I interviewed Marissa Cooper before the start of the new season of "The O.C." on FOX. Things didn't go as planned. But sometimes the plan kind of sucks.
Septempter 2005
What I Did on My Summer Vacation: (Almost) 5 Questions with Marissa Cooper
The O.C. is coming to the close of a third season (and possibly of the series?). Will the cliff hanger this year be as dramatic as the last? And what exactly do these kids do on their summer vacations in Earth’s nearest imitation to paradise and furthest thing from reality?
One writer caught up with Marissa Cooper last fall to ask these meaningless but important questions. Let’s hope this upcoming summer is just as auspicious as was her previous.
THE O.C. UPDATE: The lovely Miss Cooper. Long time. How have you been?
MARISSA COOPER: Hung.
TOCU: Right, so, tell me: What did you do on your summer break?
MC: Summer and I never broke up!
TOCU: No, no, dear. Not your break from your friend. What did you do between May and September this year?
MC: Well, I don’t know anything about September…But between May and April, I had tons of fun. First, April and I spread whipped cream on May’s—
TOCU: Woa! Woa! Gotta keep it PG for the kids—as much as I would love to hear the rest of that story later… What I mean is: What have you been up to from the time school let out until now?
MC: Well, when school let out, my parents mysteriously, if not a bit creepily, got back together. I didn’t get to stay for much of the party though because I was late for a shooting in…Where was it again, Ryan? Oh yeah, that’s right, the “Numbered Streets” of Newport Beach. Luckily it takes me 8 seconds to drive 10 miles and I got to the dilapidated (and, might I say, passé—Dog-Puke Yellow is so 2003) apartment complex just in time to see the guy who raped me raise a vintage 1978 telephone—worth more than the adjacent faux-suede couch—in the air with every intention of smashing the silver underbelly into his brother’s frontal lobe. Now, far be it for me to interfere in family affairs, but when I saw a nine millimeter sitting on the carpet, it just looked so shiny, I had to pick it up. I’d never used one of those things before—besides that one time down by stand 49 when we wanted to play spin the bottle, but no body had a bottle and then Sharon thought the nickel-plated 22 caliber was a sex-toy prop when she spun and landed on Suzie…but that’s another story—anyway…where was I? Oh yeah: and then Rainbow Brite killed the evil wizards with—OW! What the hell you do that for, Summer? Oh…Oh! Right! So I picked up the gun and this little red dot was showing, so I pointed it at the ceiling and fired. Just to scare everyone. The thing was that I forgot that I took some of my recently deceased step-father’s lithium that day, and what I thought was the ceiling was really this guy, Trey’s right lung. Yeah. And then he starts bleeding everywhere and we have to think fast so we rip the carpet up and chop up the concrete and mix some more and bury him under the living room. It was all very Edgar-Allen-Poe-ish. Just kidding. The cops came because of that little red dot. They took Trey to the ER and we all went with them. Summer and I looked ALL AROUND for Noah Wyle and George Clooney, but someone said they were both at this Betty Ford Clinic or something. And I was like, Whatever, I know Noah is still here! His last day isn’t until next week! Hello!! But they were all total bitches. So we left. I was totally trippin’ and exhausted after all of that, so Ryan and Seth and Summer and me went down to the Peach Pit to chill for a bit. There is this one waiter there name like Ian Z. Ring or something who is totally hot and I would so let him touch my boobs. The only thing is that I think his “waitering” is a little fake. I mean you can totally tell that he isn’t really mixing the malts, and when he asks for your order he sounds like he has a mouth full of ice cubes. I think the owner should move him over to Brady’s Pub in Salem—they’re all terrible waiters there. The bartender at the Pit is the coolest too! His name is Luke and he hasn’t aged since 1996. He hooks up crazy free drinks and never even cards me. It’s like he totally knows what it feels like to be living with an insatiable thirst for ice-cold vodka. (I can tell you something else of his I’d like to imbibe…) So, that was…what?...like May 19? Yeah. Then I woke up on the roof of Sandy’s car around July 22nd or so. My head hurt like hell, but that might have been because my underwear was wrapped around my ears. The rest of the summer up till now has been pretty much like every other summer: the police set up this “surveillance center” in our cul-de-sac; Mrs. Cohen breaks out of rehab and runs throughout the neighborhood in nothing but a bathrobe, stopping at every dark-haired, white, man over the age of 35 to throw open her chemise and shriek, “LOOK WHAT THE CAT DRAGGED IN!” (it gets old after the first dozen times or so); my friends Jessica and Kristin and me sit on the beach and drink peach schnapps and talk about what a freakin bitch L.C. is and how Stephen is a dick and how Talan is totally gay even though he won’t admit it; some phony Deputy District Attorney is a Peeping Tom and watches Ryan and I do it like clockwork around 3pm, before high tea. Oh, and Trey is still in a coma and the cops are running out of time to catch the true killer. Cops are silly. Thanks! Harbor High Football Rules!
TOCU: Fascinating! Ok, question number two: Have you ever—
MC: That was five.
TOCU: That was one.
MC: Five.
TOCU: (Interviewer reviews his notes) Listen, if you count “How are you?” it’s still four.
REALLY HOT PUBLICIST: You listen, Marissa Cooper does not count to five wrong.
TOCU: Rachel, I have four more questions!
RHP: This interview is over!
(Struggling noises: mostly grunting and slapping…one crash…a faint clicking noise…noise subsides to heavy breathing…)
MC: Wait! I have some whipped cream in my purse!
(Tape recorder goes dead.)