of France?
...and Bullwinkle's brain.
Welcome to the official Alec Baldwin Online Guestbook!
SPECIAL NOTE TO ALL OF OUR VISITORS:
Due to the constant and steady stream of offensive material that has been posted here on my Guestbook, regretfully we are closing the Guestbook indefinitely.
Soon we will reopen the Guestbook in a new format whereby those who leave Guestbook entries must leave their actual email address by virtue of a signature verification that we will install in the near future.
Most of the offensive material has been political in nature. I find that rather disappointing considering the website was constructed plainly as a means to communicate with my audience about my work in films, television and theatre.
Nearly all of the information that has been posted on this Guestbook is misinformation or disinformation, fueled by political extremists whose only goal is to harass and disrupt.
We look forward to reopening the Guestbook in the coming weeks with our new feature that will encourage, and even require, our visitors to sign their names to their entries.
We look forward to the fascinating results.
Sincerely, Alec Baldwin
Only because Alec's fatter.
He can't; there's no opening for a candidate currently available. The socialists already have David MacReynolds, and the Commies have some tall fat guy whose name I can't remember.
He's a Clintonite...enough said.....Let's move on.
He's a Clintonite...enough said.....Let's move on.
Mr. Conductor has lost his clout at the box office.
Mr. Conductor has lost his place in the script.
ALEC BALDWIN FOR PRESIDENT?
By Bess Rattray Alec Baldwin does not want to be Senator, Governor, or President...Yet. He has Kennedy's charisma, Reagan's hair and the wonky passion of Ralph Nader, but he swears he's not a politician. Bess Rattray surveys the role he was born to play. Stories about movie stars are supposed to open with a meal, over which the actor discloses his or her hard-won sense of satisfaction with the world: Cameron Diaz and a plate of steak frites reach new levels of personal awareness; Brad Pitt, contemplating a mesclun salad with ciabatta croutons, posits that a sense of harmony comes from within. This story opens with Alec Baldwin and a plate of linguine primavera and talk of radioactive seepage.
Midway through a long October weekend-scheduled at the frantic pace of a campaigning politician's eleventh-hour barnstorm--Baldwin sits under the bare beams and Arts and Crafts wallpaper of an East Hampton, New York, dining room, wondering if the aging nuclear reactor at Brookhaven National Laboratory is poisoning the children of Long Island. Down Main Street, on a chilly night, the Hamptons International Film Festival is in full swing: There is a hangar-sized white party tent, under which young actresses with absurd hairdos try to catch the eye of someone important; there are klieg lights raking the sky as if a zeppelin attack were imminent; there are camera crews to beam the fiesta into the living rooms of America.
But the biggest star in town has other fish to fry. Baldwin's marathon started Wednesday, after he fled the Los Angeles set of Mercury Rising (an action-thriller co-starring Bruce Willis) and hustled to New York for the inauguration of the Cantor film-studies center at NYU, his alma mater.
Friday afternoon, he hightailed it out through the Midtown Tunnel, away from Manhattan, to address a press conference for Standing for Truth About Radiation (STAR), a newborn activist group that will--among other somber tasks--test baby teeth donated by local parents for traces of the radioactivity that may or may not be leaking from Brookhaven. Tonight, Friday, he manages to be only half an hour late to host the seventy or so liberal-minded Hamptonites who have paid $500 to dine on stuffed chicken and roasted beets (a vegetarian, Baldwin special-ordered his linguine) with STAR's founders and hear more about the toxic contamination that could be creeping--eastward, ever eastward--under their summerhouses at night. Saturday, it's west again on I-495 for the dedication of a breast-cancer-care pavilion at Stony Brook medical center in the name of his mother, Carol, a seven-year cancer survivor and a public voice for the thousands of Long Island women who make up the shadowy "clusters" of victims that haunt these suburbs. Sunday, all six of the blue-eyed Baldwin kids--Alec, Billy, Stephen, Daniel, Beth, and Jane--and their blue-eyed mom gather again, this time at Massapequa High, for the dedication of a new auditorium in the name of their father, Alexander Rae Baldwin, Jr., who taught social studies there, coached the rifle team and football, and died of lung cancer in 1983.
The eldest Baldwin boy has a voice that makes writers go purple with simile: It's like a hand on corduroy. Like ripping velvet. Like smoke, like a hound dog, like gravel under a boot. Tonight, moving slow and easy in a blue suit that's half movie-star casual, half Washington wonk, he turns his voice on the wealthy Democrats and activists and lawyers who have settled into cheery, overstuffed couches after dinner to hear what STAR has to say: "Tritiated, contaminated water--am I wrong?--is moving this-a-way." He glances with a sardonic look from eye to eye. "It's not moving toward Peekskill, for all you people who know [New York Governor] Pataki's farm up there. It's not moving toward Albany...It's moving out here." He holds each of us in a gaze that could be construed as either a merry twinkle or as a look of menace. "Radioactive contamination is on its way here, to the East End of Long Island. What are we going to do about that?" Baldwin's delivery is fierce.
Remember the Kodiak bear he wrassled with in The Edge? If Alec met that bear on his way home tonight, he'd take him down in two rounds. Unlike other stars, who somehow seem to shrink when you see them in real life--Madonna, for all her insinuating charisma, turns into a pocket Venus who talks like Ethel Mertz, Robert Redford distressingly morphs into a small man with orange hair--Baldwin is even more formidable in person than onscreen
thank you thank you very much!