1. Teresa Morris

    Hi Pammie,

    Don’t ever loose your “Fan Face”. That is what makes you human and keeps you grounded. I love the way you tell a story. I must read one of your books. Keep in touch.

    Love Ya

  2. MaryAnne

    I’m such a (strike>stalker long-time reader, I didn’t even have to click any of those links, I just remember the stories -which is my way of saying I would totally have FanFace if I ever got to meet you! :)

  3. I once spazzed out on Billy Idol in Crazy Eddie’s on 57th Street in NYC. He was traumatized, for sure, but not more so than me when I was unable to stop the torrent of idiot that flew out of my mouth. I may or may not have hyperventilated. Flash forward 10 years: I was standing in line at a coffee house in Burbank, starting to get all judge-y on this old man who seemed unable to make up his mind when I realized it was William Shatner. I was all “CAPTAIN KIRK IS STANDING IN FRONT OF ME AND HE HAS BEDHEAD!” But only in my mind. He has Billy to thank for that save.

  4. Allison

    hey Pamie, just remember that I saw you at Desert Rose the day before L.A Book Fest and was too nervous to come up to you.

    You told me later that Jason told you he thought he saw some girl staring at you, and you dismissed him. So apparently I had fan face too, for him to recognize it across a crowded patio.

  5. Hollie

    I lived in Miami Beach for the last several years and have NEVER SPOTTED A CELEBRITY. Now I’m in a Dallas suburb, and I’ll never see famous hair.

  6. DG

    Internal monologue one day last week at the playground with my toddler: “Who is that mom? Do I know her? Should I be remembering the name of her child?

    “Oh…that’s Maggie Gyllenhaal. And she just saw the moment of recognition on my face. Crap.”

    She left that part of the playground shortly. When I took my kids to the swings a little later — where she had gone — I felt a little like a stalker despite the fact that I always take my kid to the swings. And then my kid had an epic meltdown at the swings. It was excellent.

  7. Shannon

    June, 1986. I am in the Dublin airport, standing behind a little man with fabulous black hair. He is wearing cowboy boots. I am two paces behind him, listening to the Unforgettable Fire on my walkman. He turns to say something to a friend, and I realize. It is Bono. I follow him to baggage claim. In my head, I am thinking about what I should say to him. Should I tell him that I listen to the Unforgettable Fire end to end? That it makes me feel closer to my father, who died when I was 13? That I lust after Larry Mullen Jr., but my love is all for him? That I’m Irish? Jesus? What do I say to BONO VOX who is really Paul Hewson from Blackrock Ireland? He turns, sees me looming and smiles. And I say what I was meant to say to my idol. “You are very small.” He laughs. “Seriously. You are a very small man.” My face is burning, and I could no more stop the words than die on the spot. And I wish I could. My face is boiling, and my hands are clenched into fists. “I get that a lot, darlin’.” He shakes my hand. “But I never realized you would be so, very small.” Now he is walking away. I whisper, “Your music saved my life”, but his boots are clicking away from me at a rapid pace. I cried silently all the way to meet my host family. Bono hasn’t spoken to me since.

  8. Shannon

    It will go with me to my grave. I practically licked the Blarney Stone when we went there. Anything to wash the humilation out of my mouth.

  9. Amanda

    Your Retta story led me here to Fan Face, and reminded me of this one time…

    I’m at Edgar Wright’s film festival in LA in Aught-7ish, and am over the moon as only a Spaced/Cornetto Trilogy fan can be. The “festival” is code for “Edgar Wright is renting out a theater for a week and showing all of his favorite movies”, including some very gory horror flicks. Bliss.

    After my then-hubby, two friends and I settle into our seats, I decide to duck into the restroom before the first movie starts. And standing in the shadows, tiny and adorable and British, is Mr. Edgar Wright. And I, tall and weird and American, swoop down on him with “OHMYGODILOVEYOUSOMUCHANDEVERYTHINGYOU’VEEVERCOMMITTEDTOFILMANDI’MGOINGTOHUGYOUNOW”. The look of terror on his face as he shrunk away from my completely inappropriate hug – this, a man who revels in the horror genre – haunts me to this day. Adding to the awkwardness was the fact that he was actually on his way up to the theater stage to kick things off when I fan-bushed him, and he was visibly rattled when he finally made it up there.

    And then there was that time that I almost stepped on Seth Green at San Diego Comic Con, but he was smart enough to scuttle away after seeing my Fan Face. But that’s another story…

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