Meeting Mike Campbell (When rock stars conspire)
March 20, 2019
The plan was for Fleetwood Mac’s tour photographer Justin to pick me and my sister Stephanie up at our seats at 7:20 and take us backstage to Mike Campbell's dressing room.
By 7:15, my blood pressure had plummeted from sheer anxiety, and I was starting to see spots. Just like in the cartoons. It’s no small thing for me to know I will soon be backstage at a Fleetwood Mac show, and breathing became a voluntary act. I was running the real risk of passing out before Justin even arrived, so I focused on inhaling and exhaling, deeply and slowly, and hoped for the best.
And the best, I got.
Everyone who knows me and anyone else unfortunate enough to come across my Twitter account in April through June of last year knows how crushed I was when Fleetwood Mac fired Lindsey Buckingham and replaced him with Mike Campbell of Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers and Neil Finn from Crowded House and Split Enz.
CRUSHED.
It was an unholy occurrence in my world, and, when the news broke, I quickly declared I was finished with the band.
(I could write a complete dissertation on why I believed and still believe Lindsey deserved better from his four bandmates and friends—the entire situation made even more tragic by the news that Lindsey underwent emergency open heart surgery last month that resulted in damage to his vocal chords that may or may not be permanent—but I will spare you that here.)
Justin arrived a little after 7:20 and off we were to Mike’s dressing room, so, yeah, things have changed pretty significantly for me over the past year. I’ve come to truly adore the new guys in the band, not only as men and musicians, but also as members of Fleetwood Mac.
Breathing was a challenge but my eyesight was perfectly fine. My eyes miss nothing in this kind of heightened emotional state, and as we arrived outside Mike’s room (labeled simply “MC”) I saw the door directly next to it was labeled “NF” and realized that it was Neil Finn’s dressing room.
Okay. Maintain, Krissy…
Mike’s door was closed but Neil’s was slightly ajar. Justin was explaining that Mike was finishing up with a vocal warm-up and would be out soon when I heard Neil’s voice from inside his dressing room.
Neil is from New Zealand. Men with adorable accents get me anyhow, but men with adorable accents who sing and play guitar, and do those things in Fleetwood Mac? That’s... well, it’s very nice.
Once I heard Neil’s Kiwi accent in person, I really, really had to keep mindful about the breathing thing to avoid passing out right there on the dingy concrete floor inside the Times Union Center in Albany.
It was at this point that Mike’s beautiful wife, Marcie Campbell, emerged from his dressing room to greet us. She was so lovely and offered us both warm and welcoming hugs and my anxiety finally began to dissipate, which was a good thing because here’s where the night really started getting good.
Earlier in the evening, I’d checked in with Leilani from Tazzy Fund, Marcie and Mike’s animal rescue. The meet and greet experience came courtesy of Tazzy Fund, and Leilani was the one who coordinated the meeting. She is such a sweetheart. I’d called her once we got to Albany to get last minute details on where to be and at what time. She’d told me on the phone that when she told Marcie that I was their meet and greet for the night, Marcie exclaimed, “I know her!”
Cut to me blinking spastically…
I’ve become a fairly vocal supporter of both Mike and Neil as members of Fleetwood Mac on Instagram. In order to reconcile the loss of Lindsey from the band and accept Mike and Neil as a part of it, I’ve taken to referring to the latter as “the stepdads” on social media. And, as it turns out, the Campbells are, not only aware of my Instagram page, but appreciative of the support I’ve given to the men there.
As we waited for Mike, Marcie told me how they loved the whole stepdads thing and thought it was a really great way to look at the situation. As we were talking about this, as my mind was grappling with the fact that these people actually know of me, Neil appeared in the doorway of his dressing room, just off Marcie’s shoulder. He was completely stage-ready except for his suit jacket, which was hanging by the door, and the reason for him appearing before me. (Yes, just me. The rest of the world fell away for a moment.)
As Neil threw the jacket on, he glanced out the door and spotted me and did sort of a double take, as if he recognized me but wasn’t exactly sure how or why.
Could be a good sign, could be a bad sign when you're known for following musicians around the world...
I’d talked to Neil on Twitter a couple times previous to this night. A song he wrote with his son called “Ghosts” is featured in my short film, Murder Creek, and I’d used Twitter to reach out and ask for permission to use it. He also responded to an open letter I wrote to Mick Fleetwood and posted to Twitter last summer. (So when I said I could write an entire dissertation on the Firing of Lindsey BuckinghamTM, I meant I already had…)
Neil’s message to me was so kind and thoughtful. It touched me deeply. When nobody else in “my” band seemed to care about my pain, or even my existence, Neil took the time to, not only read my letter, but respond to it with empathy. His response to that letter is why I ultimately decided it was time to give him a chance, and I’m so grateful. He’s one of the greatest singer/songwriters in the world, and a true gentleman. In an ironic twist, his music further helped me through the Lindsey SituationTM.
Also, he is adorable:
Neil on stage with Fleetwood Mac in Buffalo, NY. March 26, 2019. Photo by me.
And there he was in the doorway of his dressing room. Looking at me.
The breathing thing became an issue again as I contorted my face into what I hoped was a smile. Only beginning to now grapple with Neil being right there, while still coming to terms with the fact that the Campbells knew of me, Mike’s door opened and out walked Mike-freaking-Campbell in the slickest suit I’ve ever seen any man wear. He, too, was completely stage-ready, which, of course, made sense since it was about 7:35 and show time is 8:00
Mike shook both our hands and kissed the tops of each one (omg) and escorted us into his dressing room.
This next 30 second stretch plays out in slow motion in my mind and will forevermore. With my hand inside Mike’s, being led into his dressing room, Marcie turned and poked her head into Neil’s room and I heard, “Hey, stepdad two, you want to join us?”
Join me in freaking out, won’t you?
It became clear that these beautiful people had conspired to make this the absolute most perfect evening for me by giving me the opportunity to meet, not just one of the stepdads, but both of them.
Inside, Mike offered us a drink “water or wine or whatever you want?” and I did my best to ignore the fangirl in me who was smacking me and squealing, “Ask him if he can turn the water INTO wine!”
I said yes to the wine and Mike got really excited. I might be paraphrasing, but he said, “My kind of girl! You didn’t even hesitate on the wine!” and set about pouring us each a glass.
Steph was drawn right away to Mike and Marcie’s little dog, India, who was chilling on the couch. This is the first time in my life I didn’t immediately seek out the pet in the room during a social gathering.
Mike handed the glasses around and we gathered in this sort of semi-circle around the coffee table in the room and, just as I took my first sip, in walked Neil Finn and completed our circle.
Neil Finn, with his eyes and the accent and the hair.
My first instinct was to chug the wine. This is too much. Chug it!
But I refrained. Instead, I set the glass down and smiled and extended my hand to Neil as I introduced myself and he said, with that voice and in that accent, “Oh, how about a hug?”
Well, IF YOU INSIST, MR. FINN.
Since I had already had my arm extended to shake his hand, I ended up hugging him under his arms, around his chest and torso and...sigh. That was really nice. As we withdrew, I managed to gesture to Steph and, I think, introduce her. I said something about her, anyhow. Steph can probably tell you better than me what was said by me here.
After intros, we edged back out into our circle: Steph, Neil Finn, the Campbells, and I, and Neil said, still with that voice and in that accent, “I thought that was you out in the hallway but I wasn’t positive.”
He had recognized me out in the hall. Neil Finn had recognized me.
Fangirl me was absolutely pummeling me at this point: “OMG ASK HIM IF YOU CAN TOUCH HIS HAIR!!!!”
Neil’s hair is a genuine work of art. That night, it was sticking out in every feasible direction as if he’d just rolled out of bed and called it stage-ready. The hair only adds to his boyish charm that is almost overwhelming and rivaled only by his obvious shyness.
Both men, in fact, were shy. It was the first time I didn’t feel insecure about my own shyness because I felt it from them too. Steph can back me up on this: it almost felt like we were the famous ones in the room. They acted as if they couldn’t believe we were there to meet them. Thank god for Marcie controlling the conversation or we might have just stood around blushing at each other and playing with India.
I’m not going to go into too much detail about the next few minutes because the things they said were so special and mean so much to me that I want to keep them for myself (and Steph and a handful of fellow fangirl friends I’ve already told every single detail of this to). Suffice it to say, they went out of their way to show their appreciation for the support I’ve given them and their gratitude for giving them a chance.
It was such a dream and time wasn’t really a thing I was aware of in the room. Part of me will always be in that room. But Neil stayed for about ten minutes and then he had to go because it was nearly show time. He held out his hand as he was leaving and so then I said, “How about a hug?” and he laughed and I laughed and we hugged and now we’re best friends.
Mike was in no rush at all. I’d gathered from his social media that Fireball whiskey was his drink of choice (if you’re in Fleetwood Mac, I’m going to know everything about you eventually, so just roll with it…) and so I’d snuck some tiny bottles of it through security with the thought that he might do a shot with me. I hate the stuff but obviously some things are worth the sacrifice.
When he saw I had Fireball he got really excited again and said, “How did you know??” I asked if he wanted to a shot but that I understood if he didn’t since it was so close to show time and he waved his hand dismissively at that and said, “Hell yeah, let’s do one!”
So, empty belly full of Mike’s wine and with the scent of Neil Finn still in the room, I did a shot of Fireball with Mike Campbell. It was right after this that Justin snapped this photo, as we washed the whiskey down with the wine like completely responsible adults.
After giving us the rest of the bottle of wine in Solo cups so that we could carry them with us out on to the floor, Mike took us to the stage to look at his guitars. On the walk, I told him I’d been waiting 20 years to get backstage at a Fleetwood Mac show and he laughed and gestured around the drab hall and dark rafters and said, “Glamorous, isn’t it??” I also had a wonderful conversation with him about writing along the way and I’ll cherish that always.
Literally in the back of the stage now, with an arena full of fans waiting for Fleetwood Mac to start, Mike showed me Neil’s guitars first. I asked if Neil’s red vintage Gretsch FireBird was nearby, because I love it, but figured it was probably up on stage by then because Neil uses it in the opening number. But it was still there, right there, perched alone on its stand at the base of the stairs, like a king, and I touched it.
Mike was very excited to show off his guitars. (Mike talking about his guitars is exactly like me talking about Fleetwood Mac.) I’d told him earlier that I had an affinity for his Gretsch guitars and so he made sure to show me those. When he got to “the white Gretsch” as I so ignorantly referred to it because I haven’t learned all the names of his guitars yet, I told him I loved that one and he says, he goes, wait for it: “Here! Wear it!” and he PUT IT ON ME.
(Research since tells me it’s a 59’ FALCON and MAN, I wish I had known that when I was in front of him. What a cool name.)
Fangirl me had passed out shortly after Neil walked into the dressing room so she was quiet, thankfully. Alone with my thoughts, I struggled to remember a chord to play, any chord, so I didn’t look like a complete fraud in front of Mike Campbell, and my fingers quickly found the D chord. Whew.
I wish I remember more of the conversation at this point, but I was just so excited to be in those moments. Mike told me something about the tab markers on the neck of the Falcon. He’s got tiny stripes of black electrical tape on them for some damn reason that my mind isn’t allowing me to remember right now. It was something about the stage lights.
He showed me his Gibson SG next and mentioned it’s the same model that Angus Young plays, and my unfiltered mouth blurted out, “That guy is so little!” and Mike and Marcie both laughed. Belly laughs. Like we were actually friends and I had made a real funny.
I told them that when I was a kid, I thought Angus played some sort of giant custom guitar because it looked so big on him but eventually realized he was just a little guy. Mike nodded and said, “Yeah he comes up to about here!” and held his hand up to his midsection.
Last came Mike’s Rickenbacker. Oh, it’s so pretty. Again, he put it on me and said I could “play it if you want.”
Again, I wish I could remember more of what he said in this moment but... oh well. Someday it will return to me. Probably at the worst possible moment, and I’ll blurt it out to whoever is unfortunate enough to be near me at the time.
By this time, it was well past 8 o’clock and the arena was full and Mike is still playing guitars with me. Someone came and told he really had to go now, and Mike seemed almost apologetic that he had to leave us. We took one last photo as a group, and then he thanked me again and KISSED MY CHEEK AND SAID I WAS BEAUTIFUL and then he was gone.
I’ve never felt beautiful for even a day in my life, but Mike Campbell said I’m beautiful, so I guess I’m beautiful now.
And that is the story of meeting Mike Campbell that, thanks to conspiring rock stars and a beautiful woman named Marcie, became meeting Mike Campbell and Neil Finn and playing with their guitars.
It was quite possibly the greatest night of my life.
Lindsey Buckingham living is best life in Pittsburgh
Originally posted to my Patreon page on October 20, 2018.
I have to get the fangirl part of this out of the way. Apologies for those who only came here to read about Lindsey Buckingham’s show. I’ll try to be brief.
GUYS. I met Lindsey Buckingham! I’ve been waiting 21 years and it finally happened and it was everything I dreamed it would be.
To be perfectly honest, I was terrified to meet him. I’ve had a nasty habit of putting people on pedestals throughout my life and just about every one of them has come tumbling down in fiery ruins by now. In a Landslide, even. Ahem.
I was afraid I would finally come face to face with Lindsey and he wouldn’t live up to the ridiculously high standards I’ve held him to for two decades and a year (and two months but who’s counting?). What if he was cranky? I’d be cranky having to meet and greet that many people who have invested so much of their hearts and souls in me. How exhausting. What if he was cranky and it completely shattered my illusion (ahem) of him?
No need to worry. He couldn’t have been sweeter. He hugged me as I approached him and as we hugged, I told him I’d been waiting 21 years to meet him. We were cheek to cheek here. This is important. As we withdrew from the hug, he said, bless him, “well it’s so great to finally meet you,” in that beautiful voice. And as we situated ourselves for the photo op, he thanked me for coming and I think I thanked him for coming and then:
I wished him a good show and then retreated to the door, keeping it together just long enough to get out of his line of sight before I started sobbing.
I’ve yammered on ad nauseum why he is so special to me. I’ll spare you now. But this was...just incredible. And in the light of the current Fleetwood Mac drama, it was exactly what I needed to see and feel from him in order for me to move on. It was like dad telling me it’s okay to still love mom even if they couldn’t be together anymore. Now, I’m 38. I realize how silly that sounds, but it’s a good analogy, nonetheless. He’s doing fine. He’s happy. He’s at peace. Heartbroken, yes, but he has no hate in his heart for the other four. He’s genuinely happy to be moving forward as he is, and grateful to those of us who support him. And I feel like I can finally breathe again after six months.
Opening act J.S. Ondara did about six of his songs and it was only him and his acoustic guitar. He did one song a cappella and it was beautiful. He was a delight. Snappy dresser. Humble and quietly funny. Before each song, he’d tell us the name of it and then say, “You’ve never heard it”. It was a slow start to a rock show, something Ondara noted by saying it was his job to depress us so that Lindsey could cheer us back up, but his music is very pretty. He’s a talented guy, and how special to be given this opportunity to open for a man like Lindsey Buckingham?
Okay! On to Lindsey’s show. After a brief intermission after Ondara finished, Lindsey’s band walked out on stage, followed soon after by Lindsey himself. He was greeted to thunderous applause and cheers and about half of the theatre stood for him. Me included. Obviously.
The set list was perfect and they moved through the songs one after the other, with Lindsey pausing to speak here and there between the songs. What struck me most was how many times he thanked us for being there. He must have thanked us ten times throughout the show. His sincerity shown through and touched my heart and I’m so glad I was there to experience it.
ALSO, he barks. Yep. Literally. He literally barks along with the dog at the end of “Holiday Road” and he is such a nerd I can hardly even stand it. I love him. “Bark bark, BARK. Bark bark, BARK! Bark like a dog!” And of course I did. Duh. And then he did this, not even semi-erotic, but full-on-erotic moan at the end of the song and...let’s just say it was nice. He threw us one of those nerdy smile/laugh things as the song ended before he retrieved his next guitar for the next song.
Shout out to Lindsey’s guitar tech, Stanley, by the way, who was working his ass off keeping all those guitars in order and in tune and passing them off to Lindsey in time. I think Lindsey switched guitars for just about every song, save his three song acoustic set. But he might have even switched guitars then. I can’t remember. I’m still thinking about the barking. In any case, Stan is an unsung hero in Buckingham’s world.
I was worried how the acoustics would be in a theatre setting, but there was no need. The sound was incredible. The band was incredible. These guys were beasts. And Lindsey had an absolute blast. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him that free and relaxed and, dare I say it, spontaneous? It was so special. He received huge applause after every song and many people stood for him as well. The ones who didn’t stand, I attribute to the tightened security. Seriously. These guys were strict. I know they were just doing their jobs but... what do you mean I can’t stand? I get the no pictures thing but, really? We can’t stand? Honestly, these guys looked like they would toss you out if you sneezed. Who doesn’t let people go to the stage during Go Your Own Way?? You know Lindsey wants us to strum his guitar during it... right?
What stood out most to me was this performance of Never Going Back Again. Of course we were all thinking of Fleetwood Mac during it. Lindsey too, clearly. I’ve never seen such a passionate performance of that song. His final “I’m never going back again” was powerful, resolute, and it felt very final. Of course that made me cry. I needed a Gatorade after the show to replenish my fluids. Never say never, of course, especially with those five people, but this change feels permanent.
I noticed something during the guitar outro for I’m So Afraid, and I realize now that it was there throughout the entire show: A genuine happiness from Lindsey to be there performing for us. I have always, always felt angst and pain from him during his performances, like a palpable pain resided just underneath that unending jittery energy of his, and his performances were his only way to release it, if only temporarily.
Thursday night there was something different there. I think it was contentment. A full-circle completion that he is proud of, perhaps. The knowledge that he did everything he could to preserve the legacy Fleetwood Mac created over those 43 years together, and generate a different outcome for them and for their fans. A hopefulness, because he still has so much more to share with us, and a delight that we are still here for him, waiting patiently for whatever it is he has to share.
I’ll finish with this: Watching Lindsey Buckingham play guitar the way he does, watching him belt out songs and stomp around the stage with the energy of a man less than half his age, is the closest thing to what is called God that I’ll ever experience. That’s not hyperbolic fangirl nonsense. It’s truth. There is something wholly divine about that man’s talent. I am not a religious person. I believe in the Universe above all else. But if what is called God means awe and if it means love and peace and if God is the knowledge that there is something greater than me out there that can save my soul, this is as close to God as I will get. And I’m here for it, amen.
The day Al Pacino walked into my life
April 29, 2017
PHOTOGRAPH BY JUSTIN BISHOP
There are times in my life (more and more lately) when I question the decisions I make for myself. This is an old story but one that bears repeating because sometimes it's hard for me to believe it actually happened.
Last April, I was on the subway in New York City with my mom. We were on our way back to our hotel from the 9/11 Memorial when my phone pinged at me.
It was a Google Alert.
This will come as absolutely no surprise to those who really know me (and probably even those who only know me a little bit) but I set up Google Alerts for my favorite actors and musicians.
A Google Alert is a lovely little gift, sent to us from the Google gods, that sends out all the up-to-date news and information that exists for whatever or whomever you've set up the Google Alert for. It's basically techno-stalking but I prefer to think of it as being a dedicated fan.
My current Google Alert list is fairly exclusive and includes: Al Pacino, Lindsey Buckingham, Gabriel Byrne, Stellan Skarsgard, and, for my sister, James Spader. (Updated for 2018: It now also includes Billy Bob Thornton and Hugh Laurie.)
Back to the subway: The alert I got that day was an article about a 45th anniversary screening of The Godfather films at Radio City Music Hall that was taking place the following weekend. The screening, the article informed me, would close the Tribeca Film Festival and would be followed by a panel discussion with the director of the films, Francis Ford Coppola, and The Godfather actors, Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, James Caan, Robert Duvall, Diane Lane, and Talia Shire.
Here's the thing: Once my brain grabs hold of something, it will not let it go. Until it convinces my body to do whatever the hell it is that my brain has decided it's going to do, it will not shut up.
For the rest of that night this was cycling through my mind: You have to come back next week. You have to go to that screening. Go. Find a ticket. You have to go. Go find a ticket. You have to go.
Me: Well, brain, that would be a pretty expensive trip for just one night.
So?
Me: What if the tickets are sold out?
They probably are. Use Stubhub.
Me: That will be even more expensive.
Yep.
Me: So, we’re just never going to save money ever again?
Basically.
Me: Cool.
So, I found a ticket (on Stubhub because yes, tickets were sold out), I booked a room for Saturday night, and set my alarm for 3AM Saturday morning.
It's worth mentioning here that I am not a morning person. At all. I can appreciate aspects of it. Yes, sunrise is lovely. But, I am not a morning person. When the alarm went off, I cursed at it and my brain.
Me: Is it really necessary to drive six hours to this thing today? Can’t we just stay in bed? I’m tired!
No. Get up. Yes, we really have to do this. Get the hell up and quit whining.
My brain is not a morning person either.
So, I got up. I threw some clothes in a bag, grabbed some Red Bull, and off we went to New York City, me and my brain. Again.
Short story made much longer by my rambling, I ended up running late. The screening started at 1PM. We were instructed to be at Radio City no later than noon, and it was already after 11.
Now, I’m okay with driving in New York City at this point, as long as I don't venture away from my normal route that I have memorized. How thrilled was I, then, that my usual route into the Theatre District that morning was blocked off coming out of the Lincoln Tunnel. Instead of going left into the city to 42nd Street, I was forced to go right and ended up on 34th. And it was like a whole different world back there. I felt the panic rise.
(Mind you, I have navigation in my car that rerouted me straight away and told me exactly where and when to turn to get to my hotel, but there was no time for rational thought. I was late.)
I got to my hotel about five minutes after I would have without the construction detour but it might as well have been an hour later. I checked in, changed quick, scratched out a thank you message in the inside cover of my book that I hoped to give to Mr. Pacino somehow. (Thank you for your work. You’re such an inspiration to me. Other embarrassing things. Blah, blah, blah, etc.) I stuffed the book into a gift bag and was back out on the street by 11:45, practically running to get to Radio City by noon.
I hit every intersection on the way to Radio City almost perfectly, with a “Walk” sign waiting for me at each one. Two blocks away, my luck ended. At 48th and 6th, I had to stop. Ugh. It was five minutes to noon, and I stood there, contemplating whether or not I could dash between the oncoming cars without getting run over. Only because my mother would never forgive me if that happened, I decided against it.
Impatient, I looked up and down the street, checking traffic and the clock on my phone. I glanced up 48th again and, walking toward me on the side of 48th, approaching from about fifteen yards away, was Al Pacino.
Alone. Just walking. He walked right up to me and stopped..
Picture it, if you will. There was me, starting to sweat because I hadn't bothered to check the weather report and I was wearing all black and my leather jacket. This is usually okay in the city in mid-April but that day was unseasonably warm, already close to 80 degrees. There was Al Pacino, also wearing all black (including black Converse sneakers, bless) literally strolling into my life and stopping to wait for the light, shoulder to shoulder with me.
My brain is usually pretty quick on its feet but in that moment it had nothing. It wasn't quite computing yet. I just sort of stood there. I was in that city on that day to attend a screening of two of the greatest movies of all time, starring this man. I was holding a gift for him in my hands. And he just...walked into my life.
At that point, I was wondering if that was the moment I’d completely lost touch with reality. It’s bound to happen someday with how much I live inside my mind. And I thought, well, today’s as good a day as any, I suppose.
So, here was me and Michael Corleone just hanging out in all black together in the 80 degree heat at 48th and 6th. I was sweating. He wasn't sweating at all because of course he wasn't. I side-eye
I side-eyed him for along moment. I was still wondering if he was only a figment of my fractured mind that had slipped between the cracks and out on to the street.
I lifted my hand and was quite relieved when my hand didn't just pass through him. I patted his shoulder lightly . I said, “Hey, Al.” At that, he turned and looked at me. I smiled. Not creepy at all, I'm sure. He straightened and replied, “Hey, man!”
And then he crossed 6th Avenue against the light.
For the second time in as many minutes, I contemplated throwing myself into oncoming traffic because of Al Pacino. But the traffic just kind of stopped for him. Each lane, one by one, as he crossed. I’m sure it was just because nobody wanted to mow a guy down but, for me, I was witnessing Al Pacino part 6th Avenue like Moses parting the Red Sea.
I crossed 6th too and made my way to Radio City with Al Pacino. No, I stayed back, not wanting to bother him (anymore) but if anyone asks you, I once walked with Al Pacino to Radio City Music Hall for a screening of The Godfather films.
He met up with a handler at Radio City. I remembered the gift bag then, still clutched in my hand, and asked the handler if I could please give it to him. She said sure. I did.
I continued to the first mezzanine and immediately bought a strong alcoholic beverage because my nerves were shot. And between getting up at 3AM, the traffic and construction issues on the way in to the city, and hanging out with Al Pacino on a street corner, I felt absolutely drained.
There you have it: The day Al Pacino literally walked into my life.
That was also the day I decided to never again question my brain. Ever. It knows exactly what it's doing.
