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Tuesday, October 25, 2016

The Last of the Mohicans

It is 2 years into The French and Indian War. The British forces are battling hard to hold onto their strategic fort. The French General Montcolm strikes a diplomat deal to get the British to surrender the fort. As the British forces are departing from the fort, France's Indian allies breach the term of the surrender. They attack the British forces, eradicating nearly the entire British garrison.

The Indians capture the daughter of one of our protagonists. Our heroes make a daring rescue to get her back. During the final climatic battle one of two surviving Mohican tribesman is killed. This makes the one remaining tribesman, the last of the Mohicans.

In class we spoke about how the Europeans and the Native Americans inter-mingled. Often times they even bred with one another and raised children together. During the film the Indian warlord, Magua, and his tribal armies are fighting alongside the forces of the french garrison under General Montcolm. We discovering during a one on one between Magua and Montcalm that Magua's Father was a Frenchman killed in battle against British forces. This explains why he has such a deep hatred of the British.

We also spoke extensively above how the Native American tribes formed military alliances with the Europeans. They hoped that their the Europeans would help them defeat their enemies. Which mot often were other rivaling Native tribes. In the film, Magua has a vendetta to kill off the last o the Mohicans, a native tribe that once rivaled his own i size. now the Mohicans are only a handful but Magua is determined to wipe them off the face of the Earth.

In class we spoke extensively about the importance of trade in the Americas. Magna is very ambitious. He wants to be as powerful of a trade as the whites. He tells th Indian War Chiesthat they can trade the British officer back to the British government for a large sum. Magna see's the opportunity to make his the most powerful tribe in all the land, and just like how we rakes about in class, trade in the secret to success.

I did not like the movie. Chingachgook's son s killed by Magua. Chingachook kills Magua. Alice Munro's husband is burned alive. Cooney Edmund Munro, Alice's father, is killed even after he gives up his fort to the British to save his men. Then all of his men are still killed by Magua's men. I guess I'm just disappointed that every character we care about dies. Alice Munro's daughter and Chingachgook's son Uncas are in love and they both die. The film just ends on a somber note and it just leaves you felling dejected.

I learned that there are actually dozens of cases in which whites lived amongst Native Americans. As I did more research to see how plausible and based in accuracy this was. The idea of a white person living amongst the Native Americans. I actually found a very interesting story about a white boy named Henry Lehmann who was left with Native Americans when he was very young. He grew up during his early years with the Indians and was considered one of them. In class we discussed European and Indians breeding together but the idea of a white boy being raised in an Indian tribe, that was a new one for me. In the film Daniel Day Lewis has become one of the Mohicans. Alice munro's daughter, before her timely death, has been sentenced to be raised with Magua as a member of the Huron tribe. 

Saturday, October 15, 2016

RUMPELTSTILTSKIN

“Lucifer has a little disfigured demonic four-foot dwarf that works for him, collecting mortal souls and in return awarding the clients with fame, fortune, their Earthly desires. In a first person narrative letter we discovery the origin story of how our main character started working for Lucifer, and peculiar enough his story sounds a lot like a fairy tale antagonist we may all be familiar with.”

Dear King Satan,
It was quite a simple request. A mundane agreement amongst two consenting partners in a contract obligation. It’s really barely even worth mentioning. But if I am to confess all of my sins I might as well lay this one of the table to. Although I truly don’t think it’s worth your time, your majesty. I pleaded with her that if I aid her in a simple task of knitting some yarn that she grant me a wish. Her first born son. Seeing as though I’d never been able to get a gal to settle down with me, a child to call my own had thus far eluded my grasp. Fatherdom, such a noble endeavor. Can one really condemn me for asking for Fatherdom? And it was, if my lips do speak truly, quite a bit of yarn. And if I knitted this yarn for her she would soon be a pretty princess. I don’t know what sort of strange deal this was. A plethora of yarn balls for a royal crown. But I was never one to judge. These were the conditions of a contract she had stricken separate from and I, your majesty, was simply a private contractor to help the poor girl fulfill the endeavor to which her bridle hands had so been assigned. And so after the magnificent little yellow haired beauty and I struck our deal, my end of the bargain was met and with the yarn balls sown she was soon awarded her marriage to a gorgeous specimen of a man, a prince no less. Nearly two winters after their union, a plump seed had filled the princess’s belly and sprouted from between her thighs. And when I came time to the princess to collect my end of the bargain, the bargain that had awarded her the royal crown to begin with, she refused to give me her child. I was truly heartbroken, your majesty. I was going to raise this child right. I was going to teach this cute little yellow haired freckled face boy how true royal men should walk. And talk. And squawk. And I must admit, I had worked myself up into a such a happy state of being over the whole idea of the proposition. Me, a Father? Who could of thunk it? Definitely not my own Father. He didn’t see as having a chance at much of anything. Which is why, sorry to say, I feel I entered this life of scheming and bamboozling to begin with. Not asking for pity here but when a boy is without the means to pay his own road to a higher education he must find unconventional means in which to make his way in the world. Thankfully I’ve always been a clever one so con-ing people out of their silver and gold has never been too much of a hassle for a little weasel like me. But now, for the first in my life, someone did not want to pay me for my services. That ungrateful yellow harried hussy. I made her what she was! And she had the gall to deny me my end of the bargain. Oh yes. I will note for the record that she did cry. And wail. And shriek. And shout. And pout. And beat her fists all about. And the whole I couldn’t help but feel as though maybe the princess was upset because she was, if I may say, a bit prejudice. Is it so much of a stress to say that her hesitance could very well have been due to my size. I don’t see it as to much of a stretch. I’m not trying to pull any punches here but I’ve faced discrimination due to my short statue before. I stand a mere four feet; you see? A dwarf by any man’s standards. And so, was this little yellow haired princess filled with concern that a dwarf man might do something to her baby boy? Now people I’ve spoken to have tried to discredit my argument about a possible hate crime taking place here but let me tell you I’ve grown up with bias all my life. I’ve heard it all, your majesty. I’m no stranger to prejudice. My size is the first thing you notice about me. There’s no hiding that. And so I’m 99% sure that there was something in this princess’s head that was saying, what’s this little guy gunna do with my kid? Some weird voodoo magic. They always think we little people are into the weird voodoo magic. And if not, voodoo magic, what then? What? For heaven’s sake! She probably thought I was some little monster, ready to feast on the flesh of her baby’s bones. But I promise you, no foul play was at work here. I wanted the child because I had never had one of my own. Never. Your majesty, I’ve never been much of a looker. No woman has ever loved an ugly dog as putrid as I. My face is an assortment of boils and blisters and gashes and scars and scabs and what darling fair lady would ever have notions to make such a creature their bedfellow? None that I have ever crossed paths with. That much is for certain. Anyways, I am not without heart. All the endless crying of the princess stirred something inside me. Emotions, perhaps? Guilt? Regret? Sympathy? Oh yes, it was sympathy. The same emotion I’m asking from you now. Do not sentence me to a long stay in the fires of the underworld. For my sins are undeserving of such a cruel punishment. As I told you, I am a byproduct of a Father who never cared much for me and so a life of criminal endeavors was all that I could ever amount to. And as for the Princess’s first born son, I showed mercy and let the Prince guess my name. And if he could guess my name then he could keep his son. And guess what? He guessed right and the Prince got to keep his son and I remained childless. See! I am not without heart. And neither are you, your majesty. You know what, screw all the royal formalities. I’m tired of being courteous to you. I can see it’s going to get me nowhere. You’ve never really been one to resonate with humility so instead I’ll show you ego. At least that’s a language you can understand. Because, yes, I speak your language. And so not think that I do not know you, King Satan. I know you. I know you in all your forms. Beelzebub. Devil. Baphomet. No matter how many times you try to change your name you can’t escape your past. Because you’ll always be Lucifer to me. And I know, because the birds have been chirping, that you not without strife in the Father-Son department. You know exactly what I’ve been through. Your Dad through you out, just like my Daddy through my ass to the curb. They told us to make our way in the world and we became schemers. You’ve done far better than I in your career path, Lucifer. But by what right does that give you to judge me? From one pick pocketer to another. I’m asking you, no I’m telling you, that you can use a man like me by your side. Take me in as your handy man. Your muscle. I’m a guy who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. And let me tell you, I can be a Devil’s advocate. You think you got a bad rap in Genesis, Lucifer? For hundreds of years I’ve been the antagonist in a children’s fairy tale. Yah. Yah. The story I just told you. They put it in print. And guess what? I’m the bad guy in it. The guy who gets swindled out his end of the bargain, is the villain. I think the person who breaks their promise should be the bad guy. Don’t you? I should be the hero in that frikin story. I’m the guy who got swindled by a couple of royal blondies who didn’t wanna pay up when the bill collector came ah knockin. They’ve been teaching kids that not holding to your promises is the way to go about commerce. What a horrible lesson for children. And in your story, Lucifer, it’s even worse! Their telling kids they shouldn’t eat apples because it makes them smarter. What kind of world are we living in? I ask you again, what kind of world are we living in? And what kind of world could we make it if we were to work together? We’ve both been unofficial contract lawyers for most of our adult lives, so we understand how to shake hands and sign a deal. So don’t scoff at my proposal. Because as you know, I can do exactly what you do. Signing away souls for fame and fortune. I’d be so good at that. Man, I am so your guy, it’s not even funny. Striking up bargains is what I’m known for. Or my name isn’t…Rumpelstiltskin

THE END