NBA.

    Then again, neither did Serge Zwikker (#29), Mark Sanford (#30) or Gordon Malone (#44).

    I still think I would have had a shot.
    Ed. Note: Zach Selwyn currently averages 15.2 points per game in his over 40-YMCA league.

    @nerdist basketball Comedy David Stern NBA NBA Draft sports sports writing tim duncan
  • Zach and Missi Pyle have a new podcast called “Missi and Zach Might Bang!” Exec. Produced by Anna Faris and Sim Sarna of “Anna Faris is Unqualified” – the show takes on celebrity guests, improvisational music and offers entertainment business advice as well! Head to http://www.ewpopfest.com to buy tickets now!!!

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    Anna Faris Entertainment Weekly EW Might Bang Missi Pyle podcast popfest Sim Sarna Zach Selwyn
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Read Examiner.com and StarPulse.com’s Article on Zach!

  • November 14, 2013
  • by zachselwyn
  • · Television · TV Shows

Watch new Ep. Of Guinness World Records Unleashed tonight at 8pm on TRUTV!

Meet hilarious and prolific ‘Guinness World Records’ commentator Zach Selwyn

By Brittany Frederick

'Guinness World Records' commentator Zach Selwyn is also a comedian, actor, and musician.
November 14, 2013

Every television show would be more interesting if Zach Selwyn was on it.

Thankfully, TruTV has enlisted the multi-talented Los Angeles native to serve as a color commentator for Guinness World Records Unleashed. Zach’s dry and relentless wit is a perfect match for a show about the outrageous and the impressive. BFTV caught up with him on Wednesday to chat about the new season of GRWU and what else is new for the eternally lovable TV personality.

In just last week’s premiere, Zach has had to discuss one gentleman attempting to set the world record for most kicks to his own head in one minute, and another aiming to dunk a donut into a cup of coffee from higher than anyone else has ever dunked before. These are some pretty crazy things, so how many times does he question people’s sanity?

“Oh, countless. I’d say at least three times an episode, I was concerned that somebody was going to get really hurt and occasionally die,” he told us, joking that “You know it’s a good show when you think people are going to die.”

Not that he’s on the set just to poke fun at the competitors. “I admire all these guys,” Zach said, though he did confirm GWRU host Dan Cortese’s story that he once made a vague attempt to break a world record himself. “It was the most amount of donut holes eaten in either 60 seconds or 90 seconds,” he reflected. “I think I got to like four.”

Since we let Dan dish on Zach when we spoke to him last week, it was only appropriate to flip the script and let Zach talk about Dan. “Dan’s incredibly professional,” he told us, “and very tan. And very muscular. He’s very intimidating, because I don’t think any man alive should have the physique that he has at his age.”

But being impressively in shape doesn’t mean Dan is safe from Zach’s humor: “I certainly did a bunch of Veronica’s Closet jokes and Rock ‘N’ Jock jokes,” Zach revealed.

His commentary on Guinness World Records Unleashed is just the latest TV gig for Zach, who’s become a TV mainstay over the years with credits like G4’s Attack of the Show!, Science Channel’s Catch It Keep It, and let us not forget the greatness that was GSN’s Extreme Dodgeball. If you can put it on TV, he can make it funny.

And if that’s not good enough for you, he’s also an actor and a musician, with a healthy iTunes catalog. His album Ghost Signs has seriously been in our rotation for ten years. Then there’s his comedy web series, The Reportist. Check out Zach’s observations on graffiti in the video with this article.

Zach has plenty of projects to keep him occupied going into next year. “I’m going to start shooting Season 2 of a show on History called America’s Secret Slang. That should come out in 2014. I’m putting out a new record,” he told us. “And I wrote a book, too, that’s going to be coming out in 2014. It’s called Talent Will Get You Nowhere. It’s a collection of short stories.” Somehow, he manages all of this on top of being a devoted family man. That’s one heck of a balancing act (dare we say world record-worthy?).

Not that you’ll ever hear him complain. “I’m very happy to be working in any capacity and working with the good people of Guinness,” Zach reflected. “Ultimately down the line, hosting and acting and music are all things I’m passionate about. I’d like to somehow combine all three. I just hope that everything I’m doing continues to resonate with someone out there.” And we hope that he sticks around for a long, long time.

You can catch Zach every Thursday night at 8 PM ET/PT as part of Guinness World Records Unleashed on TruTV. You should also visit his website (zachselwyn.com) and follow him on Twitter (@ZachSelwyn).

(c)2013 Brittany Frederick. Appears at Examiner with permission. All rights reserved. No reproduction permitted. Visit my official website and follow me on Twitter at @tvbrittanyf.

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