So there we were at hip buckwheat pancake central, aka John O' Groats on Pico Blvd., bemoaning the cost of elder health care, and discussing the possibility of getting state jobs or UC positions that after a minimum number of years employment - BOOM! - you've got health care for the rest of your life. State of California is 10 years. UC Davis Med Center: 5. But anyway, who gives a crap about that? The only reason you're reading this post at this point is to find out who in the hell we saw while masticating on eggs, bacon and a stack o' starch, unless you can tell which Baldwin is pictured at right, in which case, you've probably chosen to move on with your life and get back to what it was you were doing before lollygagging your ass over here. If not, then you are in luck because while I would have been no help to you, Erin was with me and she, of the Hollywood radar, instantly recognized him.
It was Billy Baldwin. Or William Baldwin. The one who is married to Chynna Phillips (for an in-depth rant about people's moronic choices of name spelling of their children go here). Backdraft? Flatliners? Anyone? Not the one who was married to Kim Basinger? The one with the perpetually stoned eyes. The one with the puckered duck lips. The one with the swoosh hairdo. OK, so they all look like that.
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