Lanky and Three Wishes: a conversation by MJW

"Man, Ima have to stop eating this shit if I'm gonna have my Hugh Jackman body," said Walter gruffly, tossing the remains of his quarter pounder with cheese and french fry box.

Since being on this trip, Walter has firmly resolved to eat healthier and get into shape upon his return to the states. He cites Hugh Jackman as Wolverine as his recent inspiration for this newfound desire for discipline.

"That man went for 18 months without pizza and beer to get in shape. Four percent body fat," Jeanne said, shaking her head.

"I mean, I'm sure he could get away with eating pizza or beer every now and then," said Walter, grasping for a loophole.

"Not when he's building that body mass," Jeanne shot back.

"Yeah, maybe not building, but after he got to the ideal weight, I'm sure could sneak a pizza or two while he's maintaining it."

I look back and forth between Jeanne and Walter. We've arrived in Sydney after a grueling seven hour drive down the Pacific Highway. The terrain coming into the northern side of Sydney resembled the Pacific Northwest Coast, under a grey cover of rainclouds and a intermittent showers. The highway wound around cliffs and low-lying mountains, dipping lower into the landscape. We are sitting at McDonalds, having yet another absurd conversation, this time about Hugh Jackman's body type.

"I would say he's lanky," Walter was saying.

Jeanne shoots him an incredulous you-must-be-crazy look. "No way. I'd say he's long and lean. Not lanky."

"Lanky does not imply thinness," Walter states.

"Yes, it does," Jeanne insists. I nod in agreement. "Lanky by definition means thin."

"No, it doesn't. It has something to do with bone structure."

"You can't be both fat and lanky," I say. "Name one person who is both fat and lanky."

"Orson Welles."

"I don't know what that man looks like."

"Well, then I can't help you."

"I'm trying to think of someone in Hollywood who is lanky," says Jeanne. "But I can't think of anybody. Our friend Brooks. Do you know Brooks?" Jeanne asks Walt. Walt shakes his head no, and for the first time, it dawns on me: here sits Walt, who has so much become a part of my life and routine and comfortability over the past two and a half months, I can't conceive of this person not knowing Brooks, who seems like he was from another era of my life, before Australia and before traveling.

I met Brooks more than a year ago, through Jeanne. He's about 6'5'', and in typical emo fashion, his thin frame is always decked out in skinny jeans and V-neck shirts, with hair styled with enough hair product to match. He and Jeanne used to have occasional and impromptu Scrabble tournaments. I didn't really know Brooks all that well, but anybody who can pose a significant threat to Jeanne's Scrabble-playing abilities can't be all that bad.

But yes, Brooks is definitely the epitome of lankiness.

But Walt doesn't know Brooks.

Jeanne and I try to come up with another example.

"See," Walt interjects. "Jim Carrey is lanky."

"No, he's not lanky," disagrees Jeanne.

"Oh yeah! He even says that in Liar, Liar," I remember. "About 6'3'', large teeth, kinda gangly," Walter and I both quote the movie and laugh.

"Brooks is Lanky. Jim Carrey is lanky. But Hugh Jackman is not lanky," I say.

"Hugh Jackman is not lanky," echoes Jeanne.

"Hugh Jackman IS lanky," counters Walt.

I often silently wish that the real Hugh Jackman knew how many pointless conversations we have at his expense. In fact, it is one of my greatest wishes that one day at a cafe or restaurant, as we are having yet another Hugh Jackman discussion, that the real Hugh Jackman would casually turn around and introduce himself. We ARE in Australia, after all. I imagine that little scenario would happen something like this:

Mel: "I heard that 30 percent of Australians follow the Jedi faith."
Walt: "What! 30 percent? That can't be right."
Mel: "That's what that Lonely Planet book said."
Jeanne: "That's right, I remember reading that somewhere in the book."
Walt: "30 percent? Maybe 30 percent believe in the Force or something, but I doubt that 30 percent of Australians actually, genuinely adhere to the Jedi faith."
Mel: "What if Hugh Jackman were an actual Jedi knight? Jeanne, would you date Hugh Jackman if he followed the Jedi faith?
Jeanne: "Umm...I'd have to think about that a lot. Seriously."
Hugh Jackman: (he turns around, fully-garbed in a Jedi knight hood, with his light saber swinging by his side) Excuse me, guys. I couldn't help but overhear... But may the Force be with you.

I truly wish this would happen.

I would not, however, waste three of my hypothetical wishes from my hypothetical genie on this wish.

Walter, Jeanne and I have also discussed the implications of making three wishes. We on the back verandah of Ellie's parents house, drinking our morning tea under Gold Coast sunshine.

"Obviously, you couldn't wish for more wishes," I said.

"Yeah, that's like a given, in the genie-wishing world," Jeanne said.

"Like in Aladdin. You can't make people fall in love with you or wish for more wishes, etc., etc." said Walt.

"What would you wish for?"

Jeanne doesn't skip a beat. "I would wish that I was Hugh Jackman's wife."

"How funny would that be if you got your wish, you woke up the next morning in Hugh Jackman's bed, and you were married, but he had no idea who you were?" I laugh.

"That would NOT happen."

"But how do you know?"

"I would just wake up and me being Hugh Jackman's wife would be a new reality."

"Oh, like an alternate reality. Like in Lost."

"Yeah, an alternate reality. Not that he would wake up and I'm some random woman in his bed that he happens to be married to. Clearly."

"Can you imagine how creepy that would be?" Walt exclaims. "Hugh Jackman would wake up and be startled to death and Jeanne would just be standing there, smiling at him. She'd sit down on the arm chair reach out, shut the lamp off beside her, with her silhouette in the darkened room."

"You're making me sound like a creep!"

"It could happen," Walter shrugs.

Jeanne is insistent. "My genie would KNOW."

"I guess you'd have to be pretty specific when making the wish," I pointed out. "Let me be Hugh Jackman's wife and that we've known each other for awhile, and I'm not a complete stranger and that he wouldn't be freaked out..."

"I would just trust my genie," says Jeanne. "Also, I'll make a 12 page legal document clearly outlining every detail in fine print of the wish when I'm wishing, just to make sure. No loopholes."

"I think I'd wish for an infinite amount of wealth," Walt thinks out loud.

"What do you mean exactly by an infinite amount of wealth?"

"Well, exactly what I mean. An infinite amount. Every time I withdraw, it'd magically replenish itself. That way, I could take care of my family, maybe hand out a million dollars here and there. Just so I wouldn't have to worry about money for the rest of my life. I could take care of my sisters, help out friends when they needed it," Walt muses. "Yeah, it'd be great to just hand out a million dollars to friends every now and then."

"You would cause the value of the dollar to decline, therefore causing the American economy to crash. If there was a constant influx of cash from you pumping into the economy, you would render cash obsolete within a matter of years. You would bring about the destruction of the world's economy as we know it," Jeanne declares.

"You would basically bring about the apocalypse," I added.

"I would not ruin the economy. I would not cause the apocalypse!"

"You would, eventually," Jeanne insists.

"What if Walt's wealth was in gold?" I ask. "Not in cash. Or a magical ATM deposit?"

"It wouldn't matter. Walter having that infinite amount of gold would still cause hyperinflation eventually."

"It probably wouldn't be a good idea to have infinite wealth."

"Right. Infinite wealth would ruin the economy."

"Wait a second. We were talking about wishes here. How come you're allowed to be Hugh Jackman's wife without any stipulations? But here I am wishing for infinite wealth, and we think through the global implications of what my wish would mean. It's MY wish," says Walt indignantly.

"I'm just telling you like it is," Jeanne shrugs. "You'd ruin the economy. You would. Okay, so I would want to be Hugh Jackman's wife AND I'd want the ability to teleport. Get me some Chick-Fila and some sweet tea right now. Mel, what would you wish for? You didn't say."

"I'd definitely want to teleport, too." I say slowly. "But I don't think I would ask for anything else that would make my life easier or improve my quality of life. I think I'd want something just unique and fun. Like a pet pegasus!" I exclaim. "Yep, I would definitely want a pet pegasus. Because no one else would have one and it would just be fun to have."

That settles that.

Tonight, we're back in the hostel room. Walt is on his bunk bed, drawing some comic book characters he's invented, some rogue rat who's lost his memory somehow and now flies smuggler cargo ships throughout the universe like Han Solo. Jeanne is curled up on the bed, reading Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dosteovsky.

Suddenly, she sits up and with a smile on her face, she retrieves her Macbook.

I already know what she's doing.

She pulls up the Merriam-Webster Dictionary application and types in: "LANKY."

Definition? "Ungracefully tall and thin."

Yes, thin.

We laugh in triumph and tell Walter how wrong he was. He relents, for once.

Jeanne closes her Macbook and stows it away, and with a smile on her lips, she goes back to reading her book.

I smile, and go back to typing on my laptop.