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I have been a hip-hop fan since the time I was given the first RUN-DMC cassette for my birthday in 1984. I dove into rap music full-fledged and became a true wannabe emcee once the Beastie Boys made white, Jewish rappers cool a couple of years later. I have every great hip-hop classic on vinyl. I stream the newest stuff that comes out within 24 hours of its release and I still get excited when I hear that De La Soul is touring or that there is a Wordstarhiphop video of a “weave snatch” at Drake’s latest pool party.
So, imagine my elation when my boss at my job asked me to work with a one-time super famous gangsta rapper for our website… and even gave me a budget to approach him with.
For the sake of this piece – (and for my safety as a human being) – let’s call this rapper “SEISMIC.” Seismic is one of those rap stars who had a lot of hits in the 90’s, but is now out of the music game altogether. Gangsta rap is all but extinct and even though Seismic has appeared on a few reality shows in the past few years, including one where he attempted to become a professional dog-walker that never aired, I was a lifelong fan and couldn’t wait to work with him.
“What should we get Seismic to do for us?” I asked my boss.
“I think it would be funny to have him read the children’s book Goodnight Moon,” my boss suggested.
The idea was approved and through a connection, I was able to obtain Seismic’s manager’s information. He went strictly by the name “Dope Green.” I dialed up his phone on a Monday morning, hoping to close the deal by the end of the week.
“Who dis?” A terse voice greeted me with.
“Hi, my name is Zach Selwyn from TBS Digital,” I said.
“We already got cable,” the voice said.
“No, no… I’m from TBS – I’m calling about hiring Seismic to do some web stuff for us? Is this Dope Green?”
“Oh shit. Hole up.”
I waited on the other end of the phone for what seemed like an eternity. I was obviously muted, because all I heard was silence. For eight minutes. Finally, Dope Green returned.
“What’s the deal?” He said. I don’t wanna do any talking over the phone, can you come through to our spot? We in a small warehouse by the Burbank Airport…”
I was beginning to feel like I was a molly dealer who had to drive to deliver pills to some video set. I asked my boss if I could leave to go meet Seismic and his crew. He said no.
I told Dope Green that I was not able to leave the office.
“Shit. Let me call you back from my burner phone then.”
A few minutes later, a blocked number rang up my cell phone and I explained that we wanted Seismic to read Goodnight Moon to camera. The entire process would not take more than a minute and we had real money to offer him. Five thousand dollars.
Dope Green laughed.
“You from TBS? Like the network? And you tryin’ to pull off Seismic for five G’s?” He said. “Seismic don’t do shit for less that 50 thousand… And we need crisp hunneds – in a bag. That’s how we do business,” he said.
50 K? To read a children’s book on camera? For a rapper who hadn’t had a hit since Tupac was alive? As excited as I was to work with Seismic, I had no choice but to turn down his demands.
“Sorry, Mr. Green, but 50 grand is way out of our budget,” I replied.
“Go call Ja Rule then,” he said. And hung up.
I started sweating. Not because I was nervous that I wasn’t going to get my job finished, but because I truly felt like there was a chance that Seismic’s manager was going to send some lead pipe carrying mother-fuckers after me. I went back to my boss and asked if we could sweeten the pot a little bit to get him to read the book.
“I guess we could double it,” my boss said.
“What about the ‘crisp hunneds,’” I asked. Can I go to the bank and cash a check or something?
“Are you kidding? Tell him we need a 1099 or W-2. There is no way we’re going to pay him cash in a paper bag… get real, man.”
I went back to Dope Green and informed him that the paper bag idea was out. And that we could get him a little more money, but not Seismic’s going rate. I offered 10K.
Dope Green actually said we could try to work something out. BUT, Seismic had some demands. First, he wanted a development deal with the network. Second, he would have full creative control over his original TV show idea, including handling the directing, casting and production of the 13-episode comedy he had in his head. It was Empire meets Friday. A comedy about an aging rapper (Think Chris Tucker as a Warren G. type) on the road trying to get paid. I asked what some of the storylines would be.
“It’s a rapper trying to deal with thirsty hoes, his baby mamas, his bitch ex-wife and a bunch of kids and shit.”
I never got to meet Seismic. When I informed Mr. Green that I had no power in getting TBS to pony up a development deal for him and his TV idea, he told me that I could forget about getting anyone to read Goodnight Moon. Let alone, a rapper as dope as Seismic. The deal was done.
I walked into my boss’ office and told him that deal had gone away. He was disappointed and shook his head, telling me that I should come up with an alternative personality that could read Goodnight Moon for our website.
“I bet Sisqo is available,” I offered.
My boss laughed and turned me down.
I went back to my desk and put on some RUN-D.M.C…
*Get ready for the podcast launch of “Missi and Zach Might Bang!” Follow on Twitter & Instagram! Instagram @mightbang Twitter @mightbang1
Zach wrote and produced this piece for TBS Digital starring the Sklar Brothers.
Starring Michael Cornacchia, Celeste Thorson, Dustin Mahale and Zach Selwyn !
Like most of us, I have Googled ex-girlfriends from high school and college to see what they look like now. I’ve found most of them online, to no immediate fanfare – (Other than finding out one girl I made out with in high school is now a grandmother…) – but nobody has captured my social media imagination more than a girl I once dated in 1991 named Jenny Herren.
I have spent the better part of two decades wondering what happened to this girl. I have hunted Linked in, Google images, Myspace and Facebook hoping to see if Jenny was still beautiful, single and yes, even alive. (When I came across an obituary of a Jenny Herren in Houston last year, I was relieved to see that the woman was 89-years-old).
In today’s world, where the Government can track you every time you visit collegeorgy.com, it might seem impossible, but I was convinced that Jenny Herren had no digital footprint.
And then my sister alerted me that she had found her.
Jenny truly blossomed into my boner jam around 1991 when we randomly sat next to each other at a movie theater, watching the film If Looks Could Kill starring Richard Grieco. The film was so terrible, we mocked and heckled it together like we were boyfriend and girlfriend on a regular date. I was sprung, and within a week I had made her a romantic mixtape featuring my “closer songs” (Chris Isaak, Sting, Dire Straits) and had asked her out to the mall the following weekend.
The mall was fun, but I couldn’t get a read on her, so I took it as a sign to not present her the mixtape just yet. It burned a hole in my pocket. I dropped her off without so much as a kiss and went home and scribbled three pages into my journal about her sense of humor, her laugh and – well – her incredible tits.
A week later at a high school football game, I carefully planned a casual interaction with Jenny by the snack bar. When I saw her, I dreamed we’d be heavy petting beneath the bleachers by the end of the third quarter. Instead, our mutual friend Tanya Brightly cock-blocked me by taking Jenny away and leaving me with my hands dug way deep into the pockets of my Guess jeans.
Finally, I got the second date I was looking for. It was a month later and I had it all planned. I would get some weed from my stepbrother, take her to see Hot Shots at the $1.00 theater and then close the deal in the abandoned church parking lot at the top of Swan Road – a notorious make-out spot overlooking the city where horny teenagers tried to get past second base.
The movie was hilarious, and things were going great. We stopped and got ice cream bars at a Circle K and made our way to the church. I lit the pipe and passed it. I became horribly paranoid. We looked out at the city. Silence. There was that perfect awkward teenage feeling arising between us… I lightly brushed my hand against hers and grabbed it. I pulled her in and we kissed… Soft and beautiful, alone beneath the Tucson sky, awash in the possibilities of what lay out in the real world ahead… I was 16 and in heaven… And then a hesher dude named Paul Humphries shined a flashlight on us from his pick-up truck.
“GET SOME, SELWYN!” He yelled, blinding both of us in the process.
“Fuck you, Paul,” I screamed back. When I turned back around, I noticed that Jenny had walked away.
“I think you should take me home,” she said. “It’s getting late.”
On the ride home, Jenny said she didn’t think we should hang out anymore. She said she wasn’t sure why, but that something didn’t feel right. I tried every move in the book to get her to reconsider, but when I finally dropped her off, she took off running inside and I have not seen her since our high school graduation night… Until my sister found her Facebook page.
“Her name is now Jennifer Klein,” my sister informed me. “Married a guy named Mark Klein. Air Force instructor. They live in San Diego and don’t have any kids as far as I can tell.”
My sister should have been a private investigator.
I immediately began cyberstalking Jennifer Klein like a tween looking for “Shirtless Zayn Malik” pictures. I wanted to know everything. I was hoping she’d be open to a conversation – and maybe she could shed some light on our night together all those years ago.
Meanwhile, my wife was in the other room asking me what I was doing.
“Writing,” I responded, feeling guilty that I was busy looking up a girl I had made out with 25- years prior.
Many of my friends have spent hours digging into online profiles of exes, looking for something that proves that there was a reason it never worked out between them. My buddy’s wife found her ex-boyfriend on Facebook, posting about how great it felt to “finally be out of prison.” My other friend’s ex had nine children and was divorced twice. In fact, the majority of people I know have revealed how stoked they were to find their exes all out of shape, full of grey hair and still living in their hometowns.
Amazingly, Jennifer hadn’t aged at all. Her profile picture was taken in a bikini in Mexico, where she posted that she had been “marlin fishing” for a week straight. She posed holding a Corona. She was tan, supple and looked terrific. I added her as a friend and awaited a response.
When she did not accept my friend request a week later, I wondered why. I felt as nervous as I did the night I had watched her running into her house. I felt like a fucking teenager again.
Meanwhile, I got out my old high school journal. The one that I had kept since I was 14. I re-read the page from my date with Jenny – and I felt like a complete horny moron. I had written the following:
October 16, 1991 – I kissed her! After packing a bowl of dirty Mexi-schwag that my stepbrother traded me for a Van Halen CD, we made out at the church. (My old hookup spot – where I macked on Marni Thomas last year in my dad’s Jeep!) My hair looked good… like Luke Perry! But then that dumb hesher Paul ruined everything. Shit. I hope she calls me back I really want to feel those heaving melons.
October 23, 1991 – I have called Jenny 15 times and she has not returned my calls. I don’t know why. Do I suck? Am I ugly? Maybe she just hasn’t been getting my phone calls?
November 3rd, 1991 – I heard she told Tanya to tell me to back off and that she might get a restraining order. What the hell did I do? I feel like a creep… I just wish she’d give me a chance… Man. I’m so pissed. Luckily, this weekend is Adam’s party and there is some freshman girl named Daisy who said she thought I was cute. Shit, I’m almost 17 – ! I’m so old!!!
After three weeks or not hearing a response from Jenny, I re-checked her page. She had been there, alright, obviously ignoring my friend request. I reached out one last time, this time just posting something on her wall – something that I thought would be funny. I wrote:
Hey – I still have a mix tape I made you in 1991 – Any chance you want it?
Jennifer Klein never responded. But, the next day, a familiar person did. It was Tanya Brightly, who had commented on my post. She added the following: Unbelievable… 25 years later and Zach still doesn’t get the hint.
I was mortified. I had been lusting after this girl for a quarter century, and Tanya Brightly was STILL cock-blocking me.
I issued a response, including a photo of me and my family – saying that I was not a stalker – but just reaching out as an old friend who was trying to hold on to whatever memories I retained from my youth. I also asked Jenny if she remembered our night at the church.
Finally, Jennifer Klein wrote me a message.
Hi Zach – long time – I’m married to a guy in the Air Force – no kids to speak of – congratulations your family looks beautiful. Re: that night at the church… I have no memory of it. Sorry! Oh, I’d love to hear that mixtape!
I haven’t sent her the mixtape yet. I think I’ll let her wait around for me this time…
Ed. Note: Zach has since been blocked from Jennifer Klein’s Facebook feed.
WATCH ZACH’S MUSIC VIDEO “DONG ON THE WHITEBOARD!”
At a bar near my house a few nights ago, I met an interesting man. He was very handsome, sporting a cool undercut hair-do and rocking a massive, manly thick beard. A bearded man myself these days, I inquired about how he achieved such unbridled thickness and shape.
“I grew it,” he said.
“Oh,” I said. “Right.”
After a few more lagers, I got to asking what this guy did for a living – as he was constantly tapping his phone for the duration of our hang.
“I’m a beard model bro,” he exclaimed “On Instagram.”
“What? Really?” I inquired.
“Yeah man – you got a pretty thick beard, you should try it.”
“Maybe I will.”
“You gotta get that beard money son!” He said.
Beard money? Instagram? Paid for just having facial hair? Yes, believe it. The man, whose name I forget – but may have been Rylance, told me he made over 100 thousand dollars last year hash-tagging and re-posting snaps of him rocking his beard. He also mentioned that he had turned down money to shave it from Gillette for a commercial.
“They offered me 25 grand, but my beard ‘shave rate’ is 40K,” he explained.
“Shave rate?” Dude. I tested as an actor for a TV pilot last year and my acting rate was 1/10th of that. I was blown away.
When Rylance finally turned his phone around to show me his pictures – it became abundantly clear that I might not have the “beard earning potential” that he currently had. Mainly because the majority of his Instagram phots were of him posing shirtless, with rippling abs and a diary of chest tattoos scrawled all over his torso.
Instagram would probably pay me to put my shirt back on.
Still, he passed me the email of his “social media manager” and I emailed her the next day. Her name was Tracy. Here is our conversation:
Zach: Hi. Rylance gave me your information, I’m interested in Instagram beard modeling.
Tracy: Great. Can you post a photo of your beard doing something cool and we’ll see what kind of traffic you get?
Zach: My beard doing something cool? Like what – shopping for albums?
Tracy: Or standing in front of an old shipyard or a train or a barn or something.
Zach: Copy that. Will share later this week.
And just like that, it was on. Being that I made a grand total of 2600 dollars as a writer the previous year, I figured a quick move to Instagram beard modeling might be a nice career change. I took a road trip up north and decided I was going to shoot some killer beard photos and get myself an agent.
My first stop was in from of a barn, as requested. Then I took my shirt off and did my best “suck-it-in pose” while staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. Finally, I snapped some pics of me standing in front of a record player holding a guitar case. Boom. I had my entire beard modeling portfolio.
I decided to post the barn photo first.
I emailed Tracy and told her to look out for the coming revolution. With any luck, I’d be getting offers from worldwide companies to pose while holding a Kit-Kat or something for 10 large. She quickly emailed me back after looking at my Instagram page.
Tracy: Is this a joke? You have way too many clothes on.
Zach: Too many clothes on?
Tracy: Show off your tats.
Uh-oh. Tats? One thing I am not ashamed to admit, is that I am tattoo-less. Sure, I almost got a Pearl Jam “stick figure” in high school on my ankle – but I chickened out at the last minute. Still, I decided I could doodle something on my chest in Photoshop and try to pass it off as cool.
When I looked at the other models currently killing it on Instagram, however, it became clear that one tattoo would not be enough. Apparently the current trend is to get ridiculous tattoos all over yourself. Your chest, your neck and more recently, on your face. I slowly felt my beard modeling career slipping away, but I still took a chance.
I took a few more pictures and added some tattoos. Knowing this was my last chance to pull off a modeling contract, I sent them off to Tracy before I posted them – asking her if she felt these might generate some serious beard traffic.
I waited for what seemed like hours for a response. When she finally got back to me, it wasn’t the response I had expected.
Tracy: So, I don’t think I’m going to pursue you as a beard model any further.
Zach: Can you tell me why?
Tracy: Well, for one – you’re what, 37?
Tracy: But, I was looking through your other Instagram photos and it looks like you have two kids? If you want I can submit you to another trending site – Have you heard of the Instagram account, “Hot Dads With Babies?”
Hot Dads With Babies? Yep. It’s a real thing. I went and looked it up and was immediately horrified. Even though they only had a few posts, I was fairly convinced I might be able to sneak myself up on that page someday, so I asked Tracy what the average “dad with baby rate” was for a guy selected for the account.
Tracy: It’s not as popular as anything with beards, so it’s only like 7 dollars per post.
Zach: Oh. OK, well I’ll think about it.
And with that, Tracy was off to help Rylance clock another 50 grand for posing shirtless with a Clif energy bar, secretly dreading the day his beard went grey and his tattoos started to fade.
I went home to see my kids and brought them into the kitchen, where I asked them a simple question…
“How’d you guys like to make 7 dollars an Instagram post?”
*Watch Zach’s new comedic acting reel!*
<p><a href=”https://vimeo.com/177500428″>Zach Selwyn Comedy Reel – August 2016</a> from <a href=”https://vimeo.com/user3121417″>Zach Selwyn</a> on <a href=”https://vimeo.com”>Vimeo</a>.</p>
written by Zach Selwyn. Dir. by Adam Siegel.