Metallica were my teenage idols. If it were not for them, I would probably still be here to listen to Backstreetboys ... (Aarrghh). I fell in love with them instantly when I saw the video on MTV Unforgiven II (yes, MTV!) And since then my life has changed. In short, in short, to meet Metallica for me was like meeting my gods on earth. Above the age of 20. In the winter of 2003 were playing in Bologna, my city. It was the first time I saw them in concert all over them - I had been to see them at the Gods of Metal and the Heineken Jammin Festival - and for the opportunity I had made the advance from my ragalo Christmas, a digital camera, with the intention of filming the concert and then be able to drool over James sitting on the couch. (To give you an idea of my reverence for this man, when at 17 I went on vacation in California and landed at the airport of San Francisco - a city of just Four Horsemen - my first thought was: "I'm breathing the air we breathe James! "Behold, I was putting so).
fact is that I, my boyfriend of the time and a couple of my other friends we went to the sports hall with a fairly early to be able to take tactical places where you can take the stage for good. I should already suspect that the evening would be characterized by bad luck when at the guys who check the authenticity of tickets the second they stopped me because my ticket was not valid. After a fight with a bar code reader that he refused to validate my ticket (bought months earlier at Ticketone obviously spending, among other anger of God) was able to come in and place me in the stands while all the other boys crowded at the front under the stage. Convinced that once entered and passed to the search if no one could have done more to my video camera, I began to film the concert with a skill worthy of a French neo-realist film, complete with a change of scenes, camera angles and so on. Unfortunately, when the concert was close to the end, a madman slapped me on my shoulder and told him to hand over the casket. I did so with a heavy heart - I learned only many years later that the security has absolutely the right to confiscate anything. The upset that I had on returning home that night I only know (and those poor guys that my friends had to endure my emotional collapse after the incident). Going to bed I decided that no sarei mai più andata ad un concerto dei Metallica, anzi non li avrei mai più nemmeno ascoltati, fanculo! Io gli avevo dato parte della mia vita e così la sorte mi ripagava di tanta devozione??
La mattina dopo (ero un'universitaria per cui fondamentalmente avevo poco o niente da fare) mi alzai con ancora la scimmia addosso, mi vestii di borchie e pelle, smalto nero sulle unghie e chili di eyliner sugli occhi e così conciata andai a farmi un giretto in centro sperando di sbollirmi esternando in quel modo il mio umor nero. Passando distrattamente davanti al Grand Hotel Baglioni su via Indipendenza, notai un curioso capannello di ragazzi che attendevano davanti all'uscita. Incuriosita I looked deeper and realized that one of them clutched to himself as a relic of a vinyl Metallica. All my intentions to disown them forever from my life collapsed when I realized that could be a few meters from me and that was the only road they had to leave the hotel. I leaned against a pillar of the porch and began to wait. In the meantime I realized that when they leave I could do little: I had nothing for me to autograph and even a camera to capture the scene. I called my mother who worked not far from downtown and fortunately it was a job that allowed him to be absent in case of need. I explained that this was a case of absolute necessity ', probably there would have been a greater need in the history of our family, and I needed a huge favor. I needed: A) a CD autographed by me and B) a disposable camera (at the time the camera phones were still something of science fiction). Since I obviously I had all of their cd (and make do with a house was really too much to ask), I contrived to make me buy a single to remember that is 100 m away. Obviously I could go there myself but I was mathematically certain that when I'd moved away from there, they would come out. So he went to remember the holy woman, then into a tobacconist's shop nearby and he brought me a camera, CDs and - moved by pity as it had become time for lunch - a ham sandwich. Then he went back to work. And I continued to wait. At about 14 here and leave open the magic door and James Kirk. The others were not there, had already left or were in another hotel but who cares! There was James! My god! I did elbowing their way through the small crowd that was huddled up in the meantime, Kirk was the first to go. Acting like a gentleman and already with the pen hand, the guitarist of Metallica has signed all the autographs of the event with a smile on your face for the occasion. James, released soon after, but did not consider any of us and slipped in the van with tinted windows that was waiting for them. There we were all a little 'shit. But who cares? Yes I had the autograph of my personal deity but He had passed me a few inches away and I could see for a few seconds in all its glory. I was already so happy (I did not take much time). Obviously in hindsight I reproached myself for having lost the only opportunity of my life where I could jump on him shouting "Show me your" but to think well maybe it was better that way.
This was my first contact with a rock star. Here is the evidence that my Kodak disposable flash has not been able to hand down to posterity:
The autograph of Kirk Hammet 
James that pass us by ignoring all 
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