BE CAREFUL OF YOUR LICENSE-FRAME ADS.

Byline: JAMES DAWSON  Local View

MAYBE I really was doing 51 in a 35 mph zone on Ventura Boulevard, but I doubt it. I think my license-plate frame was at least partially responsible for the $191 ticket.

Fellow pathetically desperate entertainment-industry wannabes in Southern California -- and isn't that almost everyone? -- can learn a money-saving lesson from my misfortune

I had the frame made by a swap-meet vendor. Across the top was ``SCREENPLAY.'' At the bottom was ``WWW.REBELHELL.COM,'' the address of a bare-bones Web site I created for one of my tragically unsold scripts.

In a town where success often has more to do with marketing than merit, I figured that such a blatantly direct tactic had two chances of paying off: If some old-school studio executive with development money to burn spotted the frame on the freeway, he might be so impressed by its shamelessness that he would check out my Web site.

``You weren't embarrassed to lay it on the line and sell yourself like dry goods, kid,'' he would tell me later. ``I like your attitude.''

Or a young-gun hipster with an eye for indie acquisitions might be amused by the frame's tongue-in-cheek, postmodern irony.

``Most people would miss the joke that you were making fun of being so obvious,'' he would grin.

I would love to report that my unsubtle attempt at self-promotion resulted in a Hollywood ending with a contract that included points of the gross. Unfortunately, all I got was a San Fernando Valley ending, with a large ticket and points on my record.

Maybe the motorcycle cop would have pulled me over anyway. Maybe he didn't think I was an arrogant, overpaid egomaniac who was rubbing people's faces in the fact that I got paid for making stuff up. Maybe he didn't have a screenplay of his own at home that he couldn't sell after a decade of trying.

Still, if I was a guy whose career consisted of lying in wait for speed- trap scofflaws, I have to admit that I would enjoy ticketing some motorists more than others. . A tattooed gangbanger, a condescending businessman or anybody resembling someone I disliked could tell it to the judge.

And some creative-writing clown who hoped to get rich off something with the vulgar, peace-disturbing title ``Rebel Hell''? Well, let's just put that boy in the high-dollar, ``more than 15 over the speed limit'' category by writing him up for doing 51 instead of 50. Just to twist the knife a little.

I could have tried my luck in court, hoping the judge would take my 15-year ticket-free record into account. But I didn't feel lucky.

I took off the license-plate frame, though. If I ever get another ticket, I want to be sure it's not because somebody thinks my life is too wonderful for words.