Drove.

        Swore.

        Spent money.

        “Which was better, Paul? Stepping over the undiscovered stars sleeping on Hollywood Boulevard or dodging the blooming kelp nations while swimming at Malibu?”

        “Why, neither, Mr. Frommer, it was mopping the bathroom floor at the hostel on the ocean south of San Francisco.”

        “Ah, the place written up in the glossy travel mag? The place with the window overlooking the crashing surf and the nightstand with the vase of flowers?”

        “It would. Only the window was covered with salt-spray scum and somebody swiped the flowers. But changing four sets of sheets in the morning was fun.”

        You want to take one of those dream family vacations? You want to be Clark Griswold? Nothing like being the prime hunter-gatherer for your own little tribe, is there? Nothing like inflicting family time on them, right?

        I am here to tell you that vacation, like baseball and in-laws, is best as a concept.

        I am here to save you driving around L.A., looking for a parking place that won't cost a six-pack of Heineken and seven pints of blood.

        I am here to tell you I've been all over the world and no place has more bums than San Francisco. I didn't leave my heart there — just a lot of quarters.

        Ten days in California with a wife and two kids sounds fabulous, on paper. Just try pulling it off. Bring your quarters.

        “How was the drive in the Hollywood Hills? Did you hike up to the Hollywood sign?”

        “It was great, Mr. Frommer. Except that the streets change names like the lights at Sunset and Vine. One minute you're on Beverly, the next you're on Cahuenga. It's as if Madonna doesn't want you to find her house.

        “Finding the Hollywood sign was almost as good as hiking the scrub to get to it. Next time, I'm bringing my llama.”

        “Mulholland Drive? How 'bout the lights of L.A., twinkling like diamonds in the sky?”

        “Swell, Mr. Frommer. Except all the turn-outs were jammed. We saw the twinkles while white-knuckling the seat belts.”

        Of course, the big problem with taking children on vacation is they make unreasonable demands, such as wanting to eat. By the third or fourth day, we were the Joad Family. I was ordering the All-U-Can-Eat Oyster Cracker specials.

        It's not cheap in California. In San Francisco, dog houses with a view go for $250,000.

        So you could imagine what it was like trying to feed two kids for 10 days. They came home with a finer appreciation for tap water.

        “And the cable cars? You liked riding the cable cars?”

        “Sure, when we could get one. Frankie had it easier getting Annette. One night, we stood in line listening to a homeless guy sing "House of the Rising Sun” 328 times while waiting for a cable car to take us back up Nob Hill.”

        “Alcatraz?”

        “Fantastic. We left a kid there, in case they reopened.”

        “Will you take a family vacation again soon?” Mr. Frommer asked.

        “Yup. By the time we got back, we couldn't stand each other. The kids are back afflicting their friends' families. I'm back taking a well-deserved work stretch.

        “You can only appreciate the mundane things in life when you spend a few weeks messin' 'em up.”

        E-mail pdaugherty@enquirer.com.
       

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