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It’s not too often that a book party and a self-confessed obsession converge, let alone in a high-end bookstore just down the street from Carnegie Hall, but last night’s soiree at Rizzoli for the launch of a posthumous collection of Shel Silverstein‘s travel writings for Playboy came perilously close to bringing out the fangirl in me. For in another life, post-USENET and pre-blog, I spent hundreds of hours maintaining an archival site with the most rudimentary HTML skills, a frightening amount of drive and a lot of wide-eyed glee. Suffice to say that Silverstein’s prodigious and prolific output, dedicated work ethic and lifelong quest for creative freedom appealed to my early twentysomething self in a big way.

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