Having known Ryan Lessard for nearly 30 friggin years, OF COURSE I couldn't refuse his request to wrangle up a few persuasive words of assurance and joyousness. Only thing is, as kids, while he was busy tryna gain the speed to beat me at the 50 yard dash, or the strength to take me in an arm wrestling match, he overlooked one crucial thing: I always turned in my work either late or tooth-skin status, if at all. Clearly, he's a rad enough guy to be longtime friends with a girl who might destroy him in a break battle, or a spelling bee, or a fierce, multi-classroom spitball battle- which is maaaad respectable. But this isn't to say I trust in his judgment of others' propensity for promptness. I almost said no, but his latest book ‘Thirty-3’ (happy birthday, mang) was nearing its release date. I'd already felt jerkbaggish enough in my tardiness, so here we are.
Ryan's writings have been tempered by the dorktastic stylings of the nerd program we'd both been deemed brainiacal enough to hack, back in the 80's. While he may *KNOWWWW* the words 'bumbershoot', 'swarthy' and 'antidisestablishmentarianism', he opts for considerably less uncool and exquisitely coloriffic, finely crafted terms. I mean, one cannot simply rock such a museum-worthy, bountiful white-man afro such as Ryan's dome has known, and be heard spouting off, all pocket protector posse style. Know, instead, that while you mentally ingest Ryan Lessard's writings that he coulda been one of the beasties- but he's just as much bookworm as he is b-boy.
—Shana Simpkins…5-10-2014
樂天KOBO
