YOU AIN'T GONNA LEARN WHAT YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW

Out The Window *

 

 

“Mommy, I can see the whole entire world.”

 

 

 

 

 

I hear those words coming from the row behind me, on my cross-country flight. 

 

 

 

 

“As you live your life --- it appears to be anarchy and chaos, a ton of random non-related events.    They all smash into each other causing this situation,  or that situation.  It’s totally overwhelming, and you say, “What is going on with my life how did I end up here, on this path?”    Later, when you look back at it, it looks like a finely crafted novel.  But, at the time, it sure doesn’t feel that way….and that’s life in a nutshell, we are all building our own novels of life – with constant adding and subtracting.”    Joe Walsh. 

 

 

 

At that moment – in the morning, the entire world was outside of the window, precisely right in my seat --  8D, leaving the ground at Newark Airport, en route to LA.

 

 

 

 

The little boy said gleefully to his Mom as he glanced out from his window seat  – sitting in the row behind me, as the plane ascended into the sky……

 

 

 

 

 

“Mommy, I can see the whole entire world.”

 

 

 

 

 

The whole world, for a 5-year-old boy was in his view – right out his window, from his seat , as the wheels of our plane left the ground.

 

 

 

 

I’m jaded somewhat from experiences, religion, politics – and people.   We all are tainted a bit, to one extent or another from life's experience and mileage.   I’m a bit sullen on some folks, and how they relate and treat others.

 

 

 

It sways day to day – from belief, to despair.  

 

 

 

I can’t sleep some nights, --- and one night I found myself listening to an infomercial on the radio, while lying awake in bed at 2:32am --  extolling the virtues of Fish Oil pills.

 

 

 

 

So the next day I go and buy them at the vitamin shop. 

 

 

 

 

Then, a month later I read in the newspaper that Fish Oil causes problems in men, and the Fish Oil pills I bought are bad for you. 

 

 

 

 

So, I stop taking Fish Oil. 

 

 

 

 

I like Roger Waters, and I go see him many times in concert over the years.

 

 

 

 

His creativity is amazing.

 

 

 

 

 

I buy his albums.

 

 

 

I go to see him in concert , and he shows the Star of David, super imposed on a pig – then, overlaid with a swastika.

 

 

 

I chalk it up to creativity.

 

 

 

 

Then, I see over the past few years --- he wades into total anti Semitism – in a veiled attempt at being “anti Settlement”  -- or Pro Palestinian.    He is on a campaign to “Boycott the State of Israel” and for the countries of the world -- to  treat Israel, the same way South Africa was treated during apartheid. 

 

He wants Israel isolated.   

 

 

 

He wants Israel to be a pariah country until it no longer exists, and is destroyed as a Jewish State. 

 

 

 

Roger Waters is only Anti-Israel, he does not focus on Islamic repression across the globe -- (he neglects to talk about the treatment of minorities in Gaza or the way Hamas rules,  or treats others) – which to me is completely anti Semitic. Simply put, when you want the only Democratic government in the region to kill itself, in an effort to please you, through giving up territory that will be used to kill – then yes, you are 100% an anti Semite.  Wear it proudly Roger – it fits you well. 

 

 

So, I stop listening to Roger Waters.   I wont buy any more of his work, and I remove his art from my collection of music.

 

 

 

I stop Roger Waters.

 

 

 

A friend disappointed me recently. 

 

 

 

I stopped talking to him.

 

 

 

 

I’m sitting on a plane – and I watch across the aisle. a man pour his 10^th small bottle of vodka into his plastic cup.

 

 

 

What is he thinking about, as he is staring into the back of the blue clothed seat in front of him?   He hasn’t moved a muscle other than to pour his drink, and then he only moves, when he pulls the tiny bottle from his bag, and pours it into his cup. 

 

 

 

What’s he thinking?

 

I imagine a story about him.   I wonder if he is thinking that he should quit drinking, because it has not helped his life.   

 

 

He should.   Those small bottles are keeping him from being great, and productive --- I tell myself.  

 

 

He stares.  Arms folded.

 

 

 

I wonder if he is angry.

 

 

 

 

I just watched the movie “The History of The Eagles, Part One”  I have 16,000 songs that I own – and there no Eagles songs in my collection of music. 

 

 

I have Joe Walsh solo works, The James Gang – but, no Eagles.

 

 

 

I’m adding them to my collection as soon as this plane lands.   It’s hard not to like and respect them once you watch their history – and creativity.

 

 

 

I’m adding the Eagles.   

 

 

 

I watch my children turn into young adults.

 

 

I can’t stop them  (watching them mature and no longer be the little kid I want them to be forever)  – it’s hard, but I’m starting to embrace it.

 

 

 

I try to add my ability to bite my lip, stand down – watch them grow, and stand back so I can in the front row --- of their show of life. 

 

 

 

“Mommy, I can’t see the world anymore – it’s all clouds.”

 

 

 

 

Fish Oil, and Roger Waters  - eventually give way to The Eagles, and my daughters growing up ---- and then the sky becomes clear.

 

 

 

 

And, I can see my world.  

My Concert T-Shirt *

 

“Hey, want to go and see a concert?   It’s at Middlesex County College.”

 

 

My friend Bill Vitti lived across town from me.  We went to separate elementary schools, but for 8 years, we went to the same day camp.

 

 

Bill was an only child, who was not a good athlete, and was often thought of as a loner.

 

 

We were polar opposites in almost every way, and perhaps that is why I liked him – and became friends with him at a young age, precisely because we were so different from each other.   

 

 

“Why are you friends with him?” – kids would ask me.

 

 

But, I really liked him, being that he was an only child --- combined with the fact that he had great toys at his house, and he was a deep thinker who I always thought was more mature than many of my other pals.

 

 

 

The calls would go something like this, from him to me----

 

 

 

“Hey, do you want to go see Commander Cody band at Middlesex?”

 

 

 

“Hey, do you want to go see the Marshall Tucker Band?”

 

 

 

His Dad drove us, and we went in.

 

 

Truth is, I never heard of any of the bands I was seeing at the time – nor had I ever heard any of their songs.   I just enjoyed an adventure – and so did Bill.   We were wide eyed 12 year olds……

 

 

 

Bill’s Dad was a middle-aged man, short in stature who worked in the “Waste Management” Business.   He was in the business of collecting and disposing of garbage from many of the municipalities, surrounding our town.

 

 

 

As I got in his car to go see a band called The Outlaws, I said – “Mr. Vitti, thanks for driving us, I’ve never heard of this band – can you tell me about their music?”

 

 

He responded, “I’ve got no clue – I just want to see live music with my son.”

 

 

 

I should have known then and there something was weird, but my internal radar did not go off, as I was on an adventure with Bill.

 

 

 

Whenever we walked into a concert, Bill’s Dad always went off on his own, and left us to ourselves – he said, “I will meet you right here when the show is over.”

 

 

 

He always came back at the end of the night – with 2 concert t-shirts, one for me, and one for Bill.

 

 

 

 

Molly Hatchet, The Outlaws, Marshall Tucker – all different nights, over a 24 month period in the early 80’s.  He took us to them all.....

 

 

 

The first few concerts were good, although loud.

 

 

 

After the 5^th concert (I think The Outlaws) I was more focused and involved with, watching the crowd – than I was the music itself.

 

 

 

The people became my entertainment.

 

 

 

I stood with Bill off to the side of the stage.   I was people watching – watching the fans take in the music of the act – of which I knew nothing about.

 

 

 

 

I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

 

 

 

A short man in a white t-shirt, giving someone a hard time.

 

 

 

He had a flashlight.

 

 

 

I saw him flash a badge.

 

 

 

I saw him take a plastic bag from a person he was shining the light on. 

 

 

Then, I watched him some more.

 

 

He kept repeating the same act, hassling people who were smoking weed.

 

 

It was Mr. Vitti – Bill’s Dad.   It was Bill’s dad scaring the heck out of people. 

 

 

 

He would walk up to people, flash a badge – shine a light in their eyes, and take their drugs from them.  

 

 

 

I saw him do it no less than 10 times – in a one hour period.

 

 

 

I saw the faces of nervous teenagers as they handed over their little plastic bag, to someone who represented himself as a police officer.

 

 

 

 

Mr. Vitti had no interest in music, his only interest was taking his son and I to a concert that he knew nothing about ---- all with the intention of stealing drugs.

 

 

 

He pretended he was a cop.  

 

 

 

I watched as a 13 year old kid in utter amazement and disbelief.

 

 

 

When we got in the car, he emptied his pockets into the glove compartment, and it was a ton of bags that I watched him stuff in – pocket after pocket full of little baggies jammed into the glove compartment.   All acquired that night.....

 

 

 

He was a thief.   He was a drug Dad.

 

 

 

Bill knew I knew – and he was embarrassed for what I saw. 

 

 

 

 

That night was the last time I ever spoke to, or saw Bill and his Dad.   I never returned his calls after that, nor did I respond when he would call and ask my Mom if I could see a show with him.  I stopped going to the day camp we both attended.

 

 

Our friendship, and communication ended…….

 

 

 

It ended, in the backseat of a Chevy Impala, as Mr. Vitti dropped me off --- I shut the door on Bill and his Dad – and knew I would never go to a concert with them again.

 

 

 

 

We are all surrounded by Mr. Vitti’s – people who want to steal from us.

 

 

But, they don’t want our stash, or our drugs.

 

 

They want energy.

 

 

They want attention.

 

 

They want to shine a light in your face and say, “Gimme what you got.”

 

 

I’ve experienced it.  So have you.

 

A few years ago, I was introduced to a VC by a mutual friend – he asked me a ton of questions, (sensitive questions feigning interest in investing in my company) – then went out and less than a week later invested in a competitor.

 

 

Another time, I was introduced to a key executive at a major media company by a board member.   I shared the in’s and out’s of my business --- and a month later he opened up his own company, copying and literally lifting my ideas – both old and new concepts about our roadmap.....

 

 

They sting.

 

 

 

I’ve learned to deal with thieves.   Energy thieves who need to rob from me, to feed their empty souls.

 

 

 

I’ve lived and learned --- and truth is,  I would not change much of what, and how I trust and work with people…..

 

 

 

I’m just more aware.

 

 

 

Now, I look at (the thievery) as a badge of honor.   I was watching a panel, where someone used the term “BCP.”

 

 

 

 

We coined that in this industry I'm in – now, I hear others using the terms, and literally using a phrase we coined --- in an effort we used to build a company, and explain our technology.

 

 

 

We got no attribution.   I don’t expect it.   But, it still stings. 

 

 

 

And, I smile.

 

 

 

Years ago I cringed.

 

 

I was shocked as a kid watching Mr. Vitti steal drugs from people at a concert.  

 

 

I’m old enough that I’m no longer shocked or saddened when the thief comes knocking at my door……

 

 

I simply can close my office door, smile and turn on music.

 

 

“Inspiration move me brightly.”

 

 

In some weird way, Mr. Vitti -- as he stole drugs, did more to teach me morals and ethics, than any teacher or classroom…..

 

 

And, I thank a thief, Mr. Vitti.

 

 

It’s plain old weird to thank a thief – but, after all, Mr. Vitti did buy me some really vintage concert t-shirts.

 

 

Or, did he steal them?

 

 

I'll never know.