Bret Palmer on stage with Weezer (those with keen eyes and keen blog memory might realize that Bret is wearing the exact same pink shirt he was sporting when he got up close and personal with Conan O'Brien)
To put it quite simply, Ryan Andrew Bruce is a part-time, semi-irreverent iconoclast. His personality, a perpetual joust of unresolvable contradictions. Often described as being far too in touch with his feminine side to be such a proficient basketball player, he nevertheless revels in defying categorization and to be honest, he is probably taller than he needs to be. A youth spent in constant debate due to a loving household helmed by the living incarnation of the devil's advocate. An educational upbringing shrouded in variety which took a tangential turn and an exponential broadening after spending nine months in the company of a coterie of anarchy-leaning, super-intellectual socialists somewhere in South Carolina. An unused degree in Japanese helps to conceal a past history littered with unfulfillment. With previous experience as a failed musician, a failed painter and a failed writer, he
looks toward a future absent of the allure of failure with career resembling that of a fashion designer or couturier, whichever comes first. (the preceding statements are all true although they have not been checked against any preordained spelling or grammatical 'truths')
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