We started reading Joseph Wambaugh decades ago, sticking with him not for the plots, which were forgettable – the best kind – but for the excellent cop jokes. We drifted away – or maybe he drifted away on a sea of royalties – so we found solace with John Sandford, but it turns out Joe’s still writing, and we grabbed the latest (Hollywood Hills) from Scripsi’s in-box, and it was just like old times. Even better than old times in some ways, since between reading his old stuff and his new stuff we have gotten to know those very same Hollywood Hills rather well. But the truth is that Sandford’s eclipsed him. Hollywood Hills the book is a bit like Henny Youngman in blue. Still fun. That took about two hours. Then it was on to the new Louise Dean when we weren’t using the astoundingly wonderful Roku to overindulge in 30 Rock. Crikey, is that ever fun.