MILEAGE

Mileage, I call it. When you're surprised by what you hear, where you hear it, what you see and where. . .the signposts of life, the hawk flying close along next to you when you drive, veering up and off to a perch with a nod, letting you know he's there and guiding you along. We all have the 'moments' when things click, go straight down smooth track like ball-bearings on oiled rails, when someone's lovely eyes pierce through a smoky room and land on yours, and she doesn't look away.
When you hear Miles Davis in a store, in a little corner among the hip hop beats and the reggae jams that patter around the jeans and the Sketchers and larger-than-live cutout underwear models in black and white that are, well, embarassing, there's Miles, and pianist Red Garland doing Ahmad's Blues, largely a looping noirish-piano tune (actually, no Miles at all on this cut, from 'Workin' With The Miles Davis Quintet, 1956 on Prestige) that is unmistakable. So I stopped in the middle of the Alfani 'hip' section, smooth cotton t-shirts at half price, silk bowling shirts and wanna-be Tommy Bahama look-alikes, and truly, hip-hop and Reggae tunes coming down just an aisle or two away, but there they were, from a speaker or two, Red, jammin' it on the ivory, I mean really doin' it, right there in Macy's and before I could break out the American Express card and make a fool of myself buying every damn black T and scruffed-faded jeans and bowling shirts and calling to make an appointment to have my hair frosted, I just listened, to the American musical hero's quintet. Miles at Macy's. Last time I heard Miles in a store it was Barnes and Noble, and they sell Miles, of course, so no real Mileage there. But Macy's? Montclair Plaza? Come on, now, that's real, baby, Miles is the real deal, among the men's fragrances and bright blue dress shirts with electric blue ties, hell, I couldn't even FIND the Ralph Lauren Polo section--I think it's gone, and those shirts fit so good--but Red was getting down, romping 1956-STYLE, I mean Prestige baby, in Macy's. . .eleven thirty AM after plugging the Writer's Cafe event I'm co-hosting at the Epicenter in Rancho with twelve hugely successful LA Noir mystery and baseball writers, after hooking up for coffee with one of the beautiful ladies from the Q's staff I ran into when I picked up some posters, I end up at Macy's, the quintessential American store, with the great American jazzman of the 'cool', the Miles Man, for a little extra mileage. It was fine..it was fine..