The problem with the observational style of so many stand-up comedians and books—material that always begins, "Didja ever notice…" or, "Why is it that…"—is that the jokes tend to come across as insincere, predictable routines. Sure, the observations may have been fresh at one point or another, but when Jerry Seinfeld (or whoever) talks about airline food over and over again, in one identical set after another, it's eventually bound to sound forced, uninsightful, and unfunny. What makes former Might writer and NPR commentator Amy Krouse Rosenthal's The Book Of Eleven a frequent blast is that her observations and minor epiphanies come across as truly off-the-cuff, like they came to her one second and ended up in the book the next, without a cautious editor intercepting them first. That may well be the scenario that led to The Book Of Eleven, a collection of lists that not only read like they came straight out of a notebook, but frequently look that way, too. That hit-or-miss, kitchen-sink approach is actually endearing, as the numerous lists possess spunk that could never be replicated by some Hallmark robot. With each slate of 11 entries tailored around a subject, ranging from sex and movies to pennies and olive stunts, The Book Of Eleven is like a quick confessional: It offers as much insight into Rosenthal, from her various insecurities to her private joys, as it does into the world around her. She modestly calls it brain lint, but her fuzzy mental detritus is worth the few enjoyable minutes it takes to peruse it.