HelloAngel
ONE love, blood, life
[SIMG]http://bonovox.interference.com/experience/egrammy_thumb.jpg [/SIMG]
By Devlin Smith, Contributing Editor
2005.02
On February 13th, my friend and I made our regular trek to Los Angeles to try to meet U2. Since the 2002 Grammy ceremony, we've driven up to the city hoping to meet some member, any member, of U2, and have actually had pretty good luck, getting a chance to meet Bono before that Grammy ceremony and also the 2003 Golden Globes.
What I haven't had any luck at, though, is meeting The Edge. I will proudly admit that he's my favorite, that I am a major fan of his looks, attitude, fashion sense, talent, intelligence, creativity and sense of humor. So since being bitten by the Edge bug several years ago, I have wanted desperately to meet the man and have been brutally rebuffed three times.
Before the 2003 Golden Globes, just as Bono was walking down the line of us gathered fans, shaking hands, signing books, taking pictures, Edge and Morleigh walked out. They were gorgeous together, both head-to-toe in black. I was stunned, surprised that I even had a chance to see him since, in my mind, Bono is always a given, the rest of U2 not so much. I waited for Edge to come over like his band mate had but he didn't. Instead he and Morleigh got into their chauffeured car, ready for the Globes. As they drove away, though, Morleigh rolled down the window and both waved at us.
The following month, I was at Hanover Quay studios with two friends, again talking with Bono. This time, Edge was pulling into the band's garage. I knew for certain it was him, having become quite familiar with his profile in the window of a car after the Golden Globes. We waited about two hours for him to come out, but with the sun setting and weather chilling at the Dublin docks, decided to pack it in.
In March 2003, U2 attended the Academy Awards. My friend and I were back at the spot where we had met Bono twice before. This time, though, all four band members were there, along with about 50 well-wishers. No one came over but, again, Edge waved from his car, affording me yet another opportunity to watch him drive by.
In the grand scheme of things, none of this has been tragic, just awfully disappointing. During my life, I've had pretty good luck meeting the people I've wanted to meet, starting with a conversation I (and about a half-dozen others) got to have with Donnie Wahlberg of New Kids on the Block when I was 12. If I’d gotten to meet Donnie, if I'd gotten to meet Bono, if I'd gotten to meet all those others, why not Edge?
Since the Oscars nearly two years ago, my mind has firmly been placed on spreading enough positive vibes into the universe to get my chance to meet The Edge. As this year's Grammys neared, I felt certain that maybe, just maybe, this could be my chance.
Back to the same old reliable spot and to catching up with the old friends we'd made over the years of trying to meet the band. Cars came and went, bringing with them a familiar cast of characters—Ali Hewson, Daniel Lanois, Paul McGuinness, Morleigh Steinberg, members of U2's security team, Larry Mullen Jr., and Edge. Edge! He was there, he was around. I was giddy and anxious, hopeful that I would finally be able to meet him but really not looking forward to the disappointment if I didn't.
As we were waiting, my friend told me a story to uphold my optimism. A family was sitting down to dinner where baked chicken was being served, the young son's favorite. As the individual courses were being served, though, the boy started filling up on side dishes until his father pointed out that the main course was coming, telling him to "Wait for the chicken."
So what did this have to do with my situation? Without a doubt, Edge was the chicken and Bono, and all the other people I’ve met in my life, were the side dishes. All I had to do was be patient, not get too filled up on the earlier courses, and the main course would be out before I knew it.
It came time for the band to leave for the awards show. Larry was the first to leave but, in what is somewhat typical for him, didn't come by or even wave. Edge and Morleigh were next. Would he come by? The dozen or so of us assembled there called out and waved to him. He got the message and headed toward us.
You'd think that I would be Jell-O at this prospect; a man I've determined myself to meet for three years was finally in sight, but I was focused, gathering together my camera and final Propaganda issue, ready to ask for autograph and picture.
On his was toward us, a tour bus stopped, cutting him off from us. The small crowd of us frantically yelled out, "Move!" to the confused bus driver. He pulled away and Edge was right there.
He informed everyone that there was no time for autographs. Okay, not a problem, because I had something else I needed taken care of. During a “Freestylin' Friday” on the Interference.com message boards however long ago, someone found pictures of Edge on New Wave Photos performing with an eye patch at a 1981 show in Deinze, Belgium. Books were consulted, websites searched, but no answers were found for why Edge had the eye patch. A mystery was born.
(Image Courtesy of New Wave Photos)
I had with me a copy of one of those pictures, determined to find out why Edge had the eye patch. As he made his way down the line of fans, shaking hands and accepting congratulations, I followed him, waiting for my chance to ask the guitarist why he briefly wore an eye patch at a show more than 20 years ago.
Finally he made it to the end of the line and I had my chance. "Edge," I called out in an unbelievably calm manner. "Can you tell me why you had an eye patch?" I asked, indicating the picture. He looked down at it, then at me. "I think I had an eye infection," he said, pointing to the eye and wagging his finger up and down.
And that was it—my big moment with The Edge. There were pictures taken, some of him by himself, at least one of the two of us talking. Finally, my chicken had arrived.
So meeting The Edge wasn't everything I'd hoped it would be, but very little in life is. He was fantastic, though, dressed in jeans, a purple T-shirt, leather jacket, beanie and tennis shoes. Everything about him was just like I'd expected, his voice, mannerisms, everything. But there was no long conversation, no chance for me to say thank you, to shake hands. What I did get, though, was a few seconds of his undivided attention and the knowledge that I can be inches away from The Edge and not melt.
This taste has made me certain I will get another chance someday, and it will be even better.
By Devlin Smith, Contributing Editor
2005.02
On February 13th, my friend and I made our regular trek to Los Angeles to try to meet U2. Since the 2002 Grammy ceremony, we've driven up to the city hoping to meet some member, any member, of U2, and have actually had pretty good luck, getting a chance to meet Bono before that Grammy ceremony and also the 2003 Golden Globes.
What I haven't had any luck at, though, is meeting The Edge. I will proudly admit that he's my favorite, that I am a major fan of his looks, attitude, fashion sense, talent, intelligence, creativity and sense of humor. So since being bitten by the Edge bug several years ago, I have wanted desperately to meet the man and have been brutally rebuffed three times.
Before the 2003 Golden Globes, just as Bono was walking down the line of us gathered fans, shaking hands, signing books, taking pictures, Edge and Morleigh walked out. They were gorgeous together, both head-to-toe in black. I was stunned, surprised that I even had a chance to see him since, in my mind, Bono is always a given, the rest of U2 not so much. I waited for Edge to come over like his band mate had but he didn't. Instead he and Morleigh got into their chauffeured car, ready for the Globes. As they drove away, though, Morleigh rolled down the window and both waved at us.
The following month, I was at Hanover Quay studios with two friends, again talking with Bono. This time, Edge was pulling into the band's garage. I knew for certain it was him, having become quite familiar with his profile in the window of a car after the Golden Globes. We waited about two hours for him to come out, but with the sun setting and weather chilling at the Dublin docks, decided to pack it in.
In March 2003, U2 attended the Academy Awards. My friend and I were back at the spot where we had met Bono twice before. This time, though, all four band members were there, along with about 50 well-wishers. No one came over but, again, Edge waved from his car, affording me yet another opportunity to watch him drive by.
In the grand scheme of things, none of this has been tragic, just awfully disappointing. During my life, I've had pretty good luck meeting the people I've wanted to meet, starting with a conversation I (and about a half-dozen others) got to have with Donnie Wahlberg of New Kids on the Block when I was 12. If I’d gotten to meet Donnie, if I'd gotten to meet Bono, if I'd gotten to meet all those others, why not Edge?
Since the Oscars nearly two years ago, my mind has firmly been placed on spreading enough positive vibes into the universe to get my chance to meet The Edge. As this year's Grammys neared, I felt certain that maybe, just maybe, this could be my chance.
Back to the same old reliable spot and to catching up with the old friends we'd made over the years of trying to meet the band. Cars came and went, bringing with them a familiar cast of characters—Ali Hewson, Daniel Lanois, Paul McGuinness, Morleigh Steinberg, members of U2's security team, Larry Mullen Jr., and Edge. Edge! He was there, he was around. I was giddy and anxious, hopeful that I would finally be able to meet him but really not looking forward to the disappointment if I didn't.
As we were waiting, my friend told me a story to uphold my optimism. A family was sitting down to dinner where baked chicken was being served, the young son's favorite. As the individual courses were being served, though, the boy started filling up on side dishes until his father pointed out that the main course was coming, telling him to "Wait for the chicken."
So what did this have to do with my situation? Without a doubt, Edge was the chicken and Bono, and all the other people I’ve met in my life, were the side dishes. All I had to do was be patient, not get too filled up on the earlier courses, and the main course would be out before I knew it.
It came time for the band to leave for the awards show. Larry was the first to leave but, in what is somewhat typical for him, didn't come by or even wave. Edge and Morleigh were next. Would he come by? The dozen or so of us assembled there called out and waved to him. He got the message and headed toward us.
You'd think that I would be Jell-O at this prospect; a man I've determined myself to meet for three years was finally in sight, but I was focused, gathering together my camera and final Propaganda issue, ready to ask for autograph and picture.
On his was toward us, a tour bus stopped, cutting him off from us. The small crowd of us frantically yelled out, "Move!" to the confused bus driver. He pulled away and Edge was right there.
He informed everyone that there was no time for autographs. Okay, not a problem, because I had something else I needed taken care of. During a “Freestylin' Friday” on the Interference.com message boards however long ago, someone found pictures of Edge on New Wave Photos performing with an eye patch at a 1981 show in Deinze, Belgium. Books were consulted, websites searched, but no answers were found for why Edge had the eye patch. A mystery was born.
(Image Courtesy of New Wave Photos)
I had with me a copy of one of those pictures, determined to find out why Edge had the eye patch. As he made his way down the line of fans, shaking hands and accepting congratulations, I followed him, waiting for my chance to ask the guitarist why he briefly wore an eye patch at a show more than 20 years ago.
Finally he made it to the end of the line and I had my chance. "Edge," I called out in an unbelievably calm manner. "Can you tell me why you had an eye patch?" I asked, indicating the picture. He looked down at it, then at me. "I think I had an eye infection," he said, pointing to the eye and wagging his finger up and down.
And that was it—my big moment with The Edge. There were pictures taken, some of him by himself, at least one of the two of us talking. Finally, my chicken had arrived.
So meeting The Edge wasn't everything I'd hoped it would be, but very little in life is. He was fantastic, though, dressed in jeans, a purple T-shirt, leather jacket, beanie and tennis shoes. Everything about him was just like I'd expected, his voice, mannerisms, everything. But there was no long conversation, no chance for me to say thank you, to shake hands. What I did get, though, was a few seconds of his undivided attention and the knowledge that I can be inches away from The Edge and not melt.
This taste has made me certain I will get another chance someday, and it will be even better.
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