Meet the Ne’er-Do-Wells

Laura Bogart

Laura Bogart is a recently minted MFA (mothafucking artist, that is) who is now professing college-level English, which involves minimizing her penchant for peppering her conversation with Italian curse words (affanculo! testa di merde! fotterme dodolando!). When she is not teaching, writing, or creating new stations on Pandora, she is usually at the park with her trusty sidekick, Tova the Wonder Dog. All kidding aside, she would like to dedicate this, her first publication, to her belated, beloved aunt Angela.

Ryan Davidson (“El Niño Walks Into a Bar”)

Ryan Davidson believes that people who write overly clever bios are probably compensating. He is currently a PhD candidate at Stony Brook University, and he asks that you don’t judge him too harshly for his attempt to be clever in the previous sentence.

Jon Lasser (“I Still Get Pictures From him Sometimes” and “Lodestar”)

Jon Lasser reigns from his golden throne in Seattle, Washington, from which he blogs, launches thundering critiques of popular culture, and sometimes just makes stuff up. In his copious free time, Jon and his wife, Laura, cook local food, throw spectacular if infrequent parties, and survey the bottom of the Puget Sound, preparing to build a massive underwater fortress.

Tricia Martin (Tech Help)

Dan Miller (Cover Art: “Panic Attack #4″)

Dan Miller exceeds in awesome and attempts wholeheartedly to be the best mammal he can be. He attends art school, which should get no credit whatsoever for developing his talent. He’s also a ruthless marketing whore and sells everything he’s ever created, because sentimentality is for jerks. He could easily prattle on about his art using large, multisyllabic words, but he feels he will come off as a pretentious crap-neck, and therefore chooses to let his art speak for itself. He currently resides in the burnt-out carcass that was once Cleveland, Ohio, which he soon hopes to depart for any kind of pasture that’s not currently burning.

Ricardo Perin

A relic from the 1960s San Francisco scene who has been living in a New Mexico commune for the last three decades, Ricardo Perin recently washed ashore in Portland and decided to plant some roots, hopefully not to become a weed but what Allen Ginsberg referred to as a sunflower. Although now well into his 60s, commune living has treated Ricardo well, and he says he’s fighting fit but amazed how fast time flies. Ricardo likes to play bocce and enjoys burning his face off with wasabi. Visit him at damnintellectuals.com

Keith Rosson (“Time Carves Off the Limbs” and an excerpt from “Welcome to Fuckedville” from Avow #22)

Keith Rosson has published the literary/memoir zine Avow since 1995. He is a freelance designer and illustrator, having created posters, shirts and album covers for bands such as Against Me!, Interpol, Amanda Woodward, Glass And Ashes, Submission and even Velvet Revolver, for which he is surely going to hell. He also writes for Razorcake and Give Me Back and generally checks out about ten books at a time from the library. For more info on Keith, check out keithrosson.com or send him an email: keithrosson@gmail.com

Allan Shapiro (Excerpts from Practical Mechanics of Reverberation: “How Jacob Met Daphne” and “Ramona and Nobody”)

Allan Shapiro would have much rather been an astronaut, as there is no truer form of nothing than nothingness. But since Allan Shapiro does not fly well, he chose to become a writer and has discovered a better sense of nothing within his own soul. And now, he would much rather be an architect. Further reverberations by Allan Shapiro can be found in the next issue of the Greatest Uncommon Denominator except Allan Shapiro will be referred to as Allan Richard Shapiro and he’ll be wearing a different pair of pants, even though they’ll look exactly like the ones he’s wearing now.

Rusty Sticha (“Oh my God! Best Apple-tini Ever!”)

Rusty Sticha is currently grilling chicken while listening to ZZ Top. He lives. Rusty once went through a very long, painful love affair with Dadaist theory. It led him to the willing arms of Sunday comics, which—because of his maltreatment—no longer speak to him. Rusty is not a bad person anymore, though he does still enjoy telling people (or drawings) what to say. Someday he may actually finish one of the 19 novels he has tried to start. He works now as a carpenter.

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