When I told you we had a lot to catch up on, I was serious. It's been months since I popped into San Francisco on a random Wednesday in June to see Matt Corby play at the Fillmore.
I rushed out of work with my backpack and a quick snack so I could hop on the 3 o'clock train to the city to meet up with some friends from High School. These two lovely ladies had been my concert buddies for years. We sat outside the shittiest venue in Sacramento many times waiting for shows, trekked to San Francisco a few times as teenagers, and we once spent a day in Six Flags waiting to see our favorite artists. I had texted them the week prior to see if they wanted to catch the Australian prince live in their city. Clearly the answer was yes, and after we grabbed dinner we headed to the venue.
Let me tell you a secret friends, at concerts I always, always try to get close to the stage by moving to either side of the stage. If you get there early enough, you can usually get pretty close to the artists. It's no use trying to push your way through the center, those folks have that area locked in. You're not moving much, and if you push through you may become public enemy #1. This method has proved solid for countless shows. Trust me.
Just as he was the first time I saw him, Matt Corby continues to have the voice of an angel, and the stage presence of a scared spelling bee champion. To his credit, I think he's all about the process of the music, and doesn't necessarily care about live shows. He's not dull in the slightest, but he doesn't inherently rule the stage the way some artists do. But musically he can't be faulted. His voice is rich, and the way he can belt it out is astounding. He even broke out the flute solo. If you ever have the chance, I highly suggest catching one of his shows.
After the show we headed back to my friend's place, and stayed up late catching up on all the life we had missed.
Luckily for me, I work for an amazing company that doesn't mind if I take a day off to spend sometime in the city. As my friends all woke up and headed to work early, I rolled out of bed (well, their futon) and snapped some pictures of their beautiful, super Instagrammable apartment. Then I headed out for the day's adventure.
My first stop was the Mill on Divisadero. I was told to order the toast but failed all those who told me so, and just ordered a latte. And boy, oh boy, was it a delicious latte. I sat outside for a while before the San Francisco chill got to me. I crawled back into the warmth of the coffee shop to one of their picturesque marble tables. After taking an obscene amount of photos (I mean... obviously), I sipped on my coffee and tried to figure out some semblance of a life plan. Clearly that's working out well for me.... jokes on jokes folks. Though I did hear the older couple next to me remark on how everyone in the coffee shop was wearing black and on their phones. Am I ashamed to admit I was definitely one of those people? Nope, not in the least. All black, always.
Slightly caffeinated and bemused, I moved on to another coffee shop whose name escapes me. But they did have a great nitro brew. I tried to finish reading Girl Boss, but quickly realized that the significant amount of coffee, and severe lack of food was probably not in my best interest. Off to Herbivore I went (s/o to Tanya who found this gem with me many years ago before a Mumford and Sons concert). After downing their delicious vegan eats, I headed to the newly redesigned MoMA to cry about art, per my usual lifestyle choices. I mean, they have a giant Mark Rothko. It's both unnerving and calming at the same time. I basically sat in front of it for a good half an hour in happiness.
The rest of the museum was stunning. The walls were covered in some of my favorite artists. Each floor brought new delights, and some funny sights. I saw a squad of guys with massive cameras getting those Instagram shots (I feel you boys, I feel you). After exploring for a good few hours, I sadly had a train to catch. I powered walked those 20 or so blocks to the bus station, only stopping at the most glorious marble atrium on One Samsome Street. Then it was back to Sacramento I went.
