There's only need for one star.

The first morning in a while where waking up was a casual affair. After a decent amount of HBO and a satisfactory period of 'chill' (for those who know me well, it wasn't long), I headed out to the next stage of my adventure.

The cab picks me up, drives a few miles, weaves through the Anaheim Angels Stadium (Angels in the Outfield, anyone?) parking lot, and drops me off at the Amtrak Station. I buy my ticket and I'm off to Los Angeles.

From Union Station in LA, I take the Metro to Hollywood Blvd. in order to do the requisite touristy motions and pass the time until Gina, my resident LA guide and friend since forever, gets out of work with America's Next Top Model. . . so Hollywood.

But as for now, my taste of LA derives largely from a drunk bum who nearly falls onto the tracks at the station. Before I witness my first death/suicide, police are quick to bring him to his feet and 'escort' him out.

As the escalator delivers me into the daylight from the grim scene that is the LA subway, Hollywood Boulevard is RIGHT there. And let me tell you, cinematic tricks make this famous street appear much more glamorous than reality. The stars are lining the sidewalk in front of cheesy tourist traps and even cheesier gift shops.

Sorry Adrienne, was going to spring for the "Best Sister" Oscar Award, but then I remembered that I never had another sister to compare you with. In addition, I didn't have $9 to spare on a 6 in. naked plastic man. Although, if another occasion ever arises where a similar naked man is presented to me at $8 and doesn't throw any unearned accolades your way, be sure I'll make the purchase.

So I continue to take in Grauman's Chinese Theatre, the "Hollywood" on high above the city, et cetera. After a tiring morning, I head to the Renaisance Hotel lobby,\ to chat with my pilot friend about worldly issues.

Soon enough, Gina picks me up and we dash off through LA traffic. She points out every restaurant and cafe ever featured in People magazine, E! Hollywood, or other star obsessed media outlets that I've never kept up with.

Its amusing to hear of a city where obsession revolves around a certain class of people, the celebrity. Sounds familiar? DC does it too. Except those obsessed over here are much less attractive and much more nerdy. Example: Gina nearly runs over T.I., famed rapper and ex-con, in a crosswalk and I nearly trip over Wolf Blitzer, CNN Politico, on a run around town.

Analogies always work: Washington, DC is to ambassadors, senators, and K Street Lobbying firms as LA is to studios, talent agencies, and recording label. Gina's roomates conversations followed accordingly. Maybe I watch too much Entourage, but it was interesting in the least and enlightening at the most.

That evening, we headed out to Santa Monica on the coast for sushi. Now, that was the California that the Governator's wife and Beckham speak of in the tourist board commercials. Beautiful.

A great evening that ended in a nearly delusion spell of fatigue. To bed, I went.

Sadly, my taste of the real LA ended as soon as it began. The next morning I was off on the Super Shuttle to be flown out of LAX.

But now, I'm back in the Dirty and going to pick up the one and only Theodore Allen.