Lit Bits & A Bit About Good

• My week in bookish events is up at LAist
• Jane Bussmann at The Times takes a (deeper?) look into the making of the film, then not the film, then the book which became Eggers' What is the What. She also makes use of the word stonking. Nice.
• The Guardian rounds up its Top 10 Satires (oh, those lists!) - two that I've not yet gotten to but am now terribly intrigued by are Arlington Park by Rachel Cusk and Crap Towns by Sam Jordison and Dan Kieran.
• BookFox writes the letter I would have written had I written a letter to Ed. I will add that I, too, feel the pangs of being left behind on this far, far coast, while Ed skips East to mingle with the literati. 
• Pinky's road-trip travels are giving me a distinct wanderlust that I've not experienced in years - I want to pack all my gear in boxes, fling it in storage and take to the freeways to see what can be seen.
• The Globe interviews Khaled Hosseini about the just-out A Thousand Splendid Suns. Hosseini will be in town on June 14th to read and discuss his work. I guess I'd better get on the stick, eh?
• I know I said enough is enough and is, really. But I will be buying some maggot-gear poste haste.
• I had to pay the library $32 dollars yesterday because I held on to Jess Walter's The Zero and Shelley Jackson's Half Life (which I still haven't read) for far too long. Painful. Adding insult to that tidy sum, I took it upon myself to check out still more books that I'm quite sure I'll not get to what with the looming tower that sits next to me as I type: The Mystery Guest by George Bouillier, The Suitors by Ben Ehrenreich (he's coming to town, I must suit-up!), Christine Falls by Benjamin Black, Him Her Him Again The End of Him by Patricia Marx and The House of Meetings by Martin Amis (I know, I know...but it was just sitting there on the shelf, waiting to be checked out...)
• I got all ballsy and overly-wise yesterday and said in my last post "I'm a good writer." What kind of an ass writes that? It was bold. It felt good to type it up. Possibly too good. Because I spent the rest of the day feeling like a right pratt and wanting to delete it from the record. But you had read it, and what kind of integrity would I have (left, obviously, because it takes a certain lack of it to even proclaim one is a good writer) if I'd done that?  I've been hemming and hawing (how does one haw by the way?) and I'm still feeling off about it. Can you forgive and forget?