The life of a photographer can sometimes be intense, stressful, made numerous journeys to the city, Saturday evening with friends returned on Sunday morning ruined by communions and unnecessary extensions to the day after the gym. Ma. there is a but ... I like everything. An example might be a few weeks ago. We are the opening of Pitti Uomo, the city is invaded by rich people offering private parties sfizzerose (I call it, is a term that I use just me) reserved for snobs and rich men bearing very exclusive invitation. That Tuesday I am seized with a terrible doubt: go to the gym to make a spectacle of myself in front of a rocker who does not want to get to know or accept the job I was offered to take photos at the prestigious opening party Corneliani? Mmmm ... let's see ... San Benedetto water and sweat for half a liter or colognes and flute of Brut? Well, choose comfort. Bring me to a party like this is how to bring Francesca nanny at a party of Mr. Sheffield. I tried to take pictures, but how many times I may happen to find around 25 different models and video projections on the walls of the Renaissance building opened for the occasion, sheiks and tycoons talking about money and especially being at the table at a dinner where you eat with 4 acrobats dangling on the ceiling and roll room? The photographer, especially someone like me, you immediately notice in these environments is the only one who screams, and indicates the pacchianaggine charms around him, of course, amid general indifference accustomed to these things, because he is not used to such great stuff, the feasts of the SMS circulated in Dalmatia Square which was attended by a child were not so organized. Even when I am invited to take pictures at clubs like the Rotary dinner is the same old story: six there, in the midst of all these rich people who find themselves in the most luxurious hotels in the city and you think you'd have the bank account of the guest to the poorest, who are there because you're not one of them but because you have to pay Telecom, you're immortalizing those who sit at a table to eat caviar and refined dishes while you just parted from them, you go to McDonald's in Baracca. Life is beautiful, enviable. But a McChicken I did not beat anyone.
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