Save The Children's an awesome, nonreligious, independent charity doing great work worldwide, providing everything from shelter to education to medical care for kids who aren't within reach of it, for whatever reason. By no means do you have to buy the book to give a buck, but if you, it'll be well worth it.

Spider Man 2 thespian and recent Columbia MFA graduate James Franco signed it sometime before telling our photographer, Mo Pitz, to fuckoff. Mo will forgive him one day, but we're still thankful for the sign. Same with 2009's National Book Award fiction prize winner, Let The Great World Spin author Colum McCann. We also got I Was Told There Would Be Cake author Sloane Crosley, College Humor founder Ricky Van Veen, media reporter Jeff Bercovici (signing as Dave Eggers), the New York Times' Allen Salkin, cartoonists, other National Book Award nominees, and a bunch of other people who—like you—care about books.

Signature Gawker editors past and present grace the thing, too: Editor-in-Chief Gabriel Snyder, New York Magazine's Jessica Coen, The Awl's Alex Balk, founding editor Elizabeth Spiers, Page Six's Neel Shah, and and our very own weekend cleanup hitter, Foster Kamer, who braved the National Book Awards to do this, and also ambushed a Mediaite's live broadcast to plug it (fast-forward to 48:30 for the surprise). Besides which, if The Dark Lord Balthazar himself can pitch in...

....so can you. It's for a great cause, it's a literary treasure, and is the best copy of a Historically Important Book, Going Rogue, in existence. Hands down. Don't miss out: get your last bids in here.

[BID ON THE BOOK HERE. SERIOUSLY. IT'S FOR CHARITY.]

Realize: this is the best copy of this book in existence. Period. Bar none. And at a ceremony when the books and authors being honored have the sales of their books disproportionately inverted by their quality, it only seemed appropriate to get everybody in on The Big Joke of the evening: that more people would read Sarah Palin's Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Bullshit than any of the nominees' and winners' books, combined.

We offered the book up to some of our favorite literature and media luminaries that were in the house that evening. Dave Eggers—that asshole!—was very nice about refusing to sign our book, probably because it wasn't for his 826 charity. But he was kind. How's that for an endorsement?

Not good enough? What about super awesome sleepy Columbia MFA graduate and Freaks and Geeks actor James Franco signing our book?

Yes, this man signed our book. Okay, Jim. Maybe you made our photographer cry. But you did this one for the children. You're okay, today. Also, the nerds at Slate think you're The Sexiest Man With A Pulse, for what it's worth (read: the most ostentatious pillow talk ever). Congrats. But what if an awesome hunky dreamy movie star with an MFA from Columbia isn't enough reason to spend lots of money on a book people drew on?

Maybe 2009 National Book Award winner Colum McCann signing this bad boy is! YES THAT IS COLUM MCCANN SIGNING THE PALIN BOOK. This took a lot—a lot—of convincing. Charity, huh? But it's Sarah Palin's book! Sarah Palin! I can't put my name on anything of hers! Are you sure this is for charity? What charity?!

Funny you should ask, Mr. McCann. I've picked a charity so great, you can't even say their name out loud without feeling awful for never having done something for them until now: Save The Children. Yeah, you're gonna stiff these guys?

They've done great work bringing literacy programs to kids in need across the country, among other great things they've done for kids that otherwise don't get things done for them that should be. If I were running these programs, I would have them all reading Gawker Weekends and Calvin and Hobbes, because that's what I grew up on, but I'm not, and these people are, and we're all better off. You don't have to buy the book to give a buck. Oh, and if you complain about the charity I picked, I'll come to your house and personally beat you with an unsigned copy of Ms. Palin's 2010 NBA Fiction Winner. But yes, people actually signed this thing.

You want proof?

2009 NBA Fiction Prize winner Collum McCann (fourth page, center) really, actually did take this much convincing. He wrote: "'For we must love this poor earth, for we have not seen another...' Go Obama!" Awesome.

Ricky Van Veen and Neel Shah marvel at how incredibly awesome this book is, while Jessica Coen is laughing to herself imagining Sarah Palin read her fabulous, fierce nugget of wisdom.

Here's the guy who I thought was Toph Eggers, right. I got everyone's name wrong that night. At one point I think I remember identifying Keith Waldrop as Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Jeff Bercovici signed the book as Dave Eggers, since Dave Eggers doesn't care about Saving The Children so much as making them read George Saunders or whatever.

Here're the first two pages:

And here're the second two:

And here's the full list of who we know we got:

2009 NBA Fiction Winner, Let The Great World Spin author Colum McCann.

Spider Man 2 actor and recent Columbia MFA graduate James Franco wrote (third page, top-right): "FUCK YEAH!" with a strange vampire-smiley face.

2008 NBA Fiction Finalist Salvatore Scibona (second page, middle-right) gave her "hugs."

2008 NBA Fiction Finalist Rachel Kushner (second page, bottom-left) offers her insight on context clues regarding snowmobiles.

I Was Told There Would Be Cake author by night and Random House book publicist by day Sloane Crosley offered her encouragement "storming the castle." True story: Sloane had no idea what she was signing.

The Seymore Hersh of the Sunday Styles, New York Times writer Allen Salkin took up the entire bottom-third of the fourth page ensuring that I wasn't conning him. He also drew a fairly accurate drawing of himself.

Dave Eggers! As performed/signed by former Portfolio and current Daily Finance media columnist Jeff Bercovici (fourth page, top-right).

Columnist Katie Bakes tried to start a #hashtag, while the New York Observer's publishing beat gangsta Leon Neyfakh wrote...something.

Vice and New York Press writer Jamie Peck (second-page, bottom-right, I think) talked to her about wolves. Someone who isn't Vice writer Jamie Peck, apparently, talked to her about wolves. Claim your identity here!

College Humor founder Ricky Van Veen gave Sarah a big CHILL, BABY, CHILL while Former Radar, Gawker, and Page Six writer Neel Shah got tactful.

The Awl writer Alex Balk.

Flavorwire's Kelsey Keith had more sage advice for Palin's future career aspirations.

Cartoonist Laurie Sandell drew a woman holding a smoking gun on the third page. Get it?

Gawker Past and Present: Media Overlord Nick Denton and current Gawker Editor-in-Chief Gabriel Snyder both thanked her for pageviews—heh—while founding Gawker editor Elizabeth Spiers wished her luck, and Gawker J²-era/New York Magazine editor Jessica Coen gave her hair tips.

Oh, and me, lending to this the extent of my own profound, political insight.

We also got Gawker's Altarcations writer Phyllis Nefler. and some guy who looks like Dave Eggers brother, who turned out not to be Dave Eggers' brother after I thought he was Dave Eggers' brother. His name is Alec Friedman.

[Alas, because we were drunk, there may be signatures in here we missed. Seriously! If you see your John Hancock—heh: cock—please email me with it. It's for charity. You don't want children growing up to one day actually think that was funny, do you? Right. Neither do I.]

The book's sanctity has been preserved by only having been signed on the night of the 2009 National Book Awards, by attendees of the ceremony. That said, if you win it and want to have anybody else in the Gawker Media offices sign it, sure, fuckit, I'll get them to sign. Hell, we know people who are experts on books that are imaginary that are supposed to be real, and I bet we could get them to sign if that's what you wanted. Or I could eat the book, or I could drop-kick it, or I could detonate it with whatever fireworks you send us, or I could read it, but who's that awful? Not you, potential charity-giver. Anyway. You could do any of those things, or none of them, and just keep it as one of the most awesome literary collectibles ever. You know? You know.

Because one day, you can show this to your children's children, and tell them: I bought this so you could see how happy the people were before it was like this. Now that James Franco is the new Daniel Mendelsohn, and every book published is full of shit, and they all come from blogs, and they're the only things that sell, and they are read on calculators, there was this. There was this night. There were these drunk people signing Frau Palin's book.

And then you can blame it on this guy:

But seriously, it's for charity. Buy the goddamn book. Now. Please. Our auction is here.

[Photographs via Gawker Party Crash photog Mo Pitz.]

1. Be a Book Publicist—It worked for Melissa Broder, Sloane Crosley's publicist. Extend this chain ad infinitum. Crosley's book was called "I Was Told There'd Be Cake," and Broder's book will be called "When You Say One Thing But Mean Your Mother." The titles grow more impenetrably twee with each generation. Broder's publicist's future book will be called "Banana Karenina Sings the Blueberries, Or: The Indubitably Odd Presidency of Cherry True-Man."


2. Tumblr—Hey hey, Tumblr-of-the-minute Shit My Dad Says is the latest hot literary property! The hottest since This is Why You're Fat. Or Look at This Fucking Hipster. Even that Twitter book, which is almost like Tumblr or whatever, (internet buzzwords here). The point is: If you want a book off your internet crap, get it before the meme collapses.


3. Be a Celebrity—No matter how bad the economy gets, America will never tire of reading about celebrities and who they fuck. Which reminds us...


4. Fuck a Celebrity—Writing about Bernie Madoff's penis size will get you lots of press, but it might obviate the public's need to actually buy the book. Beware.


5. Latch Onto a Huge News Story and Ride It Straight to Book Hell—It must seem like common sense to hand out all those fat six-figure book contracts for books about The Historic Financial Crisis of 2008 or The Historic Election of 2008 while those things are happening. Then the book comes out a year later and nobody cares any more, plus **everything** has already been said. Be sure to get a good advance on a book deal like this. It's all you're gonna get.


6. Puppies—Quiz: You're a high-ranking editor at one of America's most prestigious news outlets. How will you get yourself a book deal. Answer: Write a column about your puppy! "Write a column about your puppy" is always a good answer to most of the aspiring author's daunting questions about the publishing industry. Motherfuckers just love puppies.

[Crosley/ Broder pic: Ron Hogan]

Cindi Leive, Glamour editor-in-chief, denied she could be one of the book's funhouse mirrored versions of Manhattan media fixtures. It was Leive who playing host at Da Silvano's wine bar to a mix of unnervingly relaxed gossips, writers, and flacks, which meant she invited guests to pet her fur purse — "No, I don't even know what kind of animal it is, but you don't really want to know, do you?"

Froelich, in fishnets, advised that really, "If you can eat it, wear it." She had her own arm-candy: a bouquet of tiny violet roses, compliments of (former?) gossip and one-time Gawker editor, Alex Balk.

Also in the gallery, shot by the unstoppable Nikola Tamindzic: Erica Jong, George Gurley, Sloane Crosley, David Carr, Rachel Sklar, Elizabeth Spiers, Kate Lee, and Neel Shah's hat.

Morgan Spurlock (Super Size Me), Page Six's gossip columnist and Mercury in Retrograde author Paula Froelich

Cindi Leive (editor-in-chief, Glamour), author Erica Jong

Elliot Furman, former Defamer writer Molly Friedman

Glamour's Cindi Leive, Rachel Sklar of Abrams Research

Neel Shah (gossip writer for Page Six, and former Radar), Chris Wilson ("the Neel Shah of the late 90's" he explains), Steve Garbarino (the survivorman of the magazine world, now working with Playboy)

Classing it up, old-school publicist Bobby Zarem

The next generation: omg omg omg

Sloane Crosley (book publicist, author of I Was Told There'd Be Cake), Cindy Eagan (head of teen lit imprint Poppy) Caroline Waxler (writer)

Mediaite Rachel Sklar with Ron Perelman's spokeswoman Christine Taylor

Neel Shah shortly before hatting Sloane Crosley

Alex Balk (The Awl, former Radar executive editor) shows his face with Paula Froelich

A barely debauched George Gurley (New York Observer, Vanity Fair)

La Froelich's fishnets

Paula Froelich, with snappy flack Marvette Brito

Morgan Spurlock

ICM agent Kate Lee with client and Gawker founding editor Elizabeth Spiers

David Carr (star Twitterer and media columnist, New York Times)

Sara Bernstein, of HBO's documentary operation, and Jesse Angelo, New York Post managing editor, who claims to have only ever drunk-bought one domain: yourwifeisonmyblog.com

Sloane Crosley, Neel Shah's hat

Paula Froelich just wants you to go home now

Riverhead, which published the book last year, has been displaying three of the dioramas in their offices. But now they'd like to have that space back. "As you can see from the picture, I can't exactly house them in Riverhead's offices forever," she says. "I also can't fit more than two in my apartment. Nor, honestly, would I want to. It's creepy enough that I even have the crafts supplies to make dioramas in my house.

So, she's selling the one — "the most intricate," she promises — that goes with the essay "Sign Language for Infidels" in an auction to benefit Housing Works.

Crosley's description:

Diorama For Sale, Never Used*

*Okay, slightly used. This is one of three dioramas constructed to coincide with the publication of I Was Told There'd Be Cake. Each diorama was meant to represent one of the essays and here we have the butterfly-abusive ASPCA violation that is "Sign Language for Infidels." The diorama was created with neurotic love over a series of late nights in my apartment, the scent of bourbon and Aleene's Tacky Glue (is there any other kind?) in the air. It was then filmed during equally late intervals at Penguin's offices, where similar emotions and scents were present but mingled with salsa and chips.

The diorama itself, sketched out here, now looks a whole lot better. For one thing, it's three dimensional. For another, it's Plexiglas. For another, it has clothing hangers made of paperclips and, come to think of it, is the last time I used a paperclip. In EBay language, I would keep it myself, but my apartment only has so much room. Joseph Cornell it ain't, but it does come with a cotton ball and felt rendering of a homeless guy. Finally, the auctioning off of this diorama for Housingworks (http://www.housingworks.org/ ) is a fitting end for a story that started years ago, with me attempting to be charitable and volunteer and failing miserably….

You can also watch a video documenting its creation or take a Flickr tour.

From Crosley's I Was Told There'd Be Cake:

"Unlike other games of the day, which had me leaping through traffic or called me “gumshoe,” Oregon Trail left lots of room for creativity. It seemed ripe for the misuse. Like a precursor to the Sims, you were allowed to name your wagoneers and manipulate their destinies. It didn’t take me long to employ my powers for evil. I would load up the wagon with people I loathed, like my math teacher. Then I would intentionally lose the game, starving her or fording a river with her when I knew she was weak. The program would attempt an intervention, informing me that I had enough buffalo carcass for one day. One more lifeless caribou would make the wagon too heavy, endangering the lives of those inside. Really now? Then how about three more? How about four? Nothing could stop this huntress of the diminutive plains. It was time to level the playing field between me and the woman who called my differential equations “nonsensical” in front of fifteen other teenagers. Eventually a message would pop up in the middle of the screen, framed in a neat box: mrs.trust has died of dysentery. This filled me with glee.


...Your whole life is in flux and all you have is this moment. Are you sure you want to forge the river? Yes. Yes, you are."

From Confessions of a Contemplative New Yorker:

"A precursor to the Sims (which I love and secretly play now) in Oregon Trail you had control over the characters. On the occasion of a particularly bad day, I would run down to the lab and load up my wagon with people that had pissed me off and purposely lose the game. Oh no! Lil’ Billy has two broken limbs and was carried away by Indians. Oh no! Poor Sarah died of dysentery. But that’s not the end to my evil ways. It got better. After poor Billy or Sarah bit the dust you are asked to write a dear, sweet epitaph on you fellow wagoneers tombstone...


...And when the game asked, are you sure you want to forge the river? I always replied Yes, I was."

[Big Think]

"Mr. Gessen, 33, boyishly handsome and possessing the self-assurance of a writer twice his age, has never had an easy relationship with literary fame, even as he has gradually amassed it." [NYT]

Diary of a Diorama: Smell This from Book Videos on Vimeo.
[Sloane Crosley]

About the author: Sloane Crosley's debut book of humor essays, I Was Told There'd Be Cake, is being published this week by Riverhead Books. Her work has appeared in various publications including Playboy, Salon, The New York Times, The Village Voice, The New York Observer, and Black Book, where she was a contributing editor. She also wrote the cover story for the worst-selling issue of Maxim in that magazine's history.

I Am Not a Piece of Candy Twisted Symmetrically at the Ends [Esquire]

"Later, while sitting in a coffee shop in the West Village—inexplicably one of the only areas in Manhattan Ms. Crosley can comfortably navigate in spite of the spatial dysphasia disorder from which she has suffered since childhood—she politely said she did not find the question of her universal appeal very interesting." Okay; let's talk about your bizarre disease, then.

Indeed, given that "Ms. Crosley appears actually to enjoy the clusterfuck" of media parties, we have a right to know: What is this spatial dysphasia and, more importantly, is it contagious? Following in the grand tradition of Pasteur and Salk and House, let's proceed first to an exact-match Google search, which reveals that one thing "spatial dysphasia" is not is an accepted medical term. Or any other kind of term for that matter. Leon seems to have sort of made it up, actually!

One might fear that the trail ends here. Happily, though, we find that, in addition to personal essays on her butt and her goldfish, Crosley also recently wrote one, for Salon, about her "severe spatial disability." The scene after a seven-year-old Sloane scored in the tart-cart tranche on her first standardized test:

My mother went on to explain my brush with brilliance, my aptitude for geniusness, my general awesomeness, but the school was having none of it. They made me take an IQ test, after which the test administrator announced he had never seen such a right-left brain discrepancy. I was diagnosed with a severe temporal spatial deficit, a learning disability that means I have zero spatial relations skills.

It was official: I was a genius trapped in an idiot's body.

It makes some sense now: "spatial dysphasia" as a phrase of solidarity with "someone else who hid her problems in plain sight...working double-time just to keep up with everyone else's standard of 'normal.'" Now is also when our investigation becomes irretrievably weird, because "recognition dysphasia" is just as non-term a term as the spatial variety. As it turns out, "face blindness" is actually a form of agnosia, which Wikipedia tells us is the "loss of ability to recognize objects, persons, sounds, shapes, or smells while the specific sense is not defective." This might be Crosley's problem with subways and the street grid, but it's definitely not dysphasia.

Truth is, dysphasia is just another word for aphasia, the familiar catch-all term for post–brain damage problems in producing and comprehending language. That's langauge, as in speaking and writing. It is therefore impossible to be a "spatial dysphasic," or a "facial" one. But perhaps Sloane Crosley is in fact an aphasic/dysphasic whose condition prevents her from accurately describing her condition. (Certainly, she appears to have some kind of difficulty communicating normally: "Ms. Crosley...cuts to the chase with editors and writers, and conscientiously tailors her pitches to suit their tastes.") Then again, there's the distinct and unpalatable possibility that Crosley, like so many before her, confused dysphasia with the identical-sounding dysphagia ("difficulty swallowing").

But, let's not work too hard at his; she probably won't be the best person you know in publishing anymore if she ever actually became knowable:

Earlier, an ex-boyfriend had walked by carrying something like four drinks; asked to describe Ms. Crosley, he gave a wistful smile before turning away. "Inscrutable!" he said to no one in particular as he disappeared into the crowd.

The Most Popular Publicist In New York [NYO]