Thanks to the Mangy Moose Saloon for having us for 6 sets in 2 nights!







Actor. Musician. Host. Writer. Dinner Guest.
Thanks to the Mangy Moose Saloon for having us for 6 sets in 2 nights!
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!)
T-Shirts $25.00 – includes S&H
z@zachariahmusic.com for more info!
For signed copies – z@zachariahmusic.com
Zach is excited to announce he has published his first crime mystery novel, “Austin Translation.”
Set in Austin, Texas during the summer of 2020, true crime podcaster Rob Stoner finds himself set up for the murder of a young girl. Now, using his amateur sleuthing skills, he has to clear his name, find the killer and save his marriage all during a global pandemic.
Please download on Amazon.com – Physical signed copies will be available for purchase upon request for $10.00 in the near future.
(c) 2020 Desert Hobo Press
All rights Reserved
Zachariah’s new song explores the corporate logo marketing travesty that all of us 90’s kids endure every time we see a Nirvana or Ramones shirt for sale in Target or Wal-Mart. Back in 1992 I had to go to the concert to buy a $30 shirt. Now the logo is on onesies.
DOWNLOAD SONG HERE! – https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/nirvana-t-shirt-single/id1035706248
Dir. by Lauren Banuvar
Cloud Road EP streaming everywhere now!
In the late 90ās I was lucky enough to sleep with a Playboy
Centerfold. For the sake of this story, letās call her “Miss July.” She
wasnāt the current centerfold by any means, in fact her issue had
already been off the racks for nearly seven years at the time of our
tryst, but she had been a popular Playmate in the 90ās⦠and one that I
had admired for years. For some reason, the planets aligned and she
and I shared a three-night fling at our respected apartments doing all
we could to pretend that we had anything in common outside of our bed
sheets.
Following our little hook up, I rifled through a used bookstore for
her back issue, buying at least six copies to give to my high school
friends. I called nearly every guy I knew to share in my glory and
walked on air for a good three months after our encounter, knowing
that I had achieved one of the ultimate male fantasies. I even sent a
back issue to my dad. After all, Playboy was my bible growing up and
bedding one of the worldās most beautiful women suddenly made me feel
like I could accomplish anything in my life.
Last week, while walking through a grocery store with my 10-year-old
son, I ran into Miss July in the produce section. At first, I stopped
and stared at her, like every man in the store had been doing since
she walked in the vicinity. She was still gorgeous and shapely and
wearing an outfit that only a Playmate can get away with.
Her breasts were still high and on display. He hair still blonde and
bountiful, with ringlets cascading beneath her shoulders – as if she
was currently in the middle of a photo shoot. I ogled for a minute,
before coming to the realization that she was, indeed, Miss July. My
Miss July. The girl I had slept with all those years ago. I hadnāt
thought of her in so long, I assumed she had moved to the other side
of the country where I would never see her again.
And now here she was fondling a pair of avocados.
āWhy are you staring at that girl?ā My son asked, snapping me out of
the coma my 40-year-old mind had drifted into.
āOh, I think I know her,ā I said, secretly hoping that he might
recognize her beauty and high-five me after we left the grocery store.
āCool,ā he responded. āCan I play on your phone?ā
I gathered my thoughts and strolled around to the coffee aisle. I
wasnāt sure if I was going to say hello to her, afraid that she would
think I was some stalker from her Playmate days. I also didnāt want
her to blurt out something stupid, like āOh my GOD! You were that guy
I slept with in the 90ās!ā Worst of all, I thought, she wouldnāt
remember me at all. I let my son pick out some cereal as I mulled over
my next move.
Like most happily married men, I still harbor the memories of my
single years when one-night stands were so daring and fun and
whimsical. After all these years, they hold a nostalgic place in my
heart as something fantastic and perfect ā when in reality they were
normally panic-riddled and led to health concerns and loneliness.
My week with Miss July began at a nightclub in Hollywood. She was
gorgeous, fending off the masses with her icy stare and constantly
turning down drinks from potential suitors clamoring to be in her
airspace. I had no idea she was a Playmate at the time, but she
certainly had the look. She was dressed to the nines in a fur jacket
and sipping on a vodka drink when my friends dared me to go speak to
her. As I was in my cups, I waltzed directly up to her and began
rubbing her jacket.
āInteresting. A New Zealand back country field rabbit coat… Very
rare,ā I said.
She laughed and stared me deep in the eyes.
āAre you on ecstasy?ā Ā She replied.
āNo,ā I exclaimed. āNot at all⦠why?
āNormally when I wear this coat out a bunch of druggies just want to pet it.ā
I laughed and thought of a quick comeback.
āIād rather pet you,ā I blurted out confidently.
She actually laughed and wrote her number down on a bar napkin. I told
her Iād call her and I did ā the next day ā breaking any rules which I
had learned from popular movies like Swingers. She was surprised to
hear from me. We made plans to go out to a Casa Vega, a Mexican
restaurant in the valley for margaritas the following night. When she
cancelled on me two hours beforehand, I thought I was doomed. When I
asked her why she had to cancel, however, my eyes lit up.
āI have to fly to Iowa for a Playboy convention in the morning, Iām so
sorry,ā she said.
āWhy? Do you sell advertising for them or something?ā I inquired.
āNo, silly ā I was Miss July a few years ago! I thought you knewā¦ā
I didnāt know. Now I did. I immediately called my friends and sang
them J. Giels Band lyrics through the receiver. Yes. My baby was a
centerfold.
A week later, we hit Casa Vega. At one point she went outside
to smoke and I let her go alone. (I was trying to quit at the time).
When a guy at the bar saw this, he motioned to me and said, āDude, youĀ donāt let a girl that hot out of your sight for any amount of time.ā
I ignored him, assuming she would brush off any potential creeps and
return back to our bar stool where weād finish our drinks and continue
our evening. After 20 minutes, however, I began to grow nervous.
I went out to the smoking section, and sure enough, there they were:
MEN. All kinds… Guys who had intended to come inside for dinner but
were so mesmerized by her beauty that they decided to hang outside a
little longer. Guys who didnāt even smoke were bumming cigarettes from
her and chain smoking. One guy even flipped her a business card and
said, āI scout for Playboy, if you ever want to be in the magazine,
let me knowā¦ā
She laughed and to my surprise grabbed me by the arm. All the menās
faces dropped as they saw this 23-year-old kid with a Strokes haircut
coyly slip his hand around the top of her waist. Dejected, the guys
all walked inside with their heads down, preparing to settle for
baskets of chips and salsa and not the ravishing creature who I was
lucky enough to be spending the night with.
We went to another bar and then went to my place. Two nights later, I
joined her at her place. We went out once more, on a Saturday, but she
got swept up in a crowd of famous actors and I stood around waiting
for her to return to me, feeling like the unpopular kid in junior high
who canāt muster up the balls to ask a girl to dance. Eventually, when
she began partaking in their bottle service vodka, I grew frustrated,
knowing my time was up. Without even saying good-bye, I grabbed my
jacket and made a quick exit, calling my buddies to meet me for a
heartbreak beer at Coach and Horses, my old favorite dive bar.
āSo what if itās over?ā My buddy said. āYou were with a Playmate!ā
āYeah dude, my last hook up was with the hostess at Yankee Doodles in
Agoura Hills,ā said another.
As the drinks flowed, my confidence returned and I quickly got over
the fling with the help of some good friends. The next day Miss July
and I exchanged a few phone messages, but never reconnected.
Even though it was over, I was still waking on air, feeling as if I
had done all I could and was now exuding an air of confidence that
nobody could touch. I even kept two of her back issues for myself. One
to put on the coffee table, and one to put in a pristine cellophane
folder where it would remain intact on my bookshelf until the end of
my days… It still sits there today.
As I rounded the bread aisle, I saw her again. As luck would have it,
we were approaching the check out line at the same time, inspectingĀ our carts and reaching into our wallets for ATM cards. I purposefullyĀ took the spot in line directly behind her and noticed as she unloaded
an unusual amount of dog food onto the conveyor belt. She also boughtĀ butter, apples, avocados, bananas, Kombucha and a pre-made tray of
sushi. I was still staring. My 10-year-old took advantage of my distant
gaze and slipped two packs of M & Mās into my cart. I didnāt care. I
had butterflies in my stomach as if I was back in that Hollywood
nightclub 17 years earlier⦠But then it hit me: I was married. I was
standing with my child. I had no reason to not say something. If
anything, I thought, it would extend the memory a few more years. I
decided to go in for the kill.
āIs your name Taylor? (Not her real name)ā I asked.
She looked up at me and smiled.
āYeah, who are you?ā
āMy name is Zach,ā I said. āNot sure if you remember me, but we sort
of dated about 17 years ago⦠we met at a nightclub and went to Casa
Vegaā¦?ā
She looked me over, perplexed.
āWere you that drummer?ā She asked.
āNo, but I play music…ā
āOh, you were the guy who knew Green Day!ā
āNo,ā I said.
āOh. Did you know Quentin?ā
āNope,ā I responded, realizing that I was barely a flicker of memory
in her mind all these years later – whereas she had held the top spot
in my gallery of former flames for close to two decades. I was a bit
embarrassed.
āOh, wait!ā She said. āDid you used to have long curly hair? And you
lived on Harper Avenue and you played me Crash into Me by Dave
Matthews Band on your guitar?ā
The cashier chuckled.
āUhh, yeah, that was me,ā I said, blushing.
She hugged me as if we were long lost siblings. I felt my wobbly arms
go around her body once more, immediately wondering what would have
happened if I hadnāt been so stubborn at that bar all those years ago.
My chest pressed against hers and for a brief moment I was 23 again,
stupidly running around Hollywood with a group of horny friends
worrying about nothing but a 10 a.m. commercial audition and where I
was going to be drinking that night. She pulled away and paid for her
groceries and stood behind the bag boy waiting for me to pay and
rejoin her. When I did, we caught up briefly and I introduced her to
my son… who seemed to not have any interest in this beautiful woman
that his dad was talking to.
As it turns out, Miss July still did Playmate conventions. She was
living in the valley, had been married for a year but was divorced and
was raising her 3 small dogs, Gucci, Dorito and Mr. Farts-A-Lot. She
didnāt go out anymore, was disappointed with Tinder and loved
The Big Bang Theory. I felt like she was reciting her āTurn-Onā list
from her Centerfold interview page ā but had updated it as a
middle-aged woman.
We exchanged numbers and she remarked on how handsome my son was. I
told her Iād invite her out to see my band if we ever played again and
I watched her speed off in her Prius. I thought back to the nights we
had shared together and then looked back at my son, blissfully playing
on my phone, seemingly unaware of what had transpired between his father and
that mysterious girl in the produce section 17 years earlier.
As we drove home, he handed me back my phone and stared out the
window. As I watched his eyes dart around the city, I thought of his
future and how he was still so young and innocent and had the entire
world ahead of him. I realized how happy I was to be spending my life
with my wife, my daughter and him, and not a smelly pug named Mr.
Farts-a-Lot.
And then, after a few minutes of driving, he broke the silence.
āDad, I wanna learn some Dave Matthews Band songs on guitar,ā he said.
They grow up so fastā¦
READ ZACH’S NERDIST STORY “RE-EXAMINING THE NBA DRAFT ID I HAD BEEN SELECTED!”
https://nerdist.com/re-examining-the-1997-nba-draft-if-i-had-been-selected/