Coffee and Jazz

It’s late on Thursday evening, and I’m listening to jazz on the internet while sipping coffee. I’m going to blame Claudette. She tipped me off about a YouTube channel filled with coffee house jazz, and I fell straight down an impressively deep internet rabbit hole.

Who knew I liked jazz? Does this mean I’m getting old? My late father in law had a huge collection of jazz music – we went with him on river cruises with jazz bands on-board several times over the years.

Jazz reminds me of Ally McBeal. I think perhaps it’s the 90s Vonda Shepard back-catalogue that’s been lurking in my subconscious recently – secretly burrowing it’s way in via a steady stream of Spotify sleepy afternoon playlists.

In my mind – no doubt heavily influenced by movies, television shows, and old vinyl records heard from a distance – jazz is the soundtrack for New York, rain, wistfulness, and melancholy. The music of broken dreams, sadness, and loss.

I like melancholy. I like peace and quiet. I like music you don’t really have to concentrate on – that’s just kind of there in the background – tugging at an emotion, or a feeling. An old friend that’s in the room with you, but you don’t have to make conversation with.


It’s almost 1am again. This late-night head emptying is turning into a habit.


Ignoring the Tomorrowness

May the fifth be with you. Doesn’t sound quite as good, does it. At the time of writing it’s eight minutes past midnight, so I suppose it’s already tomorrow. The sixth. Perhaps I’ll ignore the tomorrowness of it all, and pretend it’s still tonight.

I have a somewhat important conference call tomorrow morning. I should really be asleep already – recharging my batteries in order to appear somewhat cogent while sipping coffee in front of the laptop webcam.

The draw of the internet rabbit hole is strong. Oh, the hours I could spend reading about subjects of little consequence to me. Last night I found myself reading about the Trinity nuclear tests at midnight. I’m not sure why.

There seems to be an event horizon in the internet rabbit hole, beyond which all manner of interesting yet unknown distractions lurk.


Remembering the Rubbish

Tomorrow doesn’t start until I wake up in the morning. The clock might have ticked past midnight a few minutes ago, but I’m going to claim it’s still “tonight” – “tomorrow morning” doesn’t arrive for several hours.

Welcome to my ever-so-slightly illogical mind.

I’m playing the age old game of “staying up late to avoid tomorrow”, which is ridiculous because there’s nothing I’m particularly avoiding. Perhaps I’m just holding on to today – making the day last longer – enjoying the last few minutes in front of the keyboard emptying my head.

I’m trying to warm back up after venturing outside in the dark to put the bins out – the refuse collectors pass our house in the morning. Have you ever tried to drag a wheelie bin down your driveway in the dead of night? They transform themselves into mobile speaker stacks – amplifying every bump in the driveway into a cacophony of crashing and crunching.

I sometimes wonder if I’m the only person that puts the rubbish out at midnight (or rather, that only remembers at midnight). I’ve never seen anybody else tiptoeing around while dragging the bin down the driveway. Perhaps the rest of the world is far more organised? I don’t know.


It’s getting late. I should probably go brush my teeth.