EVEN with the Red Sox beanie pulled over the trademark mane of black hair, it's not hard to spot Sarah Silverman in the lobby at the Bowery Hotel: she's the grown woman dressed like a 14-year-old boy. Promoting her new memoir, "The Bedwetter" -- which was No. 9 last week on The New York Times nonfiction hardcover list -- Ms. Silverman saunters toward me in an American Apparel sweatshirt, Free City sweats, and worn Adidas. "In 18 months of working with her, I don't think I ever saw Sarah in a shirt that didn't have a number on it," says David Hirshey, her editor at HarperCollins, which paid $2.5 million for her book. "She dresses as if she's always ready for a touch football game."
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