2004-03-28 - 10:37 p.m.

They�ve been filming The O.C. around the corner from our apartment. The main location they�re using is that seedy turquoise motel called "The Mermaid Inn" where Julie Cooper gets busy with her daughter�s ex-boyfriend, Luke. But the other night when we were leaving the gym, we spotted a big car crash scene being filmed on an overpass. I went trotting over (OK, I was galloping), hoping for an Adam Brody sighting, but no luck. The guy I had decided was Adam Brody turned out to be to the Smoke Wrangler.

I don�t think this was actually The O.C. being filmed, since the scene involved a casket hanging from the overpass with an arm coming out of it. Erik and I couldn�t figure out how that would tie in with an O.C. plot line. We guessed that maybe Oliver returns to stalk Marissa, pretends to kill himself, plans some sort of funeral procession car crash in which he intends to escape from his casket - it could happen! Or maybe it's part of an upcoming prom-related Very Special The O.C.

I did witness a fancy stunt: A guy was dropped from a crane onto the dangling casket while waving a gun around. It didn�t look like Oliver, though.

This has been a lovely lazy weekend. Saturday, I traded in old CDs for new CDs at Fingerprints, ran into old friends, met up with my brother and his lovely lady. My brother (Brotard, I call him) is the best brother a bratty little sister could ask for and is always bearing gifts for me. Saturday�s gift? The new Wilco! Whoo hoo!

This morning, I made berrylicious pancakes with gobs of whipped cream. We ate breakfast on our little rooftop-ish patio at our teak-ish table. I have quite a vision for that space. I want it to be an urban, terrace-like, container garden paradiso. A little something like this:

No problem.

I�m training two bougainvilleas to take over one side and coaxing some pink jasmine to climb up the opposite side. And we just potted some climbing figs. They�re supposed to be �fast growing,� but I�m so impatient. When I think �fast growing,� I imagine them vining themselves all over the walls while I�m away at work. I keep stepping outside to see if they�ve attached themselves to the walls yet. No luck. Then I yell at them, �Climb, you fuckers! You call yourselves climbing figs?!� No, I don�t really do that. I play them Beethoven, because - according to my sixth grade science project conclusion - plants prefer Beethoven to M�tley Cr�e. Those poor M�tley Cr�e control group plants. I played them �Girls Girls Girls� over and over. And they had no recourse, being plants and all.

Anyway, eating breakfast on the patio, drinking super strong coffee, dreaming of upcoming gardening maneuvers, listening to the brilliant Karen Armstrong on Weekend Edition: that�s my kind of Sunday mornin� comin� down church-like experience.

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