All Bono wants is you. And a Meat'normous sandwich from Burger King.
It's official: The world's got a collective hard-on for U2. So when we heard that rock photographer Anton Corbijn was showing his photo exhibition, "U2 and i," at the Stellan Holm Gallery in Chelsea, we just had to send Gawker strumpet Noelle Hancock and staff pornographer Nikola Tamindzic. After the jump, U2 kicks out party guests, the inevitable Stroke, and Orlando Bloom stops skinny-dipping with Kirsten Dunst long enough to show up with Kate Bosworth...
[Nikola's full gallery from the event is available here.]
Put 'em on the glass! On second thought...
U2 has been around since the days when you were putting Barbie s head on Ken s body (that was always fun, wasn t it?), but lately they're taking things to the next level. Right now, U2 is the new tits. But I'm not just talking about their current sold out tour, guest stint on "Entourage," or Conan O'Brien dedicating an entire show to them last week. You see, the thing about boobies is you aren't allowed to touch them (in public) and you can't talk to them; likewise, at the "U2 and i" photo exhibition, none of the press was allowed near any members of the band. So you may be asking yourself, "How do you write a party report without actual interviews?" The answer is "badly." Details below!
In a nod to irony, The Edge decided to live life on the flat plane.
Actress Amanda De Cadenet: Not giving into depression or vests this season.
Photographer Anton Corbijn really hopes that Meredith eases up on Dr. Shepard on the new Grey's Anatomy.
After an hour and a half of waiting, U2 finally arrives, the crowd goes wild, and publicists kick out the party guests so that the celebrities can relax. Oh, this is fantastic. I wish they would clear all the annoying people out of rooms before I walked in. Now, that is living, y all. I'll bet they don't even have to look at ugly people either.
Next, security herds all of the press outside, to be let back in once "the relaxation process is complete" (you couldn t make this shit up). Along with most of the reporters, Paula Schwartz of NYT s Boldface Names column decides to leave. It s not even worth it, she says on her way out. You can see it in her eyes. There will clearly be no more selecting control B for U2 any time soon. Don t mess with Paula, Bono, or prepare to be understated.
On the left, The Strokes' Nick Valensi: Angular and terrified.
Pirates of the Carribean star Orlando Bloom braves the pirates of Chelsea and arrives with Kate Bosworth.
Orlando is surprisingly tall in person and doesn't exude the "I could so totally take him" vibe he's got going on onscreen. Meanwhile, Kate is wearing some black leather sandals that could ruin a friendship, but otherwise she s looking hot. And healthy. Maybe the jacket is adding bulk, but it no longer seems like there's a fireman's ladder trying to escape from beneath her breast bone. She s currently filming Superman Returns in which she plays Lois Lane. I make a mental note to ask what she thinks of Nic Cage naming his son "Kal-el," guaranteeing him a lifetime of not being allowed on airplanes because he sounds like an al-Qaeda operative.
Artist Sante D'Orazio still hasn't found was he's looking for. Namely, his forehead.
The Edge to Bono: "Always gotta be different, eh lad?"
Nikola is incensed at having been relegated to the photographers pit. There s only so much douchebaggery I can take! He huffs, gesturing to the stalkerazzi. Then the flashbulbs explode upon the arrival of a strung-out television actress looking 31 flavors of "oh no she di'nt. Oh, I know her! What s she on, again? I ask. Nikola responds, Besides crack? He s getting grouchy.
Rocker David Gahan: Even color left when Depeche Mode broke up.
Man makes international sign for "call me" while Anton Corbijn and Jeff Koons crave International House of Pancakes (Rooty Tooty Fresh 'N Fruity — holla!)
Both Bono and Bob Geldof were passed over for the Nobel Peace Prize last Friday for having names that you can actually pronounce that don t contain erratic, intra-name capitalization. This event has led to a dramatic increase in the number of frowny face emoticons used on U2 message boards. Do you think the losers get parting gifts? You d hope so, considering that even the people who fuck up playing Plinko on the Price as Right don t walk away empty-handed. Go for the home soda fountain, Bono, go for the soda fountain!
After being passed over for the Nobel Peace Prize, Bono takes to flashing half-assed peace signs from now on.
Jeff Koons isn't saying that she's a gold digger, but he did observe that she's not fraternizing with no broke niggas... (Just kidding. We're sure they're married for the same reasons as everyone else — because we all need someone at home sucking the life force out of us.)
Finally, I m allowed in on the condition that I don t speak to anyone, and the night is officially reminding me of my childhood. "The drinks are to the right! says a publicist. Hell to the yeah. I bust a right and the man behind the bar hands me some water in one of those plastic cups you piss in at the doctor s. The hell? An open water bar? I look around and see that the celebs are drinking wine — from glass goblets while the plebes have to settle for being irrigated via plastic. This isn t just classist, it s glassist. I decline the offending beverage on principle and because it s Volvic brand water, which is only one vowel shift away from being Vulvic water and that's just grody.
These people were actually at a White People Convention across the street when they heard U2 was here.
Couldn't have said it better ourselves.
For Bono and Michael Stipe, "Shining Happy People" wasn't just a song, it was a lifestyle.
Inside the party, Depeche Mode s David Gahan and REM s Michael Stipe have used one point 21 jiggawatts to flux capacitate their way in from the 80s and 90s, respectively. Which is nice. Meanwhile, The Edge, who hasn t changed his facial expression in the last ten years, is only bolstering my theory that he s actually a full-sized Teddy Ruxpin with a U2 cassette stuck in his back.
Put them altogether and it's the Unabomber.
One out of three ain't bad (we think it's the one on the left).
New York Daily News' Jo Piazza gives up and leaves, saying, "I m going to see Macbeth, with an all-male casts who act entirely in the nude." Shortly thereafter, Orlando runs out to his SUV with Kate in tow and the paparazzi goes buckwild. Orlando reaches the sidewalk, discovers that his car and driver aren't there, and gets an Oh, fuck look on his face, which is definitely the highlight of the evening. Anarchy ensues. Seriously good times.
"Fear my goatee."
With a name like Stellan Holm, his only choices were to open a gallery or become a recurring character on a soap opera.
The next morning I receive an email from Piazza. "There was no cock in 'Naked Macbeth'!" she reports. "Fucking false advertising."