In 2010 I became obsessed with Michael Caine. Just out of the blue he hit me, and there was no quelling my desire to know him more. I filled my Netflix queue with every available film he graced viewing dozens of his movies within a few months. Sir Michael could be a young thug, a washed-up con-man, an elegant butler who knew a hell of a lot about the construction of bullet proof rubber armor, his role made no difference to me, those steel blue eyes and irresistible smile drew me into each world he inhabited. Along the way I devoured both his autobiographies, became a fan of his Facebook page, and read countless internet tidbits on his accomplishments. His innate thirst translated to my own and I found myself living larger by following Caine’s career. This obsession over such a talented actor and remarkable person brought me endless joy. Today, he is 91.

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