He asked me about me.

I went tonight to the Santa Monica Airport to hear Metallica.  As Marc Reiter said, how often do they play my backyard?  It was an Activision party, celebrating the launch of "Call Of Duty: Black Ops".  There were celebrities and military men, but I just went to hang with Marc and the associated Metallica tribe, Peter Paterno, their lawyer, Vickie Strate, who runs their fan club, and other associated Q Prime players.

They had chopped beef and noodles, and endless desserts, and the ability to try out the game, but the highlight was Metallica.  Who did a killer version of "Master Of Puppets" and ended with "Enter Sandman".  It was mostly a male crowd, but when the band finished with the twenty year old classic it was fascinating to see even the women sing every word.  What power that must be, to write a song that everybody knows even though you don’t know everybody.

And when the show was over, the assembled Metallica multitude journeyed to a backstage area where we caught up.  That’s the funny thing about rock and roll, we live all over the world but are part of the same family, connecting at various gigs.

And Peter Standish and Metallica’s guitar tuning tech wanted to talk about Little Feat.  Amazing how people are most passionate about bands the mainstream believes don’t count.  And after about ninety minutes, I go over to say goodbye to Paterno when Reiter buttonholes me, "Did I speak with Lars?"

I don’t want to speak with rock stars at the show.  They never remember who you are and they’re working.  And if you don’t think it’s work, you’ve never been there.  Sure, they stop playing at some point, but they’re wired on adrenaline, they can’t slow down, there’s an endless parade of fans who want to talk to them, you don’t want to enter this herd.

But I kind of know Lars.  I went with the whole band to dinner a couple of years back, just before "Death Magnetic", and we connected during the Napster era, but is he really going to remember who I am?

And he looks a little worse for wear.  Metallica’s performance is quite a physical one.  And he seems to have had a few drinks.  But Marc is leading me by the elbow and we go over and Lars calls me by name.

That’s so surprising.  Never mind that too many readers call me "shithead", I feel too much like I walk through life invisible.

And what do you say to someone you see so infrequently?  You talk about the show.  And Lars starts testifying about Activision, about making the band’s version of "Guitar Hero".  How the game made him a hero with his kids and how when they animate you they can pump up the biceps and fix all your flaws.

And we’re laughing in that backstage way, like we’re all in it together even though when the evening ends we’ll go our separate ways and maybe not see each other for years, and Lars asks me how I’m doing, what I’m up to in the blogosphere, what’s keeping me busy?

And I’m speechless.  This is the reason I started to see a shrink.  I didn’t believe anybody was listening to me, I felt that no one was paying attention. And to this day it’s a problem.  Even with people who want to meet me.  They want to tell me their story, they think they already know mine.

But they don’t.

And the more they talk the quieter I get.  I don’t want to be unfriendly, but it’s weird when your sole role is to listen.  I’ve spent too much time listening. To the point where I’m almost unable to tell my story.

And now I was on the spot.  Figuring the moment would pass, I didn’t bother responding, believing that Lars wasn’t truly that interested.

But he persisted.  And I spoke about the crazy times we live in, and the EMI decision and the Live Nation earnings call and then we discussed Metallica’s next album and I felt alive and involved, I felt human.

Now by this time, the other members of the band were long gone.  The curfew at the Santa Monica Airport had expired and they’d journeyed off to LAX for the ride home.  But Lars had stuck around.  You see Lars enjoys being a rock star.  He enjoys the camaraderie, the trappings, if not, why do it?

And rule number one of backstage talk is you don’t break confidence.  But when I got on the freeway I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation.  No one asks me about me.  Except Lars Ulrich of Metallica?