Can You Make A Dummy Phone Into A Real One?

W, Berlin (ie, my first front row) M

2005 was the year of Rammstein. What can you do, are like that. I fixed up a group and I attack it like a mussel. So after downloading random video of their concert (in the face of those who argue that downloading music is killing the music industry) and being their first (and so far only, sob) concert in Italy, which started here the fixed and I bought the complete discography, including rare, and bsides amenicoli different. I found bread for my teeth in a mailing list (which would soon flow into the official website of the Italian Rammstein, thanks to my modest contribution) where I could meet other people with me as Rammstein. We see that the 6 Krauts East Berlin has the power to draw to themselves bands of fanatics rather tough, because in a few months, just at that meeting was born the idea of organizing an expedition to Berlin on the occasion of their four concerts in the capital. So a handful of Italian fans - including me of course - that they had never seen his face before, set off to conquer the German soil.
Now, I do not know what you know that group, but when we speak of a Rammstein concert, talking about pyro, arcs of fire, cooking pots in which the poor keyboard, guitar and bursting with sparks going off in this kind of bizarre. This means that yes, seeing the show from the stands is good, but seeing him in the front row is definitely better. Would you like to be put a blanched face fiammazza shot a few feet away? And to have 10,000 people behind you as you crush a sardine? Very nice. It 'was my first concert in the front row (ok, technically I was in second, but when it is splashed across all the hurdles, the first or second does not make much difference, except that the second is waaay more awkward ). And I must tell you one fact, one can not do without. It 'a drug. It 's like seeing a movie in HD and then rivederselo on a normal TV. Yes, the film is still the same, but - guys - THERE 'S NO COMPARISON.
But back to us.
The program was drawn up as follows: gate opening hours: 17.00 - hours before the aforementioned meeting: 14.30. Hoping that there was already too crowded at the entrances. And hoping that what we were stationed in front of which we would be the first to open (on this, unfortunately we could only rely on fate). The location of the event was exactly the Parkbühne Wuhleheide (the Germans did not want to hurt me if I write it without the dots, but I never understood how to put them on the keyboard), a huge outdoor arena of 10,000 people (even a little 'more) located in a park just outside Berlin. All sooo picturesque.
In perfect time of schedule, at 14.30 they had die-hard, however, decided to take the front row despite the heat of June in Berlin - that I and two other "friends" just met - we posted outside the gate and started patiently waiting.
At 16.30 there was a blatant imitation of the security guys at the other side of the railings that would seem to open at times, it caused considerable shock wave forward, but served to us and other two or three by the quick reflexes to overcome those who had not been so quick to alzarsi in piedi (ragazzi, davanti ai cancelli dei concerti c'è una selezione naturale durissima in cui o calpesti o vieni calpestato, non voletemene male). Fatto sta che l'ultima mezz'ora la passammo comunque già in piedi ben ammassati l'uno contro l'altro, come poi sarebbe successo per le seguenti 7 ore e mezzo. 
Poi i cancelli del paradiso si aprirono e si scatenò l'inferno.
L'inferno per me è stata una corsa che mi parve infinita per raggiungere il palco posto ad una distanza X davanti a me. Sì perchè in realtà, quando i cancelli si aprirono, nessuno di noi aveva idea di dove dovesse correre per reach the goal. We were like the famous lions, gazelles and famous. No matter who you are or why. But hurry, DICK! Before us was a tortuous path that seemed a little hill and quite sweet (not as sweet as it looked, though) that seemed to be the fastest way to reach the stage. So we threw ourselves on that. Travel reached the top of the climb that had seemed endless, with shortness of breath and his legs were not happy, irrationally I thought I'd seen leaning over the hill somehow the stage in front of me. In fact it was true. The stage was in front of me. It was enough to top of the hill on the other side of the stone steps and take the small remaining space the size of a football field (at least so it seemed to me). My "friends" had already disappeared in the distance I could see them scurry about on the grass closer to the goal. Next to me, hordes of Germans of all ages were already past me, probably hoping in their hearts that I would have broken her leg down so there would be one less person on whose elbowing under the stage. I threw myself headlong to the bleachers, every step I felt convinced that his ankle with a wonderful yield CRACK. The distance of the lawn covered her tripping and holding the spleen with one hand, we lacked only the voiceover shouting RUN FORREST! and would be a perfect scene. Ok, it was not thanks to me that we were able to win the second row. When I joined them, my faithful companions had just met me taking a place among them. I thanked them warmly, thinking to myself that I would not have survived anyway as I was putting up at the beginning of the concert. Then the heart has started beating at a speed of human breathing is regular again (after a long time) and I are able to enjoy the spectacle of thousands of people continued to come after me, and every inch was occupied as free arena.
To More ... the concert was obviously fantastic. I will not tell you about it because it certainly would be quite sterile, the reviews of the concerts for me are the most useless thing in the world. What they played, how they played ... as you can convey an emotion like that? Anyone who has been to a concert, anyone who has experienced a concert, you know what I mean. I can only tell you that there were also moments of discomfort and fatigue, panic touched, squeezed in the middle of the hot and sometimes with little air get to my very modest and sixty meters in height. Back pain, leg pain, headache. Seven hours spent standing there, not has been a breeze. But every time I leave home hours before a concert with my backpack, ready to "fight" for the umpteenth first (or second) row, the only feelings that I remember are the adrenaline flowing in the few moments before, looks comradely your neighbor's elbow waiting (unless you happen to close a dickhead, which unfortunately sometimes happens), the thrill of yelling out loud together as a thing all the lyrics. And then, last but not least, see the artist - or group - a few inches or feet of you, see them droplets of sweat on his face, every expression, even the less "pussy," his Scazzi (which are always there) and realize that he is basically a person like you, a friend of drinking, someone to make a casino night in the company. And when I'm there, guys, I'm at peace with life. Amen.

To see my photos of the concert, I refer you to my myspace photo, following the link below:
http://viewmorepics.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewPicture&friendID=434199146&albumId = 128797

The entrance of the arena

The Parkbühne seen from (ie the view that I presented itself once it reaches the top of the "hill ")... no surprise that I arrived breathless at the barrier, right? O___O