The Edge of Glory.

voltee ♦ March 21, 2013 ♦ Leave a comment

Item: Fancy tube top Color/Fabric: Black, unsure. Dreams? Designer: Chanel (!) Where Purchased: Last Call Neiman Marcus Years Owned: 1.5

Sometimes, I crack myself up. Oh, I have been saving this one! It had to wait, though, until I thought of a fitting title. And then, on the drive home from work, this little gem came to me.
Perfection! It makes me laugh, out loud, and is much better than my working title: Holy Chanel, Spiderman!
Oh, yes, I am a nerd. A great, big, giant one. I wear that badge, and proudly!
I am a nerd about a great multitude of things, to varying degrees of social acceptability. Birds. Check. Books. Check. Excel spread sheets. Check. Obsessive fandom. Check!
It’s been a while since I’ve written about this topic.
I’m referring, of course, to my lifelong obsessive fandom of U2. If you are surprised by this, please read here, here, or here, to catch up a bit.
I don’t know how to explain it. I think I am just built in such a way that once something enters my heart, it lives there forever. Which explains why cabbage sometimes makes me cry, I still wear jewelry I’ve had since I was a little girl, and that I’ve been in love with the same man for half of my life.
I’ve just never stopped loving my first favorite rock band. I guess it’s really not that weird, compared to how most men feel about their favorite sports team. My obsession is probably even perfectly sane, if you gauge it by sports obsession!
But people usually have very mixed reactions about U2. I’ve been scoffed at, hugged, laughed at, stared at with incredulity, friended, defriended, smacked in the face, kissed on the lips, pitied, envied, and scorned for my love of U2.
Well, maybe not all of those things. Most of them.
I think most of the reason for this wide range of reactions is due to Bono. He seems to really polarize the people. He makes the hair on your arms stand, or he rises your hackles. You either want to have a drink with him or throw a drink on him.
The Edge, U2’s guitarist, though, doesn’t seem to have this problem. He’s wicked smart, non-threateningly attractive, widely acknowledged as talented, and by all known accounts, a nice, normal guy.
I’ve just always been a little more obsessed with Bono.
So, when I found out that Bono and the Edge were going to be on Broadway Talks with Jordan Roth to discuss their Spiderman debacle, there was nothing that could stop me from attending. I even roped a few of my closest friends in!
I called it Bono Day.
Don’t judge.
Of course, for as momentous a day as Bono Day, I would need to wear something fabulous. Chanel, of course!
I found this on the Rescue Rack at Last Call. It doesn’t look like much on the hanger, or on Trixie, but it has beautiful details:

I picked it up; I put it down. I picked it up, I put it down. I was intrigued, but not sure why. It had no label, and also, a hole:

Still, I liked it. I tried it on, and it was beautiful! I was in love.
As I left the dressing room, a sales woman grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear, “Just so you know, that’s Chanel, my dear.”
Well, yes!
We went home together. Well, the Rescued Chanel and I, not the sales woman…
Well. This seemed perfect for Bono Day. I wore it with a long grey skirt and turquoise jewelry. And since I had not had time to fix the hole, I tied a lovely scarf around my waist. I felt great, until I saw Lizzie, who said in her adorable tremulous voice, “Um, Kerry? Am I dressed up enough?”
“Yes, of course!” I told her. “I’m just crazy.”
True. I was most likely overdressed.
I am not ashamed of that. I do, though, routinely feel a little ashamed by part of the story to come…
To summarize a magnificent day up to the cringing point: Lizzie and I met Kevin and Vicki, enjoyed a Bavarian bierhaus on third avenue, had a few Perfect Pints, then strolled in the sun to the 92 Street Y, where Lizzie and I listened to Bono and the Edge be wonderfully charming, funny, and insightful about theatre, music, and life.
Now for the cringing.
I wanted to wait after the interview for a chance to chat with my heroes. Lizzie was wiling to keep me company, as did about a hundred other nerdy super fans.
And we waited. And waited. Then we waited more.
Then Bono came out, waved cheerfully, and promptly drove off in his black SUV.
About half of my fellow crazies left, disheartened. But, no! Not I.
I waited even more. And then some more.
I checked, repeatedly, with Lizzie to make sure she was ok with waiting, too. “Oh, yes!” she said in her chipper Lizzie way.
But at one point, she went to sit against a wall for a bit. I looked over at her, and saw her staring at her phone unhappily, and rest her head in her hand for a moment.
I felt such guilt. I should have left then, for her. But I did not. I could not. I could not let go.
“One more minute, and The Edge will be here!” I thought. And after a minute, “Just one more minute!”
I was so selfish and single minded. I cared only about my own weird desire to meet this person who I will never be able to know, and who will never know my name.
And then, in an instant, there he was in his snug leather jacket and cozy knit beanie!
There were a few panicky moments when it seemed like he was leaving before he made it to our side of the group. He went to his car, and protests rung out. Then he came back, held up a new Sharpie, and smiled.
Many hearts melted along with mine.
But I can’t remember exactly what I said when he approached me. I had him sign a lovely lithograph, which Lizzie captured beautifully. I especially like that the body guard is looking at me like “This one’s got all kinds of crazy in her eyes!”

I do remember, though, telling him to break a leg, as Spiderman was opening the following day. In retrospect, perhaps that wasn’t the nicest thing to say about a show so plagued by injuries…
Still, his kind, crinkly eyes twinkled at me. He shook my hand, and thanked me, sincerely.
His is a warm, sweet soul.
And that is how Bono Day turned into to The Edge Day.
I guess the moral of this tale is that true friends will put up with your craziness. And sometimes, even aid and abet it. I am so grateful that my Lizzie still talks to me after my selfish hi-jinks!
As much as this story makes me cringe, I’m ultimately glad that it happened, because every year, it seems that I loose a bit of crazy. Now only time will tell if I still have enough in me to try anything like that ever again…