55Friday: The “Something to Talk About” Edition

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It’s Friday, which means another work week is over and it is time for some flash fiction-fabricating.

Between the last post I wrote, the edifying discussion on hair which spontaneously occurred when we failed to identify a brown model, AGAIN (Sorry, Sree) and the most precious Gmail I’ve received in weeks (which contained this query-via-wideo from a four-year-old) well, The Papaya, he is playing on my mind. One of you messaged me regarding your surprise that I hadn’t voted for Sanjaya, a secret I revealed here, but American Idol has nothing to do with my passion for papaya. I sweat him because he’s so kind and ingenuous, because of his sweet nature.

I’m thinking in particular about Papaya’s last performance (available in the video above), which took him from tears to a tiny bit of triumph when he customized the chorus of Bonnie Raitt’s “Something to Talk About” to “other than haaaaaaaair”. That was the moment when my affection for him became solid, when I realized that it wasn’t just idle amusement; he had put up with so much and he was still smiling in his typical, good-natured way. I was amazed, mostly because I’ve never been a fan of this song, but also because he seemed so poised for a teenager. “My hero,” I thought. All those detractors piling on him in addition to the biggest hater of them all—Simon–plus the blatantly racist slant to much of the criticism he received (uh…where were the anti-Italian comments?) equaled humility and niceness, not bitterness or resentment. When I grow up, I want to be a papaya.

::

This week, write about gossip, the blues, papaya, fanjayas or continue the week’s trend and 55 away about hair, ‘pooed, oiled or otherwise. If none of this tickles your knickers, pick your own plot to flash some fiction with, but please play along anyway. I’m sure you have something to talk about, how about packaging it in a mere fifty-five words?

13 thoughts on “55Friday: The “Something to Talk About” Edition”

  1. I don’t have curly hair.

    I have a kinky mess springing from my head, so I never look desi unless I straighten it. I tried Japanese thermal process…but I’m still nappy…and after spending $500, I’m not happy. Or pretty.

    I wish I had “good” Indian hair like you. My Mom wishes I did too.

  3. Flip it in the air, call it and see if you win. There is a fifty percent chance that you won’t so keep your heart in your chest. You won! Now double or nothing? You don’t have the balls to risk it. Walk away before it is too late and this bliss comes crashing down.

  4. I’m a Mac: PC, How’s Windows Vista treating you?

    I’m a PC: I am consumed by melancholia. I have cannibalized all of my RAM with “Aero’s” superfluous graphical interface; you can feel my bloated stomach on my hard drive; and I actually run slower than my predecessor, even on a faster PC. Oh, and I sing like Sanjaya.

    I’m a Mac: Dude, that sucks.

    I’m a PC: Dude.

  5. (muddy waters tune)

    When I was a young boy, Ta te deh deh deh dum aged 45, Ta te deh deh deh dum My father said to me, Ta te deh deh deh dum You’re getting married tonight, Ta te deh deh deh dum I said papa why and who to?, Ta te deh deh deh dum He said you have no choice son, she sells mangos and Poooooooooooo!!!

    Iz got the blues!!!! The Smelly poo blues! Why she sells poo, I don’t know!! I got the blues!!

  6. College first year laboratory. Hey, did you see that girl? Her hair is a oil factory! Yeah man, that’s what you get coming from a village. Flash forward 25 years. College reunion. Hey, did you see her hair? Long, glossy – just like mom’s. I used to bury my face in that and smell the fragrance.

  7. I wrote this song a long time ago. A real long time ago. Feel me.. and you in the back you ain’t sh*t. You bought a gin and tonic and didn’t even tip, and if you hit this table one more time then this record might skip, might skip. Stop hittin the table. Not alive.

  8. She stopped riding her bicycle (a beautiful ten-speed Schwinn; shining and pink) two weeks after the helmet law passed.

    Before the helmet, her two braids swung out behind her like dancing kites. With the helmet on, sweat ran down her forehead; it left a ring of crushed, matted stickiness.

    That year, she walked to school.

    (Editor’s note: I know helmets save lives and I’m all in favor of them. It’s just that they’ve never been… particularly good for hair. For lives, yes, but not for hair.)

  9. I’m a little bummed that a 17 year old kid has better hair than me. I make a decent living and can afford to buy what nature failed to bestow upon me, and yet, I can never come close to achieving the follicular wonders of our Papaya. How come my hair doesn’t curl gloriously or shine brighter than the moon? How come the mop on my head just sits there while his rests like a halo over his angelic face? How come when I ponyhawk my hair, it doesn’t nearly have the awesomeness to reduce little girls to hysteric tears? Sigh. He brought the pretty to my TV every week, and I miss him. Papaya is LOVE.

  10. So is Sanjaya gay? I saw him wipe a tear at the beginning of the song, and I thought that meant not straight. But then I remembered that my father cried when I told him I wanted to major in English.

  11. Avishkar, I hope you’re kidding (if so, dude, USE the emoticons ’cause it’s kinda hard to tell). If you’re not kidding, oy vey. I’m sorry if you think it’s unmanly (or gay) for a man to cry. I hope you never get your heart broken or have a loved one pass away or slam your finger in a car door…otherwise, you will be questioning yourself right and left.

    For the record, I never got a super gay vibe from Sanjy. Effeminate, hell yes. But I always sensed that Blake guy had more of the “qualities”. Even Rickey, who has a major crush on this guy admitted that his gaydar didn’t go off when meeting him. And even if he is, who the hell cares? Now I feel annoyed for even bothering to respond to this post.

  12. New Papaya story, esp. for Anna-

    http://www.nationalledger.com/artman/publish/article_272613269.shtml

    Thanks be, the boy’s a tiny bit naughty, and getting naughtier…

    Old cows and little heifers came with bells on to see the papaya pony shake his mane and flash his earrings and whinny for them. Eventually, everybody wept. At this, the little pony grew very large hands, so they made him stop whinnying and start writing his name on pieces of paper for one dollar.