san francisco

A.V. Club: Ferris Wheel Confessions

in: viewing room

But seriously.

I’ve spent the last year changing zip codes and time zones every few months, and, while it’s been something of an adventure, it’s nice to have roots somewhere. Atlanta, for all intents and purposes, is that place. Sure, all of my stuff is tossed in haphazardly labeled boxes or strewn in loosely tied dry cleaning bags, and my father has converted my bedroom into his walk-in closet, but it’s the only place I’ve lived in for any substantial period of time. Plus, there’s this real fun (and real, real hairy) guy who likes to bury his head into the couch beside me – and he likes to snuggle, though sometime I hope he’ll return the head rubs – and there are some of the normal creature comforts.

But, as all of you are surely aware, I just finished a three-month tenure in San Francisco, Calif., that bounty of wealth, fog and endless shorelines. In three plus years in Chicago, I found a true sense of home; granted, I had the built-in social networks afforded by being enrolled in a university, but Chicago was, too, a city I could master (and one I cannot wait to return to, but that bucket list is forthcoming). San Francisco was slower to warm to; I fell instantly in love with the city and its gorgeous views, with the rolling hills and the truly stellar burritos, but I didn’t quite learn to call it home. My love affair was brief, if only because I am not yet in the professional and/or emotional position to be a true San Franciscan. It’s, I’ve found, a late-20s and beyond sort of town, whose inhabitants need flexible incomes to be young and in love. I was a poor, if incredibly happy, editorial intern. My time there was reformative, giving me the strength and drive to write again, rebuilding my self-confidence and sculpting my calves (you should seriously see these things; they’re basically registered weapons), but it wasn’t home.

Nevertheless, I left with a cavalcade of exceptional memories; I can’t begin to chronicle them here, but I’m sure you’ll read them woven into future essays. For now, I’ll leave you with a couple of the ones caught on tape.

In October, I won a pair of Treasure Island Music Festival weekend passes from the Bay Bridged by submitting a reworked version of “Patch Adams” starring The Hold Steady. The festival was incredible and gave me glimpses into sets from The Hold Steady, Death Cab, The Head and the Heart, Stephen Malkmus & the Jicks and The Naked and Famous, among so, so many more. But the crowning, uh, achievement, I guess, of the weekend was landing a role in the Ferris Wheel Confessions, brought to the festival jointly by the Bay Bridged and Audyssey. Basically, if you agree to participate, and if you’re one of the few who sign up immediately, you get a free ride on the 60-foot Ferris Wheel; during your ten or so minute ride, you’re asked a handful of questions about your musical proclivities (the more embarrassing, the better), and they capture your responses on film. Post-festival, they mash together all the best moments and release two videos, a teaser and a longer form. Not to brag or whatevs, but I’m featured pretty prominently in both, embedded below. Look out for the girl with the bright, neon yellow hoodie, with hair all tousled (sex-ay) and glasses askew. Gents, the line starts here.

Ferris Wheel Confessions, The Teaser:

Ferris Wheel Confession, The Extended Edition:

About a Girl: West Coastin’

on: the girl

Hello, readers, stumblers, ex-spouses and prospective employers!

I’ve been blogging so sporadically that I fear I’ve lost even the small readership I’d managed to build (thanks in great part to all of the murmurings of a “Veronica Mars” movie – shame on you, Warner Bros.), and I think a reintroduction may be necessary.

I’ve been living on the West Coast for nearly three months, and I can’t begin to express the adoration I feel for this place. It really must be in the air here, for I can’t imagine being anywhere else. This experience, and the incredible internship I’ve had since I got out here, has been immensely transformative. I fell back in love with journalism, and I wrote nearly everyday, whether in short quips, Gchats, drafts or notes home. I now get compliments on my svelte-lier bod (#humblebrag) from passerby cyclists, and that’s because the Frisco hills have shaped my rockin’ calves. I think, in truth, I regained my swagger, and it’s been a pretty rollickin’ good time.

Next month, well, really, in a few short weeks, I’ll be headed back home to Atlanta for the holidays. My mother has promised a full-scale turkey dinner to repent for my solo status this Thanksgiving. And, soon after, I’ll head back to Evanston for what I truly hope will be my last Chicago winter. Then, it’s off on a new journalistic journey. I will hopefully be purchasing a brand spankin’ new laptop in the next month, so I plan to open 2012 with regular posting. For now, a bit about me; I wrote this during my freshman year of college, and it somehow still rings true:

Coco “President Dancefloor” Keevan (c.1990-present) comes from Georgia, where the peaches grow. She is an actual student at Northwestern University, studying, much to her chagrin, the fine art of journalism. Her focus is on nothing and everything at once, with a concentration in John Cusack, made- for-TV movies and dinosaurs. In 2000, Coco wowed an audience of ten with her dissertation on the sensual powers of marinara sauce. She has a penchant for appropriate musical handclaps and the Culkin brothers, but she abhors the New York Yankees and geographically-named bands. She is oft-compared to a raven-haired Paris Hilton, and she hopes to star in a film or television series with a one-dimensional, awkward Michael Cera. Coco’s verbose nature often gets her into trouble in academics and common society, as she occasionally loses control of her vowel movements and practices the terrible talent of word vomit. Coco has aspirations of one day claiming Mars in the name of Rock’n’Roll. If that doesn’t quite pan out, she’ll settle for a cushy cubicle job at Rolling Stone, eating green M & Ms from the riders of famous musicians and relishing the sweet free merchandise that comes as a perk.

Welcome back to what I hope will be the best incarnation of The Girl With the Dunce Cap yet; I think there may be a bit of a makeover and perhaps even a content overhaul. It should be back with some degree of regularity; I hope you’ll keep reading.

xo,co

The Sunshine House, Or Musical Retirement

in: the grave

I like a lot of songs. And I just so happen to really, truly like a lot of bad songs. Glimpse my iPod on BART, or use the elliptical next to mine at the gym, and you’re sure to catch some fairly embarrassing things. I admit to still occasionally partaking in a little pop-punk (ask me about that rediscovery sometime) and even some pure ’60s sugar, and I find that, sometimes, the unsubstantial can be comforting. But not every song has redeeming qualities. Some are fraught with disquieting memories, and others are so bad they hit bad-good and simply wrapped back around. And those are the ones I’ve finally begun saying my good-byes to. That’s where my newest feature, The Sunshine House, comes into play.

The Sunshine House, which is a nod to the daycare center of the same overly cheery name, is my way of bidding songs a proper adieu. There are more than enough tracks to serve as proper fodder for this sort of feature, and I think it can make for fun, short entries.

To kick things off, I created a mix on 8tracks of twenty-five love songs that are ripe for retirement.

The Sunshine House Collective: track listing below (click on link to listen to mix via 8tracks)

I’ve spent about ten years composing calculated mix CDs for the boys for whom I harbor intense crushes, and I’ve learned there are only so many times Ben Gibbard can coo that he’ll follow me into the dark without it becoming insincere. Certain songs get old fast. Don’t get me wrong – I have intense relationships with a number of love songs, include these tracks I’ve included on The Sunshine House Collective, from “This is the Sweetest Little Song” by Butch Walker and the Let’s-Go-Out-Tonites to Wilco’s “I’m the Man Who Loves You.” And not all of these songs are bad or overwrought or overplayed, but love songs are a complicated sort. Like every girl shaped by cinema, I form unbreakable associations between people and songs, and so many of these tracks are forever tainted by these associations. “Treehouse” was Duck’s song, while “Thirteen,” “Sixteen, Maybe Less” and “First Day of My Life” were all about being sixteen and positively infatuated with the first boy I ever thought I loved. Some love songs are timeless; “Everlong” will never lose its luster, while the early Beatles pop songs will always perfectly describe the careful build-up of a love story. But some of these tracks can never be applied to another chapter in my romantic life. I’ve liked a lot of boys, and a lot of songs are headed to this musical graveyard, but, for now, we can get started with these twenty-five. Suffice to say, these tracks won’t be making any mixes for the foreseeable future.

The the line-up’s below. I can’t promise I’ll be back in full force just yet; I know I’ve been away a long time, but I’m sans computer currently, and it’s hard to promise regular blog posts without one. I am living in San Francisco currently, and that’s looking like a more permanent thing, so hopefully I’ll be able to carve out a more regular post schedule soon. But, for now:

The Sunshine House Collective:

  1. “Every Thug Needs A Lady” – Alkaline Trio
  2. “This Is The Sweetest Little Song” – Butch Walker & The Let’s-Go-Out-Tonites
  3. “The Tension and the Terror” – Straylight Run
  4. “The Scientist” – Coldplay
  5. “Mixtape” – Butch Walker
  6. “Intoxicating” – David Crowder Band
  7. “I’m A Fool” – American Hi-Fi
  8. “Thirteen” – Ben Kweller
  9. “16, Maybe Less” – Iron & Wine/ Calexico
  10. “I Will Follow You Into The Dark” – Death Cab For Cutie
  11. “Treehouse” – I’m From Barcelona
  12. “First Day of My Life” – Bright Eyes
  13. “This Year’s Love” – David Gray
  14. “The Luckiest” – Ben Folds
  15. “Calling You” – Blue October
  16. “Happy Together” – The Turtles
  17. “The Promise” – When In Rome
  18. “More Than a Feeling” – Boston
  19. “I Want You to Want Me” – Cheap Trick
  20. “Everytime We Touch” – Cascada
  21. “So Contagious” – Acceptance
  22. “Crash Into Me” – Dave Matthews Band
  23. “Oh, It’s Love” – hellogoodbye
  24. “I’m the Man Who Loves You” – Wilco
  25. “Beating Heart Baby” – Head Automatica

About a Girl: Shiny, Shiny Pants and Bleach-Blonde Hair

on: tap, on: the girl

Unlock my body and move myself to dance
Moving warm liquid, flowing blowing glass

I miss the innocence I’ve known
Playing KISS covers, beautiful and stoned

Sometimes, y’know, I feel like there are things I’ve got to tell y’all. I have to wax poetic to my audience of me. Or not. Sometimes I just feel like talking.

It’s been a weird year. In some ways, I’ve had a maturity growth spurt, but mostly I just feel like I’m in middle school all over again. I’m thirteen but foolishly entrusted with a driver’s license and the legal ability to purchase alcohol. Some things don’t change; I’ve spent my summer biking around, gorging myself on chocolate, trying to read Vonnegut‘s entire bibliography (again, middle school flashback), pretending I am thinking about going to the gym, when I know all too well I’ll just watch another episode of “Mad Men” on Netflix Instant. I’ve listened to more Ben Kweller than I should likely admit, though the (very talented) musician hasn’t released a new album that I’ve heard in full since 2006.


Ben Kweller, “Thirteen”
(See also: “Sundress“)

But, some things have changed. Like, for the first time since Matt Hester*, I don’t want to be anyone’s girlfriend. Not Ducky’s. Not The Chemist’s (despite the insistence of everyone else, I really just want to keep being his best friend). Not the unnamed, straight San Francisco gentleman with no face who I occasionally fantasize will sweep me off my feet come fall. I don’t want the responsibility of caring for or about anyone else, and I don’t want the pleasure of shedding ten thousand tears over stupid arguments. And, yes. Right now, and for the foreseen future, being someone’s girlfriend would be a burden. I’m still (slowly but hopefully surely) getting me together again.

I’m not ready to buckle down to be anyone but me, as cheesy as that may sound. But seriously. Academically and professionally and socially, I’ve been a bit of a dolt, and I am desperately ready for a fresh (homeless, exciting and influential) start in San Francisco come fall. And Charlie Conway came back to me! I’m taking that as a major league sign that things are lookin’ up.

Here’s the long n’ short of it all: I’m exorcising all of the bitchiness from my life. That’s my major solution. I’m clipping my tongue and watching the sarcasm; I’m putting the stops on friendships that do little more than antagonize or patronize me; and I’m ridding myself of the habits, possessions and tendencies that propel me to behave like an egotistical, superficial, money-grubbing Queen Bee.

So, that’s that. I’m pleasingly moving forward. I’m listening to a lot of Sha Sha. I’m preparing for San Francisco. I’m refusing to be any man’s Robin. And I’m generally behavin’.

‘Cept when I wear my bikini to the Wal-Mart and they ask me to leave.

Happy August, friends.

*Matt Hester, if you’re reading this, thanks for coming to my cosmic bowling party in seventh grade. And for the brown and white stuffed dog from Kohl’s. He’s doing well.

About a Girl: New Shoes

on: the girl

“hello new shoes, bye bye blues.”
– paolo nutini, “new shoes”

So many exciting things to write about this week! There’s been a lot going on in my life – though the weather in Evanston is still pretty treacherous (if warm) – and a lot of joy and thrills, but I’m making an actual effort to regularly blog this time around.

Some tidbits on me/life in general:

  • Red Sox sweep their series against the Yankees earlier this week! And the Bravesare holding strong at just above .500, especially after a win tonight against the Phillies. Gotta love that sort of success, even if the Phillies are whooping us in the NL East.

    San Francisco, CA

  • I found out Wednesday I will be placed in beautiful San Francisco, California, for my JR this fall! I’ll be working at San Francisco magazine for three months beginning in mid-September, and I’m truly thrilled to begin. There’s so much to do in SF, and I’m hoping to hit up AT&T Park, the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market (y’know, the one at the Embarcadero), Haight, the sea lions, etc. It’s surely going to be a whirlwind experience, and I’ll be damned if I waste a single second of it.
  • I’ve become a serious fashionista in the last few weeks or so, cleaning my closet a bit (throwing out some still-gross pukey flats and donating some beloved and still fashionable Gap T-shirts) and repopulating it with some pretty exceptional (if secondhand) designer threads. I’ve picked up a little Vera Neumann, some Kate Spade and, of course, Marc Jacobs and Betsey Johnson. I’ve been doing a good bit of clearance rack diving at Anthropologie, Gap, J. Crew and even Macy’s, where I picked up a gorgeous pair of navy Marc Fisher pumps. I’ve given my wallet a brand new policy – I only purchase clothes which I will want to wear to the office in the future. That means no more Threadless tees, no matter how hilarious, and a depleted Converse collection, though I like to believe that I can still wear Chuck Taylors in the real world. All in all, I think I’m really becoming a clothes horse – and I love it.
  • I chopped off all of my hair. Reinvention. It hasn’t been this short since…well, ever.
  • It’s formal season here at Northwestern, and, though I’ve all but removed myself from my chapter to claim allegiance to a particular fraternity, I attended both my sorority formal and my favorite fraternity’s formal this weekend. The latter was at the Willis (formerly Sears) Tower, the 66th floor, and it was a truly gorgeous venue. I had a blast, and the view was absolutely exceptional. I do love college, Asher.
  • Northwestern’s Dillo Day is next weekend. B.O.B. was announced as the night headliner months ago, while both the New Pornographers  and Chiddy Bang were announced last week as the early and late afternoon performers.

    The Mighty Ducks' Charlie Conway

  • And, finally, my brand new (birthday) bicycle is here and built and totally perfect. It’s a smokin’ hot Bianchi hybrid, and I just want to keep it in my bed and cherish it always. It’s got a built-in bike light in the seat and a sweet streamlined style. I’m calling in Charlie Conway after my reignited passion for the Mighty Ducks trilogy. I’m rewatching D2 as I type this, and I’d forgotten how great (slash terrible slash slightly racist slash totally jingoistic) this film is. But I seriously do love this movie. All of ’em. Even 3.

    The Bianchi Milano Citta, my brand new baby

  • I took my bike for a nice ride along the lake tonight. There was a storm a-brewin’, and it was a bit eerie. The waves were lapping, and there were birds flying really low at the shore. It was indescribably beautiful.

Okay, that was a heck of a lot. I’ll be back tomorrow with a new mix (I promise!), and some other fun stuff, so check back then. Happy living!

xoxococo