Getting a Leg Up

Jimmy Stewart giving his best Justin Walker impression.

As I train my lens on Senator McCallister and the people who populate his  life, I can’t help but picture Robert as a red-tie wearing onion.

Actually, I suppose artichoke would be more apt, considering he was born and raised in the artichoke capital of the world: Castroville, California.  I’m not trying to say that he’s a vegetable when up there giving speeches; merely, that he has layers.  And as each layer gets peeled back, things only get more interesting.

Having a recent lull in his travel schedule, I've had the opportunity to focus on his eclectic group of future in-laws: The Walkers.

This bunch is a handful.  With so many of them running around, it’s nearly impossible for one Lenny to track all of them simultaneously.  There are two that do seem to be quite easy to follow, though, as they rarely leave their Pasadena paradise: Justin and Rebecca.

Justin Walker is the family hero.  Hell, he’s climbing up my hero ladder too.  As an Army medic, he’s served two tours of duty overseas as part of our ever-reaching global war on terror.

In his second tour, the first in Iraq, he sustained a serious leg injury when engaged with the enemy.  This provided him a ticket home to the United States for rehabilitation -- a ticket his family no doubt hopes is one-way.  Due to his limited mobility, he  spends a great deal of time shut in his home.

I have this recurring dream that Justin develops acute paranoid neurosis, spliced with cabin fever, and suddenly loses his marbles a la Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window. This nightmare of mine concludes with Justin turning a camera outside his own window and filming me filming him.

I think I’m safe from this for two reasons.  One, my unparalleled incognito ninja-videography tactics, and two, that he appears to be in a really good place for a wounded veteran.

I’m convinced that a lot of this positivity stems from his resident Florence Nightingale, his youngest sister and object of my innocent leering affection: Rebecca (unemployed?).

She tags along at physical therapy, watches mindless Hollywood dribble on the tube with him, and just generally seems to keep his spirits high.  These two come across as partners in crime and her presence wards off any feelings of loneliness that might creep into Justin’s head.

I, on the other hand, am starting to feel just a small bite of the lonely bug.  It's inevitable to a certain degree when traveling by your lonesome, but when you find yourself naming your iPod (Kitty) and your camera (Winston) it’s time to take a hard look in the mirror.

 

J&R - shocked to find artistically enriching TV.

I’m not complaining, though:  Look where I am. It’s beautiful, and consistent, and consistently beautiful.  I’ve stopped checking the weather forecast here altogether.

California really does carry a solid amount of natural assets.  Mountains AND beaches, bears AND sharks.  You can surf and snowboard on the same day.  You can double-fist drinking a mudslide and a sex on the beach during a mudslide while having sex on the beach. (always been a goal of mine)

Not that I'm paid to enjoy the bounty of this most populous state.  I have managed to squeeze in some McCallister time lately, albeit with little result videographically speaking.

While covering his recent speech on immersion of the English language at the Chavez Ravine Historical Society, I found myself agreeing more and more with Brian Wilson and the rest of his Beach Boys -- really wishing that they all could be California girls. Everywhere I turn, they're there.  Are they following me?  Unlikely. I'm continuously amazed by this omnipresence of beautiful women in LA. They even pop up at the most unlikely places: sterile GOP fundraisers and bland Republican rallies.    

Problem is, since there just happens to be a camera attached to my head at all times, my sightseeing errs on the side of noticeable.  And, to my boss Karen, if you’re reading this, I assure you that all my footage from this speech is pure California 49er gold.  I know you’ll love it.

Living the dream,

Lenny