Zach Selwyn

Actor. Musician. Host. Writer. Dinner Guest.

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  • By Zach Selwyn

    I can vividly picture the scene taking place on a Newark, New Jersey street corner in 1922… Prohibition is hanging heavily over every boarded up bar and single family household on the block. The streets are full of the penniless, making bedding out of old jackets on the grey and crunchy dirty sidewalk snow. Children are wrapping up nightly stick ball games to return home for dinner as the streets darken with denizens of the nightlife and small time hoods…

    And then suddenly, out of the darkness, trotting up in a horse-drawn buggy, appears Rabbi Levi Zalman, who is suddenly swarmed by scores of men from these homes looking to procure the finest bottle of bootleg wine they can get their hands on. Money is exchanged, prayers are said and the men race home to their families. With every sale, Rabbi Zalman mutters, “Baruch Hashem.” (Blessed be the name of the lord). When it’s all over, Rabbi Zalman rides away a very rich man…

    Of course, Rabbi Levi Zalman is not a Rabbi at all. In fact, he is Jack Joseph Brauer, an out-of-work shoe peddler from East Jersey City who has just unloaded his Government-relegated weekly supply of booze for a shade over $5,000.

    He is also my great-great grandfather. This was his “congregation.”

    Ratified in 1920, the 18th Amendment to the Constitution – which is America’s only Amendment to later be repealed – federally prohibited the manufacture, transportation and sale of alcohol. Of course, this was one of our biggest failures in our short history, and led to the golden age of organized crime, corruption and sheer madness across the country.

    Doing some research (And I am not the first to report this – just giving you some background) Jewish households were allowed a certain amount of wine per household per year. To top that off, if you were a Rabbi, and you lead any type of “congregation” (12 members or more) you were allowed to get as much wine as you wanted for religious purposes at any time you desired… So guess what happened? A lot of “new Rabbis” suddenly started showed up.

    “There were fake Rabbis everywhere,” my grandmother told me years ago before she died. “If you knew 12 people, that was a congregation… why do you think so many people started converting to Judaism during the 20’s? FOR BOOZE.”

    So, when Jack Brauer’s shoe business got hit with hard times in the early 1920’s, he bought some religious robes, sported a fake beard and marched up to the proper Governmental distribution center and bought as much alcohol as he needed… He flipped it in two days and kicked off a successful six-year-run as the biggest “Rabbi Bootlegger” in Newark, New Jersey.

    A few years later, when the American Jewish Committee began cracking down on the large number of fake Rabbi’s, my great-great grandfather Jack was NOT on the suspected fraud list. In fact, he continued to support his family until 1931, just before the Amendment was repealed. How? He had the third largest congregation in New Jersey at the time. (Even though it was 95 percent FAKE.)

    Now, according to the three part documentary Prohibition by Ken Burns, other religions had these loopholes as well. In fact, Priests were ALSO able to purchase liquor for religious ceremonies. Of course, the government could actually reference records to determine if someone claiming to be a Priest actually was a Priest. But Rabbis? There was NO WAY OF TELLING WHO WAS A RABBI.

    RfW_3000x2
    Starting to see why I’m obsessed with this stuff…

    According to writer Daniel Okrent, “Rabbis were suddenly showing up everywhere. Irish Rabbis, Black Rabbis…” Nobody ever doubted their religious claims.

    As is turns out, my grandmother was correct. In the 1920’s, Jewish congregations increased in membership by like, 75 percent. In short? BOOTLEG LIQUOR BUILT MODERN DAY JUDAISM. In fact, I don’t think you can reference a time in history when more NEW Jews suddenly showed up out of the woodwork to embrace Judaism in our nation’s history. No wonder we say prayers over the wine…

    A few years ago, my grandmother Florence passed away. Readers of my stories should be familiar with our adventures together in her later years, which included a trip to the Ace Hotel, smoking medical marijuana and leafing through her old photo albums so she could announce who was presently, “Dead.” When she passed, it was a sad moment, and a week later, our family went through her home to get rid of old useless items…(My grandfather’s 5000 VHS tapes of classic movies) and save valuable ones… (My grandma had always claimed that she had hidden “thousands of dollars in cash” all over the house and that it was our job to find it when she died.)

    Of course, knowing this, we tore open her home like Jesse Pinkman looking for hidden cash in that drug dealer’s condo in the film El Camino…

    My mom and I found some money, but the “thousands of dollars” my grandma promised turned out to be something more like 220 bucks. We also uncovered a lot of jewelry and a stamp collection valued at about $39. So, if you’re the new couple that bought the place? If you ever find some ungodly wad of $100 dollar bills in a crawl space, hit me up…

    Aside for a few of my grandma’s stray Vicodin, which I squirreled away in a jacket pocket, the only other item in the home that really intrigued me was my grandmother’s birth certificate. On it was listed her parent’s names and occupations – (Ruth Brauer-Kaplan – housewife. Jacob Kaplan- Dentist) – as well as her GRANDPARENT’s names and occupations… What intrigued me was the job description as reported to the state of New Jersey by JACK JOSEPH BRAUER –

    His job: RABBI.

    “Wow so Grandma’s story was true?” I asked my Uncle Steve who was helping my mom go through Florence’s old belongings.

    “Yes indeed,” he answered.

    “So was he really a Rabbi?” I asked.

    “Do you know what a ‘Rabbi’ was back then?”

    “I’m guessing a bootlegger?”

    “It’s great getting to know your family, isn’t it?”

    I went into the kitchen and poured myself a large glass of wine. I toasted my grandma on her final journey and raised my glass up to Jack Joseph Brauer – my great-great grandfather who kept so many families buzzed during the dark years of Prohibition…

    “Baruch Hashem,” I said.

    STREAM ZACH’S NEW SONG “Red Fuckin Wine” NOW!

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  • This morning I drove past two skinny homeless men with multiple missing teeth who were smoking cigarettes before nearly running over a mangy stray dog panting in the street. I made a left turn at the Hustler Hollywood store, narrowly averting a woman who was squatting and urinating into a discarded water bottle. I eventually parked and walked around my car, side-stepping two discarded needles some dog crap and a used condom. I dodged a speeding Hyundai that was being driven by a dude vaping and texting at the same time before opening the passenger door… and helping my kid get out of the car.

    “Ready for school?” I asked.

    Welcome to Hollywood.

    1221098_1280x720
    A scene from our nice little walk to school

    I was raised in a peaceful, quiet corner of the desert where coyotes and jumping cholla cacti were my biggest fears while walking to school. I didn’t see a homeless man until I was about 13. Hustler was a magazine that only prisoners and truckers read and needles were something only a doctor could get a hold of. Yesterday, my son asked me why the guy who lives in the dumpster across the street from his carpool pick-up lane is always shouting, “Ho ass bitch” while shuffling down Selma Avenue.

    I am raising my children in Gomorrah and it’s starting to freak me the fuck out.

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    Nice little bottle of urine found by the carpool pick up

    This school year, my son’s entire fifth grade class was moved to a new school campus – about 10 blocks north of the previous campus where they had been since kindergarten. The new campus is on Selma Avenue and is a stone’s throw from the Hollywood YMCA. It’s also a block south of Hollywood Boulevard, nearly 10 medical marijuana dispensaries, six seedy bars, smoke shops, two run-down hotels, a vintage street clock that has been permanently set to 4:20 and about nine tattoo parlors.

    Back in my 20’s, when I was stumbling out of the bar Boardner’s (a block away from the school on Cherokee), I could never imagine that someday my son would be taking “Beginner Spanish” 50 yards from where I once puked after a night of Vodka – Red Bulls. I never thought I’d be raising my kids anywhere but some pristine little tucked away school with manicured lawns and open fields and morning sing-a-longs. Little did I know that barbed wire fences, metal detectors and cement soccer fields were going to be the norm for my children…

    At a back-to-school meet and greet two weeks after the first day, some other parents expressed their concerns as well.

    “We just don’t like the way the school feels,” an angry parent offered.

    “We are striving to make everybody comfortable,” the principal, a 40-something man named Reggie replied.

    “It’s hard to be comfortable when I smell marijuana every day when I drop my kid off,” another mom piped up.

    Hustler+season+to+be+sexy+billboard
    This nearby billboard has all the kids very excited for Christmas

    Hollywood has changed immensely since the rundown 1990’s. Tourism is up, souvenir stores are making great money and people from all over the world are still traveling here to take photos of the sidewalk where an actor’s name is etched into a star. Of course, when the tourists come, so do the hustlers. You’ve seen them selling rap CD’s, trying to get you to take the TMZ Tour and drunkenly swaying into your photos while dressed up in a piss-stained Spider-Man costume demanding five dollars.

    bee9848328b7815dc0b446440a5c1190--spider-man-lori
    This guy smells like beef and wants $5 a picture.

    Look, my high school was no picnic. I witnessed a shooting, a lot of fights and certainly saw my share of LSD and dirt weed from Mexico, but I was in high school… Not fifth grade. Being raised in the desert certainly shaded me from the inner city realities of gang-ridden America, but I was also lucky enough to travel to places like New York and LA to see how other kids were growing up. Ultimately, their fast-paced lives had a strong effect on me because I headed for college in Los Angeles the minute I turned 18. Thinking back about my childhood dreams, I turned my son one day after school.

    “Hey dude, where do you want to live when you grow up?” I asked him.

    “Probably the beach… or New York I guess.”

    Obviously he hadn’t thought this one out. Not me. By the time I was ten, I had it narrowed down to Los Angeles and Los Angeles.

    My son is also already planning out his first tattoo, based on a conversation we had last week. After pouring over NBA star Brandon Ingram’s arms as we were watching a basketball game, he asked me a question.

    “Dad, if you could get a tattoo, what would you get?”

    “Oh wow, I dunno – probably your name and your sister’s name,” I said. “Something small and hidden and meaningful.”

    “I’d probably get Savage in cursive across my eyebrow,” he said.

    “You’re not getting a tattoo,” I told him.

    “Why not? All the sickest rappers have face tattoos now…”

    Oh boy.

    1116-lil-peep-getty-4
    The late rapper Lil Peep had the type of facial tattoos my son is craving.

    As we listened to my kid’s Spotify playlist, I heard no less than ten “N-Bombs”, three songs about abusing Xanax, Percocet and Molly and over ten about Gucci, 80,000 dollar watches and ‘Lambos. Every song featured sound effects like “Skrrr” for a cool car or “Skrrrrratatatatata” to mimic an assault rifle peppering an enemy with bullets… Look, I love rap music. I chased a rap career myself at one point… but no 5th grader should be asking his dad what Codeine, Mountain Dew and Jolly Ranchers taste like together.

    Alas, the reality of this situation is that I can’t afford to shell out 35,000 dollars to private academies like Campbell Hall or Oakwood… Although from what I remember from college – most of the heaviest partiers came out of these schools. Which gives me some hope… And truthfully, other than the dead guy who was wheeled away from the apartment down the block last week, the school is fun, diverse and growing and I’m actually proud to be a part of the community.

    So, as the years roll along, I’ll just have to deal with the syringes, homeless guys and Hustler Hollywood foot traffic for a few more years until junior high. Luckily, that campus is located downtown in a much more secure location…

    It’s across the street from an outpatient clinic for opioid addicts…

    GOT ZACH’S BOOK YET?

    TENTS

     

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  • CREDITS…

    In the Presence of God *

    Firing Squad $

    New Suit for My Hangin *

    Honky Tonk Saloon @

    Bartenders in LA @

    You Built me a Ghost Town (Gia Ciambotti) #

    The River (With Bobby Joyner) $

    Gower Bridge #

    Dellmus Colvin @

    Last Country Road $

    City of Angels #

    Executive produced by The Pale Ryda

    All songs 2021 Desert Hobo Music (Ascap) written by Zach Selwyn

    Papago Records.

    MUSICIANS:

    (Acoustic, Steel, Lap Guitars) Dan Wistrom, Jesse Siebenberg, Leroy Miller, Zachariah

    (Drum Programming) Leroy Miller

    (Bass) Mark Antoleonos, Jeff LeGore

    (Keys) Brian Lapin

    (Fiddle) Lucy Clearwater

    (Harmonica) Bobby Joyner, Zachariah

    (BG Vocals) Lucy Clearwater, Leroy Miller, Bobby Joyner, Zachariah, Gia Ciambotti

    MIXED and PRODUCED BY:

    • – *Jesse Siebenberg
    • $ – Leroy Miller
    • # – Dan Wistrom
    • @ – Justin Jay
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  • Sag Strike Tom Morello Woody Guthrie Zach Selwyn Zachariah
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    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.

    90eec50dccc99e13340f6a706700f685
    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).

    LfPzNTvr6AaSUyG3PDDP0_Pw56ISlCh7vvzvJHwj5yNl0LQ1B6dI687b1sJTs7cbMDQpMMIyXcwYaDhkhMYHfBewPZ1q0jC8QbmVtgcrJynXvm5jXXUN06mZNFtUFq3U_JJ8NUg5dNtKCLl1rbBuUKW95ojtDDwMwQz5eXHD0_Fmjfz2GDNSqO-RCxNAWUPzPI164rP2j-DqHCOKg7RFrRMuZVW
    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…

    JcedBeB_imaE3znjQ1TIJbDvH85WrZqq5m-kpRCBuCpCqqIHz4SKHRMiS-4gFJKLnHPvHMTlornxVYjoV_7Y913MqvjVJsujnlGHZnqjk2ouSStVxOMiiBMmyiG6Zicbk4qKLDUzLce3kT3Z3lLfFeJBJ8hpSg95sez7cUJ62084fZ90wBwkoINniZeCCWqVXZNG0TXEKjT2ky-dAWQ0yD-lzvV
    Somehow, Wham! Fantastic, Donna Summer and the Jane Fonda workout vinyl did not sell.

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

    nirvana-banBmNlKuwSLezrffbFTgd6TjOVj37yWIr-a77kso34RB_yBdgXXesTdQT_ifCo2ZKvywH41kYG5qW9D0Woh1SEh47kQitTN9fFiQvFbf4eK6E_sceYg-GwC6XIeEVhkuv2WdQk4TIMpVmM8Tev2SeqBMfRyZ8rnzLFtRPqkSE-zcPhd8GkD-1

    Comedy first person essays funny gaming humor short stories star wars vintage clothing vinyl wii yard sales Zach Selwyn
  • In these scary times, we all need a little sports and a little humopr to get us by – Zach has been hired by theoddsfactory.com/runthetable to host a comedic sports trivia show EVERY DAY!!! 2pm EASTERN/ 11 am PST.

    You can win $100! – Test your sports knowledge and LAUGH!

    Screen Shot 2020-04-28 at 6.54.29 PM

     

    Attack of the Show entertainment ESPN G4 hosting humor MLB NBA NFL NHL quarantine sports trivia Zach Selwyn
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Tag: hosting

Zach Tapped to Perform/Emcee the “ALL NASHVILLE ROADSHOW” this Spring/Summer!

  • February 27, 2025
  • by zachselwyn
  • · Comedy Music News · Film/TV · Hero · Music

https://allnashvilleroadshow.com


ABOUT ALL NASHVILLE ROADSHOW?

All Nashville Roadshow brings the heart of Music City to you! Featuring live performances by incredible Nashville artists, authentic Southern food, and craft beers, our under-the-stars festival delivers an unforgettable evening of music, connection, and community. It’s like stepping into the vibrant streets of Nashville—without ever leaving your town.

With every detail curated to perfection, from the music to the atmosphere, All Nashville Roadshow is more than just an event—it’s an experience. Gather your friends, grab your tickets, and get ready to make memories that will stay with you long after the last encore. Don’t miss your chance to feel the magic of Nashville, right in your backyard!

GET YOUR TICKETS NOW!

UPCOMING ROADSHOWS

Friday, March 28, 2025 @ 7:00PM

Madison, Georgia. Madison-Morgan Cultural Center

ORDER TICKETS

Saturday, March 29, 2025 @ 7:00PM

Trilith (Fayetteville), Georgia. Central Park at Trilith

ORDER TICKETS

Friday, April 11, 2025 @ 7:00PM

Hiawassee, Georgia. Georgia Mountain Fairgrounds

ORDER TICKETS

Saturday, April 12, 2025 @ 7:00PM

Dahlonega, Georgia. R-Ranch in the Mountains

ORDER TICKETS

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Zach to Host “Award This!” Live Awards Show February 2nd!

  • January 26, 2025
  • by zachselwyn
  • · Comedy · Hero · Homepage

Film Threat Media has tapped Zach selwyn to host their “Anti-Oscars” award show “Award This” Sunday February 2nd at Frida cinemas in Santa Ana, California. Selwyn will emcee the event and introduce nominees as well as imrpovise and compose songs for the live event to be streamed simultaneously.

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Watch Zach’s New “Parking Lot Payday” Season 2! MOTLEY CRUE!

  • February 28, 2023
  • by zachselwyn
  • · Comedy · Film/TV · Hero · Homepage · Parking Lot Payday

Premieres Sunday February 19! on AXS TV!

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Zach Starts Hosting Daily Sports Trivia Show “Run the Table”

  • April 28, 2020
  • by zachselwyn
  • · Comedy · Film/TV · Hero · Homepage · NBA Rapdates · Television · TV Shows · Uncategorized

In these scary times, we all need a little sports and a little humopr to get us by – Zach has been hired by theoddsfactory.com/runthetable to host a comedic sports trivia show EVERY DAY!!! 2pm EASTERN/ 11 am PST.

You can win $100! – Test your sports knowledge and LAUGH!

Screen Shot 2020-04-28 at 6.54.29 PM

 

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Zach to be the BAND LEADER on “Good Morning Football” on NFL Network – live from Nashville during the NFL Draft!

  • April 8, 2019
  • by zachselwyn
  • · Comedy · Comedy Music News · Hero · Homepage · Music · TV Shows · Uncategorized

From April 25 – 28, ZACH will lead a band featuring Nashville legends -while performing LIVE at the world famous Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge in Nashville during live tapings of the hit NFL Network show “Good Morning Football”Screen Shot 2019-04-08 at 10.38.25 PMZach’s band Zachariah & the Lobos Riders recently released their new album “Hacienda” to high praise Lead singer Zach Selwyn, a former ESPN personality and digital sports content talent for TBS currently hosts the new interactive game show “Stacks” – Returning fall 2019. Stay tuned for more NFL Draft information! Show airs 6am-10am – prepare for NFL FREESTYLES, COUNTRY REWRITES, COVERS, EPIC CLOTHING and Zachariah ORIGINALS!

Screen Shot 2019-04-03 at 9.59.21 PM
Zach Selwyn Photo by Brie Childers

Watch the band’s newest music video HERE

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Read Zach’s interview about freestyle rap, brands & corporate events!

  • November 30, 2017
  • by zachselwyn
  • · Comedy · Homepage · Music · Uncategorized

http://brandchannel.com/2017/11/30/5-questions-zach-selwyn/Z headshot tie

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Zach Starts Shooting new History Channel Travel Series!!

  • October 19, 2017
  • by zachselwyn
  • · Film/TV · Hero · Homepage · Uncategorized

Zach recently began shooting a multi-episode series for History Chanel – where Zach travels deep into the heart of America to find the most unique and unusual people, jobs, locations and history he can find! Produced by Bullet Point Films, expect the series to premiere on TV and online in late 2017 or early 2018! Here’s a sneak peak of Zach at Rhinebeck Aerodrome in upstate New York and in Grand Teton National Park… Look for him on the road!

 

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NBA 2K Sent Zach to New York to play 2K18 early – Watch this Video Vlog!!!

  • September 6, 2017
  • by zachselwyn
  • · Comedy · Hero · Homepage · NBA Rapdates · Uncategorized

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Watch Zach’s New ‘Reportist’ Video: “Fake News: An Expose”

  • July 23, 2017
  • by zachselwyn
  • · Comedy · Film/TV · Homepage · Sketch Comedy · Uncategorized

Zach Selwyn is the reports. He does an expose on FAKE NEWS. ENJOY~!

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Missi and Zach welcome Matt Bellassai from “Wine About it”!!!

  • July 6, 2017
  • by zachselwyn
  • · Comedy · Homepage · Missi and Zach Might Bang! · Podcasts

Social Media star Matt Bellassai drinks bottles of wine on camera and talks about his problems for a living… Obviously, he was a natural fit for the new ep. of @mightbang1 – up now! With songs like “Smash an Orgasm into a Woman” & “Murder at the Airbnb” DOWNLOAD AND SUBSCRIBE!

Bellassai

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