Zach Selwyn

Actor. Musician. Host. Writer. Dinner Guest.

  • Screen Shot 2019-08-26 at 9.30.31 AM
    It was around 2:15 in the morning when a hammered single mom of three kids with a very visible C-section scar approached me following my music gig at a place called Peri’s in Marin County, California.
    “Hiiii Mr. Talented…” She slurred. “I live two blocks away and my kids are prolly asleep – D-ya wanna come have a drink and smoke and hang ouuuuut?”
    I looked this woman over. She was about 40, had a swollen and (possibly) fractured purple ankle and was heavily puffing on an e-cigarette…. From behind, half of her dress had hiked up and lodged itself in her butt, revealing a horrifying leg tattoo of a dragonfly that started mid-thigh and ended probably just above her Va-jayjay.
    She also had one dreadlock.
    “Uhhh… Well, the thing is…” I stumbled. “I’m married – sooo I don’t think it would be a good idea, ya know?”
    “Fuck you! You’re an asshole for leading me on!” she snapped.
    Wait, what? Leading her on? How was I leading her on?
    A few seconds later, it hit me… When I was performing on stage a few minutes earlier, I recalled saying:
    “Who’s the hottie in the back/Nice body, nice rack/
    Meet me outside in five – My name is Zach.” 
    Oops.
    Look. If you have ever seen me or my band perform live, I often jokingly flirt with girls in the crowd with improvisational freestyle rap lyrics from the stage… This, however, was one of those rare moments when the girl actually stuck around and thought I was serious… I felt terrible. (Here’s a sample of a freestyle from NYC in 2017)

     

    “Sorry, it was a joke, – like a part of the show??!??!?” I tried to explain to her.
    She threw a drink at me, turned around and stopped at the door to say good-bye.
    “Your music fucking sucks anyway,” she screamed.
    By the way? I never made it home that night. Since I was too drunk to drive, the bartender let me sleep in the back seat of my Prius in the bar’s parking lot…
    Did I mention it was a Tuesday?
    What the fuck am I doing?
    I am 44-years-old. I have two kids and a wife. Most men my age are in bed by 8:30 every night, binge-watching Netflix and thinking about some meeting they have at work the next day with Nancy from H.R.
    Not many dudes I know are living like me this summer… touring bars in their mid-40’s trying to sell 20-something kids t-shirts and CD’s of their country hip-hop band that – in most people’s eyes – peaked when they opened for Jason Mraz in 2008…
    For the record? On this tour I sold ZERO CD’s.
    But let’s go back a few years…
    In the 2000’s, every bar I played in was always PACKED. Friends, fans and industry folks lined up outside awaiting new songs – or a 10-minute freestyle rap where I might drop their names into a verse… They bought CD’s and shirts and sang along and I would walk out of the bar with $400 and a thousand business cards… My band played across the country and stayed in fine hotels, sipping top shelf whiskey and partying with rock stars…
    But, then came adulthood. People had kids and a lot of my musician friends got real jobs. Some band members moved out of town… Most guys gave up or got into real estate. Even I took a break from it for a while to be around the family and work in the TV business. However, the thrill of performing live was always missing…
    So, this past summer I decided that a 9-venue mini music tour of Northern California would be the best thing for my mind, body and soul.
    Railroad Station Poster jpg
    Tour posters from the road...
    Tour posters from the road…
    Guitar Heroes Flyer
    Screen Shot 2019-06-25 at 1.46.47 PM
    As the days rolled on, I sort of forgot about the ways of the road… Late nights, uncomfortable beds… bad habits reintroducing themselves… When you’re out driving down I-5 at 9:30 at night – a restaurant like Subway suddenly becomes a solid option. The Yellow American Spirit cigarette suddenly becomes “healthy” decision… Not to mention that most bars where I play like to avoid paying musicians – and instead – offer up FREE DRINKS instead – which ultimately leads to me drinking $4.99 mini bottles of Sutter Home Cabernet – guaranteeing a foggy and painful morning.
    Oh, and most bartenders who hear me ask for “the best red wine in the bar” often think I’m joking and laugh in my face.
    In all honesty, I quit drinking hard liquor ten years ago…. Waking up in a Super 8 Motel with two lines shaved into your eyebrows like D’Angelo Russell will do that to anybody… 
    But that’s a whole ‘nother story…
    The “Zachariah: Backyard and Wineries” tour began in San Francisco, at a private party where some tech geniuses of the world dug my music and my improv songs about how expensive the city had become… The host had somehow procured 25-plus bottles of the legendary Pliny the Elder beer from Santa Rosa and he was extremely generous with his liquor cabinet. However, as people got more sloshed, a supremely drunk friend of theirs named Kelly demanded I sing Shallow by Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga.
    “Are you gonna sing it with me?” I asked her.
    “Fuck YESSS!” She screamed as the party encouraged her.
    A few chords later and she was warbling through the “Wooooaaaah – ohhh – h ohhh ohh ohh oh AWWOWOHHHWHWHWH” section of the song. Let’s just say she didn’t nail it, but it didn’t matter. The vibe and energy was fantastic and I assumed every gig would end up this beautiful and natural.
    But the next night I drove up to gig at Peri’s Bar in Marin County. It was certainly a success, but I was definitely under-paid and over-served awful tiny bottles of Sutter Home… (Thus the reason why I slept in a parking lot).
    When I woke up in the back seat of my 2008 Prius at six the next morning, having sweat through my clothes on stage the night before, I decided that a shower was indeed in order. I quickly Googled “YMCA Marin County” on my phone and found one 10 miles away where my Hollywood “Family Membership” would let me use their facilities. This is also a practice that HOMELESS people participate in.
    I ended up spending 45 minutes in the sauna listening to two men talk about their new tech venture that would “change the dumpling game forever.” After they noticed me listening in, they began whispering and eventually left the sauna altogether, protecting their billion dollar dumpling idea.
    A billion dollar dumpling idea? What I derived from this moment was that I am definitely in the wrong business…
    That night, I performed at the Lagunitas Tap Room in Petaluma. The venue was amazing and they even offered up cash ($80) for the gig. Plus, per usual, they served me all the beer I could drink. Initially I had planned on having one or two beers because I had to drive to meet my wife and kids up north in Cloverdale once the night ended…
    However, after my show, I quickly found myself 8 beers in. Since my head was spinning, I asked my new friend Pete (who booked me there) if he had a better idea than drunk driving to Cloverdale.
    “Yeah brother… my buddy Andy has an Airstream in a forest that he rents out – it’s $45 for the night,” he said.
    “Uhh… like, HOW in a forest?” I inquired.
    “It’s desolate, man… super chill and quiet and you won’t hear anybody’s voice for like, 9 hours straight!” Pete replied.
    OK. Look. I enjoy nature. I love converted Airstream trailers. But 9 hours alone in one in nature? Yo, I’m not trying to live that Into the Wild life… I am a social person. I need conversation. Shit, I need some WiFi, ya know?
    “I don’t know Pete,” I explained. “I sorta need a bed – I slept in my car last night.”
    “They have a killer Aerobed,” Pete said. “I’ve slept there sooo many times, you’ll love it – I’ll even drop you off!”

     

    And with that, Pete took me to a beautiful house with 40 acres of land in the woods, where we knocked on the door and met Pete’s buddy Andy who was extremely tired and reluctantly thrust the trailer keys into my hand. He also passed me a Romancing the Stone-like treasure map explaining how to find the forest Airstream… Pete left and I slugged through the dark forest, absolutely fearing for every second of my life, before coming across what was a beautiful 1950-something converted Airstream “Cabin.”

     

    Screen Shot 2019-08-26 at 9.13.15 AM
    This was terrifying.
    I unlocked the door and went inside. It was about as rustic as you could expect.
    There was an Aerobed with a blanket on it…
    On the wall hung a calendar from the year 2013…
    And there was a shovel in the corner next to a roll of toilet paper beneath a sign that said, “Use Nature’s Facilities.”
    Holy shit. What? So no bathroom? Was I gonna have to re-learn the “One-armed tree hang” I had been taught at summer camp as a kid?
    I decided to just crash and wake up as early as possible to split.
    30 minutes after I went to sleep, I woke up on the floor. The Aerobed had deflated. It was about 45 degrees in the trailer. With no visible air pump nearby, I turned the deflated Aerobed into a pillow and did my best to sleep for the next six hours.
    A couple of hours later I woke up to the sound of what must have been two bears humping in the woods… I also swear a mysterious light flashed across the sky and for two hours I panicked about being abducted by aliens and anally probed above the Redwoods. Eventually, around 6:30, I awoke with a stiff neck and took a $20 taxi back to my car at Lagunitas.
    Up in Cloverdale I met my family and began thinking that perhaps, the road life was no longer for me… I took the family to the local trampoline park and hit up some small town burger place and I was amazed at how comfortable the safe and respectable family life felt again… For a minute, I almost cancelled my final three gigs…
    But, since I can rarely turn down a chance to perform, I decided to carry through on my commitments.
    As I was playing the night at an all ages restaurant, the local town drunk “Banjo Bob” (yes, his real name) taught my 13-year-old son how to best hold a pool cue if he was ever to get into a bar fight.
    (His advice? Hit the guy with the skinny end, that way if it breaks off – you’re left with the more dangerous thick end of the stick as a weapon.)
    To quote my late grandmother: “That’s wonderful?”
    The following night, I played at a pretty cool bar in Healdsburg where I ate pizza that a guy had made from an oven that he dragged behind his bicycle… I know what you’re thinking: Bike Pizza? Trust me – It was absolutely delicious.
    On the last night, we drove down to San Francisco and the tour ended at a bar in the Marina called Jaxson for a friend’s fundraiser party in the city – where, as I was playing live, a man and woman dry-humped each other on the dance floor in front of me…
    Now look, I’m all for dancing, but this was kind of ridiculous… I actually didn’t care. They were wasted and they loved my music and I felt at home for a few minutes with the young Marina area crowd of San Francisco…
    Here – watch the video and make your own assumptions:
    For the record? That girl dancing did not ask me to come back to her place after the gig.
    But the guy did…
    “Hi Mr. Talented,” He said… “Wanna come party with me at my place?”
    “I’d love to, but, the thing is… I’m married,” I said.
    I woke up the next morning in the back seat of my Prius…
    ZACH IS NOW BOOKING VENUES FOR HIS SUMMER 2020 TOUR!! 
    RfW_06.1
    Red Fuckin Wine – New single coming SOON!
    www.ZachSelwyn.com
    AMC Bukopwski Comedy Comedy Central ESPN essay funny G4 humor hunter s. thompson Sedaris short story TBS writer Zach Selwyn Zachariah and the Lobos Riders
  • Someone get this to Bravo and Andy Cohen… #Ozempic

    Andy Cohen Bravo Comedy funny Ozempic Real Housewives SNL Zach Selwyn
  • Zachariah & the Lobos Riders

    “Ghosts in This Guitar”

    Skywriting (c) 2014 Papago Records

  •  

    Antonio Brown? Punching refs? Mitch McGary going all 420? You’re on blast with Zach and his TBS web series “Out of Control Athletes of the Week.”

    Antonio Brown Comedy funny humor improv MLB NBA NFL Steelers Westbrook Zach Selwyn
  • <iframe style="border-radius:12px" src="https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/7vLLbzkNewhzYDVOZ0LGSk?utm_source=generator" width="100%" height="352" frameBorder="0" allowfullscreen="" allow="autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" loading="lazy"></iframe>
    Comedy funny humor musical comedy rodeo zach SNL Zach Selwyn
  • Eli Braden humor lonely Island mightbang Missi Pyle Music rap parody sketch SNL standing desk Zach Selwyn
  • Relive this country classic now.
    Audio Chateau Cardi B Comedy Comedy Central country Jeff Peters Megan Thee Stallion Missed Riffs Music Nicki Minaj rap SNL Zach Selwyn
  • IMG_3427

    I had been at the Great Wolf Lodge for roughly an hour when a drunk and angry ex-firefighter threatened to kick my ass at the indoor water park. He was pissed off at me for disrespecting the “sanctity” of the Great Wolf Lodge… I am 100 percent serious. Let me start at the beginning…

    Spring Break. These are two of the most beautiful words in the English language… if you are a child. To parents, these words concur up feeling of hopelessness, anguish and despair. And for some reason? Today’s elementary school kids get two whole weeks off for “Spring Break…” TWO WEEKS! When I was a kid we got TWO DAYS. In college we only got a week. And as far as I recall, it wasn’t even a thing in high school.

    But sure… the rigorous schedule of counting, handwriting and connect the dots can be so gruesome and torturous for a second grader – that a two-week vacation at the end of March is exactly what the school nurse ordered… So, if you’re like me, you suddenly begin scrambling to find activities for your kids to do during this gratuitous vacation. So, you make plans…

    You drop $75.00 to go see shitty movies like Sherlock Gnomes.

    You gain 12 pounds by not being able to go to the gym on your regular schedule. And, in some extreme cases, you agree to take your kids to the GREAT WOLF LODGE for two days…

    Which is exactly where I found myself last week, riddled with anxiety as I nibbled on a chicken finger ten feet from a wave pool full of screaming children. Praying for death.

    file
    Welcome to the 10th Circle of hell.

    If you have never heard of a Great Wolf Lodge, let me put it this way… Consider yourself lucky. With 13 locations across the country, the kid-friendly indoor water park is to people like me the end of the fucking world. Known for its indoor water park and “wolf-themed” decor, the franchise has drawn families from far and wide to spend their entire monthly paychecks on shitty food, arcade games and the guarantee that you will contract the Norovirus within three spins in the “Lazy River.”

    I mumbled something under my breath as I loaded the car, preparing to journey down to the hotel with my wife, our second grade girl and my very unenthusiastic pre-teen who was pissed because he was missing roughly 48 hours of the video game Fortnite.

    The drive down was actually somewhat exciting. I was anticipating the water park summer days of my youth, when I met a cute girl in line at the snack bar, chatted up an 8th grade crush and passed a Sony Walkman around with my buddies listening to Straight Outta Compton. Those days were nothing but innocent and fun… and I was hoping my kids might make some amazing memories of their own…

    When we arrived, however, my entire demeanor changed. After looking for a space in the self-parking garage for 30 minutes, I was met with the sudden reality that there were a lot of people here during Spring Break. I mean, a lot of people. Like, thousands. And all of them had kids. Small, sweaty, stinky, gross, fat, weird, uninhibited kids…

    My first moment of clarity happened when I was presented with a pair of felt “wolf ears” as I entered the lobby.

    “HOWL you doing today!?” A bubbly 20-something dude named Bryan asked.

    “PAW-SOME!!!” I responded sarcastically.

    “Woah! Someone’s got the Great Wolf spirit!” He screamed. “AWWOOOOOOOO!”

    I looked around at the hundred of fathers traipsing through the lobby wearing these ridiculous wolf ears… The looks on their faces all read the same: FAILURE.

    There is a certain look a man knows when he runs into another man at a place like the Great Wolf Lodge. It is a look of defeat. Of mediocrity. Of deficiency. Like we all expected to be the dads who take our kids in Hawaii or something, but ended up at the Great Wolf Lodge in Anaheim. I recognized this look on every man’s face I encountered.

    We checked in and got to our suite, which we were sharing with another family we knew from from LA. Everyone changed into bathing suits to go hit the indoor water park. A small part of me was hoping it would be a fun day, and after all, as long as they had a jacuzzi I figured I could kill a few hours relaxing and hanging out with strangers.

    There was no jacuzzi.

    And the water park was massive. And loud. And it smelled like feet.

    “Daddy! Come in the lazy river with me!” My daughter squealed.

    I took a deep breath and stood up. I took off my shirt and walked over towards the lazy river. The first thing I noticed about the water park was that somehow, I had THE BEST BODY THERE.

    In my 42 years, I have never been the “ripped” guy at the pool. Ever. Even when I was 18 I had the beginnings of a dad bod and now, at my age, I had been keeping trim and eating well to the point where at the Great Wolf Lodge in Anaheim, California, I was a SWIMSUIT MODEL. Seriously. I was 30 pounds lighter than the average man. My wife, who has always been in terrific shape looked like Hannah Jeter posing for Sports Illustrated. We were “Anaheim 10’s…” and pretty proud of it.

    IMG_3423
    This was the best body at the water park.

    As I strutted around my new Adonis-like physique, I watched as my daughter slowly dipped into the lazy river among what seemed like hundreds of other kids. I put my leg in, noticed it was much colder than I had anticipated, and began walking around the river behind her.

    And then some kid’s fleshy leg rubbed up against mine under the water. I froze. It was like in Star Wars when that Dianoga Monster rubs up against Luke in the trash compactor. A gross little bare human leg rubbing against my inner calf. I stopped to gather myself. I felt like a part of the #metoo movement. I was rattled… And then another kid wrapped himself around my chest for support as he floated by… I shuttered. Looking around, I suddenly became keenly aware of little yellow swirls of urine accumulating in certain areas. I also counted three loose Band-Aids and numerous clumps of hair floating in the water. A few more kids hit me with inner tubes as they raced by and finally, when a little girl wiped her snot off of her face and tossed it into the water beside me, my afternoon at the water park was OVER.

    “Baby, I’m getting out,” I yelled as she floated down the river.

    Her frown broke my heart, but the place was already too much for me. I was done. I had been at the Great Wolf Lodge for less than an hour.

    131014_great_wolf_lodge+042-1
    The lazy river… Grabby kids, urine and hair clumps.

    After drying off, I noticed the small line of men waiting for beer. I grabbed my “Wolf Band” which had my credit card and room number on it, and bought my first beer of the day. It was 3:30, but if I was going to get through this place, a buzz was certainly needed. Looking around, I noticed that day-drinking was certainly the norm here, like the way it is in airports when people order beers at 7:00 in the morning and nobody thinks twice about it.

    After paying, I turned around, noticing three men behind me waiting for drinks. Two of them had “Lakeland County Fire Department” shirts on. The other was shirtless, proudly showing off a fading Tazmanian Devil tattoo from the early 90’s… I toasted the guys with my beer.

    “Gentlemen,” I said. “What happened to us? We were all once virile men… with dreams, passions, desires… goals. NOW? We’re on vacation at the fucking Great Wolf Lodge. What the fuck, am I right!!?”

    Suddenly, the shirtless man took a threatening step my way and got directly in my face.

    “Are you disrespecting the LODGE, bro?” He asked in an accusatory way.

    I wasn’t sure if he was serious. I laughed.

    “Sounds like you are,” he continued aggressively, the vapor of liquor prominent on his breath. I felt scared. I backpedaled.

    “No, man.. I was just, you know – joking-“

    I was taken aback. If I said the wrong thing here, there is no doubt in my mind that this guy would start throwing punches. And whereas a pool fight might be the perfect excuse to get banned from the Great Wolf Lodge forever, I decided to lay off. Meanwhile, his friends tried to calm him down.

    “Don’t get into another fight, Jim,” his friend told him.

    Another fight? Holy shit… this guy Jim was out here kicking dad’s asses all day.

    “No, man, I was just joking around, you know…” I mumbled.

    “No, I don’t know, bro,” he said. “I’m a retired firefighter… I don’t back down from shit.”

    And then, suddenly, there was an extremely loud wolf howl coming from the wave pool – This was the signal to swimmers that a fresh set of waves was about to begin… 200 kids screamed in delight as the call of the wolf echoed through the waterpark.

    AWOOOOOOO! AWOOOOOOO!

    “Ohhhh shit, what’s that?” I asked the guys.

    “That means the waves are starting up…” Jim said. “That’s the call of the Lodge, bro… you better embrace your inner wolf… because like it or not? You made the decision to come here.”

    He was right. I could make the most of this experience and embrace my inner wolf… or make myself suffer.

    “Hey man, I’m sorry – it’s my first time here… I was just making a bad joke…”

     

    Jim calmed down. His whole demeanor changed and he became aware that he was not in the octagon, but was at the Great Wolf Lodge. If he had wanted to kick my ass, he would have… but my honesty seemed to have chilled him out.

    “Screw it,” he said. “Sorry to get up in your face, bro… come on, I’ll buy you a beer.”

    Jim and his pals bought me another beer and I returned back to our deck chairs and told the story to my wife and her friend. They weren’t interested. They were concerned about something much more important.

    “What’s wrong?” I asked.

    Apparently, another mom had just told my wife that Pink Eye was going around the lodge that weekend… The woman’s two kids had been infected on the water slide and her husband was in the hotel room with his eyes swollen shut.

    “Welp, I’m fucking out of here,” I said.

    I took my beer upstairs and went to the bar to watch a baseball game. As I walked back through the water park, I began observing a few things.

    I never realized how many adults have tattoos of their children’s baby footprints.

    97ae038c0680f0edf4a08277e944f8bf
    I saw 35 of these tattoos.

    I had no idea that BIG DOGS Clothing was still a thing. There were also a lot of “Exercise…Eggsercise…Eggs are sides… Eggs are sides for Bacon” t-shirts and ‘water pun’ shirts. Like a picture of a snail holding up a seashell to his face beneath the words “SHELL-FIE!”

     

    Finally, the majority of these adults seemed fine eating garbage for breakfast, lunch and dinner. One dad in line at the snack bar even highly recommended the pork nachos.

    I thought we were in Anaheim. Somehow we ended up in Wisconsin.

    Upstairs, I found a few other dads watching the Dodgers game. I made some new friends – including a pest control guy from Alhambra and a Target general manager from Riverside. We drank a few beers and talked baseball. As a way to make my new pals laugh, I recognized Bryan, the same guy who had checked me in earlier, eating on his lunch break. I approached him.

    “Hey Bryan, quick question… do they have a Great Wolf Glory Hole up in this piece?”

    The bar got silent. My new pals hid their laughter. Bryan did not seem amused. Within 30 seconds the bar manager tapped me on the shoulder.

    “Just a reminder, sir…” He warned. “This is the Great Wolf Lodge… not the Great Wolf of Wall Street Lodge.”

    My afternoon concluded in the arcade, where the kids have given up on video games requiring any sort of skill in favor of games where you spin a wheel,… and win tickets. It’s not even a challenge. It’s just a prize wheel. When I arrived, I found my daughter hoarding what looked like 15,000 prize tickets.

    “I’m saving up for the stuffed wolf!” She said. I saw the wolf on the wall. At any CVS store across the country, this dumb little stuffed animal would cost $3.99. My wife told me they had already spent $60.00 trying to win it. I went back to the bar.

    IMG_3440
    These tickets cost us roughly $60.00

    That night, after ordering pizza to our room, my wife and I shared some wine as the kids fell asleep. At that moment, we heard a rustling in the hallway. Peeking outside, I noticed two security guards dragging a very drunk man from his room.

    “How long has he been drinking today?” They asked his wife, who looked terrified.

    “Since brunch, I think,” she said.

    “We’ll take him to the first aid area and get him some fluids… We’ll check back in 30 minutes.”

    I asked the lady what had happened.

    “It’s just my dumb husband… every time we come to this place he gets blackout drunk.”

    “That makes two of us,” I said, raising my wine glass.

    She shut her door on me.

    The next day we were set to check out. I was excited to get home and back outside – as we had been indoors for roughly 18 hours straight. The Great Wolf Lodge is like fucking Vegas in that way. You have no reason to ever leave the place… I started packing and preparing to head back to LA.

    “Wanna meet us at the pool?” My wife said.

    “We’re not leaving?” I said.

    “I figured the kids would want another day at the pool,” she said. “I mean we paid for it.”

    And just like that, we did a second day at the water park. At this point I officially gave up. I began day-drinking at 11:00. I howled every time that dumb wolf noise started in the wave pool. I contemplated buying a Great Wolf Lodge t-shirt in the gift shop that was on sale from Halloween (Or as they put it… HOWL-ween…)

    Deep down I knew that finally, I had reluctantly embraced my inner wolf.

    I looked around the pool again. I was a little bloated from the first day and slightly hungover. I was no longer had the best body there. I was one day into my “Midwest” period.

    I went over to our deck chairs and ordered the pork nachos…

     

    WATCH ZACH’S NEW SERIES “ONE MINUTE MUSIC MINUTE” at OLE TV! @oletvofficial

    amy adams amyschumer Anaheim beer Comedy essays family funny great wolf lodge humor Naitonal Lampoon norovirus pink eye Sedaris short story SNL steve martin water parks writing
  • 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
    country cowboy hip hop killers Lobos Riders Outlaw Country Rolling Stone steve earle todd snider true crime western Zach Selwyn Zachariah
  • https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2515935575/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/transparent=true/

    americana freestyle hick hop Los Angeles Music Outlaw Country Selwyn ZAchariah Lobos Riders
  • Home
  • CORPORATE EVENTS
  • Zachariah & The Lobos Riders
    • The Band
    • MP3’s
    • WHERE’S ZACH ON TOUR!?
  • The Writer
  • COUNTRY LINEN
  • Film/TV
    • America’s Secret Slang
    • Film/TV
    • Reels
  • Comedy
    • Sketch Comedy
    • Comedy Music
    • Comedy MP3’s
  • Contact/Booking

Tag: shit-faced

Read Zach’s New Short Story “The Last Bachelor Party”

  • August 24, 2012
  • by zachselwyn
  • · comedy, music, lyrics, jay-Z, beyonce, blue ivy

  THE LAST BACHELOR PARTY * By ZACH SELWYN

Image
Last week, I received an email invitation to the bachelor party for a guy at work I barely know. His name is Nick. He’s 33 and marrying a nurse named Rachel. The wedding is in Woodland Hills in October and the bachelor party was being planned by his younger brother. How I made the bachelor party invite list, I have no idea. Nick and I aren’t particularly close and we barely acknowledge each other on the set of the TV show we work on. We’ve shared a few beers on weekends and a YouTube video or two, but to say we’re even that close would be a stretch. Still, I’m 37. I have two kids under six. I pass out nightly at 9:47 while watching SportsCenter. I pee sitting down at night because it’s more comfortable. I immediately made an executive decision. I am GOING to that bachelor party.

In the not-so-recent past, I would have declined the invitation on sight. However, I am now looking at this bachelor party as my last chance to really do something crazy. Be it Las Vegas, Cabo San Lucas or even a local pub crawl around Hollywood, I am GOING. Yes, I am going.

See, amongst my closest friends, my bachelor party is collectively known as the “worst bachelor party of all time.” Celebrated in 48 beer and whiskey-drenched hours in Las Vegas in early Fall, 2004, 15 of my friends from all different times of my life fought over where we should eat, argued about which strip club we should peruse and complained about my lack of participation in the “Bachelor Scavenger Hunt” game they put together a few nights before.

In their defense, it wasn’t their fault. It was MINE. I was so infatuated with my fiancee that I refused to do anything that might be considered crossing the line. I turned down my buddy Ari’s offer to pay $500 for me to have a double naked lap dance from two Russian sisters in a private room where “anything goes.” I decided to turn down the hits of pure MDMA my buddy Derek brought  – opting to drink Miller Lite instead. I even had a chance to bite sushi off of the naked body of a gorgeous Japanese woman – but opted to use chopsticks instead. I was a downer the entire weekend – but in my mind I was preserving the sanctity of my upcoming marriage and honoring the woman whose hand I would slip a ring upon.

Now, looking back at that Las Vegas weekend nearly eight years later, I can’t believe how STUPID I was.

Dumb, dumb dumb, stupid dumb. What was I thinking? I guess at the time, instead of enjoying the 21-year-old stripper attempting to grind my crotch into sand during the song Kickstart My Heart by Motley Crue, I was thinking about the joy my fiancee and I shared when I proposed to her. When the guys all did shots of a scary looking drink known as an “Adios Motherfucker,” I passed – afraid of puking or getting too drunk and upsetting my fiancee. I was in a protected zone. A zone not unlike the one Ed Helms has in The Hangover films. I was, literally, a huge God-damned pussy.

The point of this story is to kindly offer up advice to all prospective husbands out there planning a big blow-out bachelor party. My advice? Ask your fiancee if you can POSTPONE your bachelor party until you are about eight years into your marriage. Trust me, you need it a lot  more than you did a month before your wedding day. If I could gather my buddies again and go BACK to Las Vegas for my bachelor party today? FORGET IT. Those two Russian strippers? Puddy in my hands. Derek’s MDMA? Swallowed. And that naked sushi dinner? Let’s just say I would have been balls deep in yellowtail. I’d give one of my children to have those opportunities again. Because as you get older, become a parent and a responsible adult, those little hedonistic moments you used to take for granted never happen anymore. Case in point? Last Tuesday I literally snuck out of my house after my wife and kids went to bed to go to Yogurtland. FUCKING YOGURTLAND.

Image
The author normally goes for peanut butter yogurt with mini M&M’s

Two old college buddies, Ryan and a guy who went by the nickname The Sauce, were behind my “Bachelor Scavenger Hunt.” They created an elaborate list of activities I had to accomplish before the night was through. If I got 75% of them, I’d reach “Legendary Bachelor Status.” 50% meant I was an “Accomplished Bachelor.” 25% meant I was deemed “Worthy.” By the end of the night, I completed 2% of the activities on the list. The worst score in the history of their Bachelor Party game. I was not ashamed back then. I even took pride in my refusal to play along with games like “Grab a Stranger’s Tits.” However, every time I think about my pathetic score, I am dying for a shot at redemption.

The one game I did decide to play along with was called “Bird on a Wire.” It required my using my forearm as a “shelf” of sorts to a girl with large breasts. The boobs rest on your arm like a Falcon on a leather gauntlet preparing to be hoisted into flight. You hold the pose for three seconds and your friends check the activity off of their list. Well, directly following a few beers at a casino bar in the Palms Casino, we found a willing participant. I slid my arm beneath her heaving mammaries and held it for three seconds. My friends applauded. The sheer shame of my activity hung heavily over my head for the rest of the night. So much so, that when the rest of the activities came out, I turned them all down in fear of the guilt I would carry with me forever. Jump in the Caesar’s Palace fountains? Uhhm, no. Start a food fight at a buffet?  Forget that. Pose with a fully-clothed girl in the “Reverse Cowgirl” position on top of a limousine? Get the fuck out of here. I had done the “Bird on a Wire” thing, and I was retiring from the game. Disappointed, Ryan and the Sauce mumbled about my lack of participation throughout the rest of the night.

Why men have to engage in the most primitive and testosterone-laden activities as a way to celebrate their upcoming nuptials, didn’t make any sense to me at the time. I thought the women I knew- like my wife – had done it right… They chose a select, mellow location – like vineyard or a boutique hotel in Palm Springs – and treated themselves to massages and five-star dinners . They got their nails and toes done and wisely spoiled themselves while feverishly flipping through US Magazine  and gossiping about reality TV. The craziest thing they did was sip Mojitos through “penis straws.”

My friends all wanted to gamble, drink, drug, bang and eat. When my brother caught me texting my wife that I missed her from a bar at 10:30 at night, he promptly took my cel phone and told me I was not allowed to use it the rest of the trip. I was miserable, and only half-wishing that I was in Sonoma County with my wife at a spa retreat. So, I did what I know how to do best: I drank through it.

Image
The author, three years into his marriage, circa 2007

Don’t get me wrong. Many women out-party the men at bachelorette parties. About three years ago, in Lake Tahoe for a gig with my band, six jiggly 20-somethings streaked across the stage I was playing on while wearing condoms in their hair and t-shirts that read “Buy us a shot, She’s tying the knot!” These grotesque partying wildebeests proceeded to do Jaegermeister shots on top of the bar, flash their shaved Britney’s to everybody willing to take a peak and make out with any college kid able to take his mind away from Beer Pong. It reminded me of the terrific term my old friend, the late comedian Greg Giraldo coined when describing a pack of drunk bachelorettes. He called them “A gaggle of squawking twats with their A Hard Man is Good to Find t-shirts.” Perfect.

Image
Your typical casino-lizards, crawling through a sea of misery and penis-drinks

At the end of Saturday night at my bachelor party, my old friend Rick threw a punch at my buddy Dave while we were in the after hours shit-show known as “Drai’s.” The argument was over who was talking to the hot waitress first, even though both men were married at the time. It was a weird scene and made everybody uncomfortable – but no one more than me, suddenly forced to break up a fight between a friend from college and a friend from work. Two guys I had known forever, but two guys who were also married. My first thought was, “Why would a married guy even hit on a waitress?” Now, eight years into my marriage, I totally understand. It has nothing to do with actually sleeping with another woman, it has to do with seeing if you can still flirt. It has to do with seeing if you still have GAME. It has to do with hoping that your slight post-wedding weight gain and thinner hairline affects your ability to be desired by someone of the opposite sex. It’s why my grandfather held the country club waitress around the waist while ordering a pastrami sandwich and why my stepfather recently told a hostess at a Mexican Restaurant to “bend over, he was driving her home.”

I cant make this stuff up.

On the flip side of things, it goes the same for my wife and her friends. The women who spent their bachelorette weekends at the spa now have similar thoughts about what they would have done differently as well. I asked my wife what the biggest difference would have been during her wine tasting weekend. Without hesitation she said, “There would have been a lot more cock.” I am so glad we’re married.

Image
Ladies. Don’t ever wear this t-shirt anywhere.

Yesterday, Nick’s brother sent out an official group email to the bachelor party. Turns out, he rented a cabin in Big Bear and wants to spend the time hiking, barbecuing and drinking local micro-brews. Nick seemed to applaud the situation, and even sent out a follow-up email stating “Thank GOD were not doing it in Vegas!” I suddenly slunk low in my desk chair. What? No Vegas? What are we gonna do in the woods, trust-building exercises? Fishing? Pinning Weeblos badges on each other? Fuck that.
My one shot at redemption was shattered. My ego deflated. I replied to the email by saying that I had a “family thing” to do that weekend and I couldn’t make it. After all, if I’m gonna go camping, I’m taking my son and daughter with me. I don’t want to go play “Ookie-Cookie” with nine dudes I barely know in a cabin in the woods. To tell you the truth, I was horribly disappointed in Nick. I even emailed him and told him so. I told him that someday he’d look back on his bachelor party and want a re-do. He’d want the strippers and the drugs and the precarious situations. He’d want a memory of a final throw-down together with his friends that defiled humanity as we know it. I urged him to change his plans and go to Sin City. Reno. Even fucking Laughlin. His stance was strong. Big Bear it was.

So, I’m no longer going to Nick’s bachelor party. The sad thing is, after Nick – I don’t have many single friends left. The one wild card is my younger brother, who is still unmarried. If I can convince him to go to Vegas, I might have a shot at reclaiming my manhood. Then again, he’s an outdoorsy guy, so a Big Bear situation might present itself again. Nonetheless, until he gets engaged, I will be forced to celebrate my adulthood with my children, going to the park, the beach and the mall for recreation. I will find my kicks by running on a treadmill rather than “making it rain” at a strip club. And I’ll be cheering on YMCA youth basketball games rather than playing “Quarters” on a barstool.

And if all else fails, there’s always Yogurtland…

ZACH SELWYN * August 23, 2012

Share this:

  • Share on X (Opens in new window) X
  • Share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook
  • Email a link to a friend (Opens in new window) Email
Like Loading...

Blog at WordPress.com.

Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy
  • Subscribe Subscribed
    • Zach Selwyn
    • Join 103 other subscribers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • Zach Selwyn
    • Subscribe Subscribed
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar

Loading Comments...

    %d