Introduction

I never had any interest in visiting Los Angeles until 2006, when I decided to audition for The Price Is Right. One of the goals I set for myself when I turned 30 was to appear on a TV game show. I previously tried out for Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, but failed to make the cut. I was hoping for better luck on the West Coast, so I built my vacation around this idea and planned other activities around it.

In talking with various co-workers who either had roots in the area or traveled there before, I was strongly advised to rent a car. Even though I've never had a bad experience doing this, I was wary about navigating my way around this urban sprawl in a vehicle. By the time my trip was over, my hesitation would be justified, for I'd be cursed by a heat wave, high gas prices, and endless parking fees.

LAX Arrival

When I got to the airport on Sunday afternoon, I picked up my rental car at the Thrifty lot. I decided to do business with them because they offered the best deal on their Web site -- a compact vehicle for one week for $100, with insurance costing an extra $105. (Being a pragmatist, I was convinced there was a catch to this offer ... but all I cared about was that it could get me from Point A to Point B without breaking down.) Upon my arrival, I learned that the compact car was unavailable, so I was being upgraded to a 2007 Chrysler 300 -- for free! As much as I appreciated the gesture, it was too large for my needs.

Roscoe’s House of Chicken and Waffles

After settling in at the hostel in Santa Monica, my first destination was Roscoe's House of Chicken and Waffles. Mapquest was a major tool in coordinating my trip, and it helped me find my way to West Pico Boulevard near South LaBrea Avenue.

Despite its location in a desolate neighborhood, the eatery had a down-home decor permeated by earth-colored tones. The air conditioner wasn't working in some sections of the restaurant, so the waitress seated me in a booth near the front. I ordered their namesake dish along with a Sunset, a drink that blends lemonade with fruit punch. (The chicken was delicious, but the waffles were overrated.) Once my craving for soul food was satisfied, I drove back to the hostel.

Westwood Village Memorial Park

I set out for Westwood Village Memorial Park on Monday morning, the final resting place of celebrities ranging from Donna Reed to Don Knotts. (I figured I had a better chance of meeting a famous person if they were dead instead of alive.) Not knowing my way around Southern California, it took me longer than expected to find the place ... but when I got there, I felt as if I stumbled onto a hidden treasure, since it's near a major thoroughfare yet in a world of its own.

The cemetery conjured up images of a secret garden, and I strolled the grounds for more than an hour. This was a celebrity hangout with no velvet rope in sight -- just the spirits of actors, musicians, and writers gathering amongst the lush greenery to soak up the sun. Rodney Dangerfield and Billy Wilder greeted visitors with humorous send-offs, while Dean Martin sang a lyric and Dorothy Stratten spoke her mind. But, without a doubt, the main attractions are Marilyn Monroe and Natalie Wood.

Hollywood Walk of Fame

After bonding with the dead, I checked out the Hollywood Walk of Fame on Monday afternoon. I was disappointed by this tourist attraction's lack of glamour, which stretches along Hollywood Boulevard from North LaBrea Avenue to North Gower Street, and also runs along Vine Street from Yucca Street to Sunset Boulevard. (If you think about it, the stars align to form a cross. Hmmm!)

The monotony of looking at stars on the ground got old after about a half-hour, and the heat was slowly becoming unbearable ... but I did get to see Grauman's Chinese Theatre and Capitol Records. These landmarks were cool to see not just because of their connections to the entertainment industry, but the timeless quality of the buildings' architecture were a sight to behold.

Santa Monica Pier

Needing a temporary diversion from the concrete jungle, I went to the Santa Monica Pier, whose amusement park and restaurants reminded me of Coney Island. I wandered the beach while observing traffic speed along the Pacific Coast Highway. (This road would find itself in the national spotlight before the end of the week, thanks to Mel Gibson and his DUI arrest.) I also indulged myself by shuffling my feet in the soft sand -- the kind that doesn't exist in Coney Island! -- and watching the sun set before going to dinner.

The Dresden

I had supper on Monday night at the Dresden Restaurant -- the same establishment made famous in Swingers. After chowing down my meal, I entered the lounge to watch Marty and Elayne perform. (A guy named Bill also joined their act on the upright bass.)

The bartender approached me and said someone wanted to buy me a drink, but he wouldn't say who it was. I impulsively accepted the offer ... but since I was getting around by car, I ended up ordering a glass of orange juice. (How lame of me!) I suspected the mystery man was none other than Marty himself, but I chose not to ask him about it. Instead, I asked if I could take a picture with him and his better half, and they graciously complied.

Shangri-La

My time in the City of Angels wouldn't be complete without seeing the Hollywood sign, which was my first destination on Tuesday morning.

I hit Interstate 405 with the hope of avoiding the horrendous traffic that has made this thoroughfare legendary for all the wrong reasons. (As it turned out, the highways weren't as bad as some people told me it would be -- it would be the side streets that give me grief!) I drove north until I reached the 101 Freeway, at which point I headed east. Once I turned off Lake Hollywood Drive and started trying to get to the top of the hill, that's when the real adventure started.

The more I saw the nine block letters forming the sign, the more anxious I got because I knew I was almost there. However, the road's twists and turns forced me to ask for directions on several occasions. Conscious about the price I'd paid for gas, I was starting to panic about the time and money being wasted trying to find Shangri-La. Then, before I knew it, I spotted the dog park and realized that, like thousands of dreamers before me, I'd finally made it to H-O-L-L-Y-W-O-O-D.

Rodeo Drive

One road trip deserves another, so I made my way to Rodeo Drive on Tuesday afternoon to experience being "down and out in Beverly Hills." Just like the iconic Tinseltown sign, finding my way there was easier said than done ... but I managed not to hit anything or kill anyone with my rental car.

After securing a parking spot, I walked along the high-end shopping strip that conjured up images of Fifth Avenue in New York. I was surprised by how short it was, stretching only from Wilshire Boulevard to Santa Monica Boulevard. I didn't even bother entering stores like Gucci and Harry Winston, for I knew the price tags attached to their products were beyond my reach.

Beverly Wilshire Hotel

Feeling the need to grab some grub after wandering the domain of the rich and famous, I walked around the neighborhood trying to decide where to have lunch. Choosing the Beverly Wilshire Hotel -- where Richard Gere and Julia Roberts first met in Pretty Woman -- I went inside and was directed to a table against the wall but near the window. While I waited for my order, I got a kick out of people-watching in an unfamiliar environment, trying to guess who was really wealthy or just working-class.

My meal consisted of a small glass of cranberry juice, an overpriced Caesar salad, and a lobster roll sandwich equivalent to the size of a White Castle hamburger. I tried not to dwell on the cost because I wasn't just paying for the food ... but for the privilege of dining in opulence. (The restaurant was designed like an upscale loft: large tables, comfy chairs, and attentive service.) After spending nearly $60, tip included, I was looking forward to what tomorrow had in store for me.

The Price Is Right (Part One)

I arose at 2 a.m. on Wednesday to prepare for my trek to CBS Television City to try out for The Price Is Right. It felt weird waking up at such an hour, as opposed to going to bed ... but I told myself it was three hours later in New York, so I should think of it as getting ready for work.

Since the admissions ticket instructed contestants to wear street clothes at the taping, I decided to wear a green t-shirt and a pair of blue denim shorts for my appearance on national television. Upon exiting the hostel, I noticed the garage where I parked my car wasn't lighted at all. I didn't feel safe walking by myself, so I took a chance and relied on the kindness of strangers, a la Blanche DuBois. A construction worker escorted me to my vehicle, and I thanked him for his chivalry before hitting the road.

The Price Is Right (Part Two)

I arrived at Fairfax Avenue and Beverly Boulevard around 3:30 a.m. for taping of the episode that would air on October 17. While I wasn't surprised by the number of people who turned out for their shot at fame, I was frustrated by the difficulty of securing a parking spot. After I achieved that goal at the Grove Shopping Center, I walked down the cavernous space, through the shopping area, and past some buses to take my place in line.

As the Blessed King -- a bagel shop and bakery across the street from the studio -- was preparing to open its doors, an employee offered to rent plastic chairs to contestants at a rate of two for five dollars. Even though I was too cheap to accept his offer -- I wasn't part of a couple or group -- my gut told me it was going to be a long day. More important, though, it told me it was hungry -- so I bought an apple strudel.

I was sandwiched between a pair of best friends, who were in front of me, and an elderly couple who stood behind me. The couple told me they tried out for the show before, but didn't make it to contestants' row. I inquired about their experience, and they told me what I already knew: hold on to your order of arrival pass (and priority number), be on time, and act like you're happy to be there.

After taking turns between standing and crouching, a CBS employee began handing out order of arrival passes at 6 a.m. When I received mine, I was told to report to the audience waiting area by 7:30 a.m. -- even though my admission ticket said 8 a.m. (An explanation for the discrepancy was never given.) I grabbed a quick nap in my car before heading back to the studio to exchange my order of arrival pass for a priority number. At that point, I was given a green card with the show's name and the number 193 on it. Another CBS worker told me to return again at 10 a.m., when the audition process would finally get started.

The Price Is Right (Part Three)

As it turned out, this procedure consisted mostly of sitting on uncomfortable benches for hours at a time and making small talk with my fellow would-be contestants. We came from all walks of life: young, old, tall, short, fat, skinny, Black, White, Latino, you name it. People that stood out included a bunch of Barbie doll collectors, a religious youth group, and an extended family from Texas.

A producer gathered contestants in groups of fifteen and made us stand in line. One by one, he asked the same three questions: what's your name, where are you from, and what do you do for a living. When it was my turn to speak, I remembered the elderly couple's advice and gave him an enthusiastic response. We were then directed to the security clearance area, where we turned in our cell phones and were frisked before sitting around yet again until it was time to enter the studio at 2 p.m.

I was surprised to discover the facility looked bigger on television than it did in person. I was seated on the far right-hand side, a few rows away from the stage. The announcer, Rich Fields, went over the rules and made small talk with the audience before host Bob Barker came out to greet the crowd. Once the cameras started rolling, I patiently waited for my name to be called to "come on down" and play The Price Is Right.

After the taping was over, I found myself 0-for-2 in game show auditions. Nevertheless, I was happy for those who did make it to contestants' row -- especially Lisa, the showcase winner who walked away with more than $33,000 in prizes, including a trip to Florence, Italy, a Sea-Doo Challenger 17' ski boat, a Holland Tradition LS grill, and a pair of Schwinn Currie S750 electric scooters.

No Ticket to Paradise

With my hopes for appearing on a game show down the drain, I drove back to the Hollywood Walk of Fame on Wednesday afternoon to buy more souvenirs for my family and friends. (Coincidentally, Grauman's was hosting the world premiere of Will Ferrell's latest movie, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.) It was rush hour, and I put 50 cents in the meter, giving me a half-hour to run my errands. When I returned, I was shocked to find a $35 parking ticket under the windshield wiper for an expired meter.

I called the telephone number on the back of the ticket, but all I got was an automated response. A mixture of anger and panic swept over me, for I knew the ticket was unwarranted -- especially since I fed the meter and returned in a timely fashion. I saw a police scooter down the block from where I was parked -- and I assume the officer in it was the one who gave me the ticket -- but I didn't approach it because the damage was done. I took several deep breaths before deciding not to dwell on this setback, figuring I'd address it the next day.

Dan Tana's

I wrapped up a long day by having dinner at Dan Tana's on Wednesday night. I drove around West Hollywood for about an hour trying to avoid using valet parking ... but once it became obvious that I was fighting a losing battle, I surrendered my car to the attendant.

The restaurant was noisy yet intimate, and I watched for celebrity sightings as the host escorted me to a table near a private booth. (Unfortunately, I didn't see any famous people while I was there.) I felt a little out of place once I was seated, for I was the only person dining alone in a room full of couples and groups. (I jokingly told the waiter that "single people have to eat, too.") My meal was delectable, with my only complaint being that the servings were too big. Then again, considering the $70 price tag -- including tip -- I got what I paid for.

Venice Beach

Eager to avoid getting behind the wheel after the parking ticket fiasco, I mailed a letter of dispute to the city's Parking Violations Bureau on Thursday morning before hopping on Line 1 of the Big Blue Bus to check out Venice Beach.

I strolled along the boardwalk, embracing the beach bum vibe while observing street performers court tourists for money. After trekking across the sand to the Pacific Ocean, I spent the next few hours alternating between getting a tan -- not that I needed one -- and walking along the shore. When I became bored with doing nothing (imagine that), I stopped by Muscle Beach with the hope of admiring the male physique up close. Unfortunately, because of the weather, it was closed, so I grabbed a bite to eat at Figtree's Café. There, I wasted the rest of my day munching on a turkey burger, enjoying a fruit crisp (their terminology for fruit salad), and gulping a Cheap Thrill -- a smoothie made of frozen yogurt, raspberry swirl, and banana, orange, and strawberry juices.

Getty Villa

I dabbled in some highbrow culture and visited the Getty Villa on Friday morning. The estate, which belonged to J. Paul Getty, is now a museum that's open to the public for free.

Among the artwork on display at this seaside property was "Victorious Youth." I attended a 20-minute lecture that focused on the Greek bronze sculpture, introducing viewers to the civilization of that era. Afterward, I joined the architecture and gardens tour, spending 45 minutes learning about the facility's historical prototypes. When that was over, I went on a 45-minute orientation tour that explored its growth (it opened in 1954 at the ranch house, which now operates as a research library), mission (to promote the arts and cultures of ancient Greece, Rome, and Etruria) and renovation (Getty wanted it to resemble the Villa dei Papiri).

I took a break from my pursuit of knowledge to eat at the café and observe my surroundings. I found it mind-boggling that one person -- or even a family -- would need so much space for a home. In addition to the area that housed the art collection, the villa also had an outdoor theater, office building, and a training laboratory. It's an ideal setting for work and play, and I imagine that's what Getty had in mind when he bought the property. (Even though he spent the last 25 years of his life in Britain, his final resting place is at the villa.)

My last tour of the day was through the special exhibition The Colors of Clay: Special Techniques in Athenian Vases. The guide spent an hour discussing how potters and painters moved beyond red- and black-figure drawings to create unique masterpieces. Even though I failed art history as an undergraduate student at New York University, one doesn't have to be a genius to appreciate the skill that goes into making these objects.

Spago

After spending all day learning about the past, I returned to the present by having dinner at Spago on Friday night. Its interior was exquisite and inviting, and I especially liked the glass wall that separated the dining area from the kitchen.

For $85, including tip, I feasted on a plate of Cantonese style roasted duck, a bowl of bouillon (a clear, seasoned soup usually made from lean beef), a plum tart dish, and a glass of pineapple juice. Chef / restaurateur Wolfgang Puck greeted diners as he walked around the eatery, and our paths eventually crossed. We exchanged pleasantries before posing for a picture, which was a nice way to end my two hours there.

Live on the Sunset Strip

I drove to the Sunset Strip looking for some exciting nightlife. In a scenario that has become all-too-familiar, it took a while for me to find a parking spot ... but, afterward, I walked around admiring the sights and sounds. Among the renowned venues I spotted were the Whisky a Go-Go, the Viper Room, The Roxy, and Rainbow. I asked a man on the street if there were any clubs in the area that played hip-hop or Top 40 music, and he said I was in the wrong neighborhood. Armed with that knowledge, I departed for Hollywood Boulevard.

Its party scene was more elitist than what I'm used to in New York. (I didn't think such a thing was possible ... but what do I know?!) I stood outside one hot spot for nearly a half-hour before heading elsewhere, and another club I briefly patronized was as lively as a morgue. (They say you get what you pay for ... and I didn't pay anything.) As if that wasn't bad enough, a doorman at yet another discotheque wanted to charge me $20 for entry -- even though it was closing in 20 minutes. I spent more time walking the streets like a prostitute than I did shaking my groove thing on the dance floor. Chalking the night up as a loss, I returned to the hostel after 2 a.m.

Getty Center

In search of more educational stimulation, I found myself at the Getty Center. Designed like a futuristic college campus, this museum -- affiliated with the villa -- focused on European art made before the 20th century.

I took a one-hour tour through its collection highlights, which provided an overview of major works from "Venus and Cupid" to "Irises." I also went on a 45-minute tour in the gardens before joining a one-hour tour of the special exhibition Rubens and Brueghel: A Working Friendship.

After having a quick lunch, I spent another hour Looking Toward Modern Art, a tour that detailed the origins of modern art in the late 1800s and explored how artists rejected traditional rules of representation to develop new forms of art. Later, I attended a 45-minute architecture tour that examined Richard Meier's design of the facility. Cramming so much learning into so little time was an enriching experience.
,
Speaking of time, my vacation was approaching its final 24 hours. Upon leaving the Getty Center, I drove southbound on Sepulveda Boulevard en route to the 405 to head back to the hostel. Before I could reach my destination, though, the unthinkable happened -- I rear-ended another car!

Crash

If getting an undeserved parking ticket was bad luck, being in a car accident was a nightmare. It was still daylight, I noticed traffic ahead of me, and I saw the red light ... but, for reasons that defy logic, my reaction time wasn't fast enough to avoid a collision. As a result, my rental car ended up with a smashed grill, damaged hood, and broken headlight -- while the other vehicle had a damaged trunk and broken taillight.

I exchanged license and insurance information with the other motorist, and I called Thrifty immediately to report what happened. The customer service representative told me to contact the police and file a report, which I did. He also said I shouldn't be too upset over what happened because I bought insurance, which should pay for the damages. (He also said it's not like I hit a human being; after all, cars are easier to fix than people. That may be true ... but it didn't make me feel any better.) Afterward, I called my parents and told them about my trip ending on a horrible note.

Summary

I was so depressed about the fender-bender until I took an earlier flight back to New York. (Ironically, that's when I learned about the true nature of Mel Gibson's behavior during his arrest.) In spite of my misfortune, I did everything I set out to do while I was in Los Angeles. However, the parking ticket and car accident left a bad taste in my mouth ... and dealing with Thrifty and the Parking Violations Bureau in the months to come was a major headache. The bargain I thought I was getting when I rented the car ended up costing me more than $2,500 -- $104 for the ticket, and $2,402 in damages. (As it turned out, the insurance I bought only covered the rental car -- not the other party's vehicle.)