An Ancient Oral History of Sex
 

Names and places are fictional. Similarity between this story and the truth is purely coincidental.





Many millennia ago, there were two rival Indian tribes, living on opposite sides of Lake Murray in what later became known as California, unless you are Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger to whom it is known as “Cahleeforrrneeya.”



The Governor pronounces it with a seeming Spanish dialect, though it is really his native Austrian accent leaking through. Uhhh…Does he know better, but has decided to keep that symbiotic Latino pronunciation ?



Picking up on last week’s chapter: Before written history messed everything up, oral story tellers would pass their stories along “live” from generation to generation. Therefore the name, “Oral history.”



The downside? Facts got mangled during this tortuous process.



There is a classic Japanese play, Roshomon, in which there are actual eye witnesses to a murder and none of them agrees about what they saw.



Agreeing on what you heard is worse. Try it yourself. Get a group together and whisper to the person next to you the simplest information, and tell him or her to “pass it on.”



By the time it gets to the end of the line, what you said has been twisted beyond recognition. Think what thousands of years of oral story telling have wrought.



I am setting this up as a prelude to telling you the epic love story of two young Indian lovers many centuries ago. Even if this story is not true, pass it on.



On one side of Lake Murray, there dwelled a Kumeyay Indian tribe ruled by a chief with a ravishing daughter.



On the other side of the lake was a rival Kumeyay chief who hated the chief of the tribe across the lake..



His handsome young son did not share that hate, because he was deeply in love with the ravishing daughter of the other chief.



Theirs was a love separated by a wall of mutual hatred and by frigid Lake Murray..



As the old Indian saying goes, “Love will find a way” The two somehow found ways to be together in a frenzy of stolen love, that flared into a blazing passion that could not be banked.



Helpless against the raging passion that permeated his soul, the young son vowed to jump into Lake Murray, swim the freezing cold waters, and claim the young maiden as his own. In those days, there was no global warming, only global freezing



On a moonless night, he stole to the icy lake’s edge, and began the treacherous swim, buoyed by his undying love.



Sadly, his love was undying, but not himself personally. Halfway across, he stiffened like a buffalo hide war shield, and sank beneath the waters of Lake Murray.



Mourning over the tragic loss united the two rivals to reconsider the folly of their hatred, and ultimately to lay plans to establish a huge gambling casino, Viejas, in San Diego’s east county, a touching memorial to the star crossed lovers.



Lake Murray was renamed in memory of the noble young man,



They named it, ”Lake Stupid.”



Only in the last century has the “Lake Stupid” branding been dropped and reverted back to “Lake Murray,” by the very hip Viejas Indian casino operators. Lake Titicaca all over again. (An inside joke for readers of last week’s piece.)



This love epic was first spun around camp fires by the legendary Indian oral story teller, Will Shake Spear.



It serendipitously wound up in the hands of a British playwright, Will Shakespeare.



Scholars tell us Shakespeare was not his real name. Plainly, he plagiarized not only the deathless plot of “Romeo and Juliet,.” but Will Shake Spear’s very name.



On my morning radio shows, a shaggy Indian story like this would consume maybe two days in the telling, with shameless billboarding and hanging my listeners up each time I reached an ante climax,. Great for TSL and quarter hour maintenance.



As contrived as the story of the star crossed lovers appears, sandwich it in with my authentic Cupeno Indian Rain Dance turn, which morphed into paranormal string of successful rain predictions. My audiences learned to just go along for the ride.





Most ethnic groups seemed not to mind that I was toying with them.

However, I don’t’ think that Islamicists are ready for my satire.

How to tell if you are an Islamicist, apologies to Jeff Foxworthy

You have more wives than teeth

You can’t think of anyone you haven’t declared Jihad against

You still think that cell phones are only used to blow things up

You use your hands to wipe but think bacon is unclean.

Or…

Guy goes into an adult store and asks for an inflatable doll.
Guy behind the counter says, 'Male or female?'
Customer says, 'Female.'
Counter guy asks, 'Black or white?

Customer says, 'White.'
Counter guy asks, 'Islamicist?
Customer says, 'What the hell does that have to do with it?'
Counter guy says, 'The Islamicist blows itself up.'





.The Chicanos are great sports. They thought it was funny that I would tell hundreds of them assembled at a recent fiesta that the name “Chicano” sounded like something you order at Taco Bell.



“Chicano” was a heavy mantle laid on them during Cesar Chavez’s hey day, which they stoically accepted as part of the trappings of being a Latino, a name that also makes no sense.



Latinos are not Latins. Early Romans were Latins, certainly not Spanish.



The Roman Empire collapsed, rendering Latin a dead language. No one has spoken Latin for centuries, unless you were in Latin class at Ball High in Galveston like me.



The name “Latin America” makes no sense either. Some Argentineans are of Italian decent but again, none are Latins. They speak Spanish with an Italian accent, not Latin.



But I veer. Dealing with this line of thinking is a whole ‘nother matter…later.



When I do write about it, I will explain why Mexican Americans are not necessarily Mexican Americans.



When I told you last week that most Indians have a sense of humor about themselves I did not realize the extent to which this is true.



A leading member of the Chiricahuas, an Arizona tribe, e-mailed me this week denying that the Kumeyays were the first cowboys, as they claimed in last week’s piece...



He stated that his band of Indians, the Chiricahuas were the first vaqueros, and that he could prove it.



Chiricahuas is pronounced “cheery cowas”, translation: “happy cowboys.” The next day, he wrote a one word email: “Gotcha!”





Our movie company, Picture Palace Film’s award winning “Kings of the Evening” next shows on April 17 at 7:10p and the 18th at 4p during the Atlanta Film Festival. We are immensely proud of the movie.



If you live in the Atlanta area, go see it, a feel good movie that takes a disparate group of depression era characters who begin with nothing and find self- worth.



Making something out of nothing; our noblest goal.



Robert Page Jones the Executive Producer and writer of our movie, insightfully captured the black soul. He is a white boy..



Andrew P Jones took his father’s story and created a masterpiece of Direction..





I played with the English language earlier, Here are my favorite alternate definitions.



Flabbergasted, appalled at how much weight one has gained.

Willy nilly, impotent

Lymph, to walk with a lisp.

Rectitude, the formal dignified bearing adopted by proctologists

Negligent, the absent wearing of a night gown when answering the door.

Gross negligee, stealing 144 women’s night gowns.

Pregnosticator, predicting when a woman will get pregnant.

Octopuss, a man with eight faces.

Flatulence, emergency vehicle for people who have been run over by a steam roller.

Abdicate, giving up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.





SignOn is bygone. The internet radio station was owned by the San Diego Union Tribune. Whygone SignOn? ????????





I am a nobody……………..Nobody is perfect…………..Therefore, I am perfect

Anon