Haiku Monday Results / Pretend

Message from the czar:

I am going to assuage my ego and pretend that the reason Fleur roped me into this exercise was to make up for her absence in a Czar-hosted HM week with a theme that my dear friend would have hit out of the park, not that that was the intent, and I only realized it later. Then again, most weeks, everyone hits it out of the park these days.

[Just as background for those of who you don’t know and who might care, Fleur and I worked together at an insurance association, of all things, back in the mid-1980s. Fleur was a coworker of the future czarina, and was a bridesmaid at our wedding. As we now understand, we were virtual children then. We’ve for almost thirty years been part of a small group -- not unlike HMers -- who pride ourselves on what legends we are, in our own minds or otherwise. Although we probably were out of contact for 10 or more years, HM has brought Fleur and me back to our old tricks.]

I know the real reason: Without a cast of thousands, the idea of Fleur bringing in an HM winning essay on her own before people are embarking upon their weekend plans is about as likely as her stepping onto New York’s mean streets in an army jacket and a pair of faded corduroys. I think one of Fleur’s past excuses had to do with her sister and mother going to follow a fleet of Canadian sailors somewhere. Not exactly sure.

Not that Fleur’s Gaffney peach watertower haiku would have beat Her Serendipitousness’s sunset reflection that week. I can only imagine what Blowfish’s reaction to the peach must be. Especially with what South Carolina is in the czarist mind (no offense to our reader[s] from South Carolina), the idea that the state has erected what appears to be a colossal monument to a woman’s derriere right on the interstate is a matter of some confusion.

Wait. Why am I writing? What’s the theme? Refuse? Repent? Resist? Oh, Pretend. Who am I? Why am I here? Maybe I’ll resist the temptation to toss off bon mots to keep myself amused. Maybe I’ll resist talking about haikus altogether? No, wait. Pretend, pretend.

Maybe I’ll pretend I’ll make the final wording easy for Fleur, after all the onerous rules I established up front. She was only about a quarter kidding. Her word is as good as her word. And her words have always been pretty good, as you know.

Protocol: I suggested to Fleur that we submit to each other our top three with reasons, ranked, and I’d take a first pass and compiling and writing up the results; then she’d edit and have final say-so.

Simple, right?

Well, rather than three, I offered seven: 2 first place, 2 second places, a third place, and 2 honorable mentions.

Fleur offered four, I think. Are they ranked? Dunno? Were there names attached to two of them? No. I’m thinking that, knowing Fleur, this was some attempt at electoral sabotage that some of the children once attempted on the back of the Partridge Family bus.

Let’s pretend this was going to be simple.

As far as I can tell, here are the ones that drew specific comments. I’ll work up from what’s roughly honorable mention to what may have been a clear winner. Sorta. In our pretend universe.

Nice thing is, everyone got a call.

We each liked a different one of Serendipity’s; comments on the logs: “Another childhood pretend interrupted by reality. The concept of a maiden voyage by, well, a maiden is most clever.”

Chickory’s first on a deceptive-looking day received double kudos. The subsequent explanation was very interesting, too.

Fishy, 1st Trojan Horse: “epic story, best fakeout in history (until the Crying Game).

Moi’s was noted for great phrasing, sounds, complex use of theme and a good visual. If we were pretending this was a fair fight and voted on tangibles, Moi might have come away with the win this week.

Island Rider’s was a great twist: the terrible two who’s figured it out and the supposedly grown-up family who wants to cling, and for what?

Becca’s on (the) burned dinner (metaphor), like another one haiku soon to be discussed, attracted one of the judges particularly because both parties in view will ultimately be pretending here. The speaker of “yes, dear” -- a phrase often loaded with pretend if there ever was one -- is uncertain. Too, once getting past that phrase, just about every word carries a double meaning that makes the short, simple syllables ricochet all over the place with multiple associations. Even “honey” sets off Lenny Bruce connotations that help the verse along -- a man who wrote a fictional (pretend) autobiography.

 But, alas:

Spring tryst; oh Oh OH!
Oh Honey! You are the best!
Work on shopping list.

Karl’s ode to the fake orgasm received superlatives from us both: “hilarious, the biggest ongoing fakeout in human history.” “Works for all involved. Take the same first two lines and close with five syllables about thinking of someone else, and you have  a daisy chain of pretend, and a might empty one.”

Without pretense, the week goes to Sir Karl. The rest of us . . . worthwhile pretenders.

From the Fleur:
Well said, Csar!  I am in awe of Karl, all my fellow HM entrants, and you for having worked both the Partridge Family and Lenny Bruce's lady into the same winner write-up!