My Anecdotal Life
Reem.19. female. Muslim. Arab. Qatari.
Film buff & avid reader. This blog supports Palestine.

This is a Richard Ayoade appreciation blog

Plus this blog is increasingly more political so please press the more info link before following
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April 23rd
6:18 PM


the best rant of 2014

(via thechosenjuan)

3:06 PM


in honor of Mean Girls’ 10th anniversary, here’s an incredibly subtle but completely extraordinary joke that you’ve probably never noticed from the movie (I saw it at least a dozen times before it dawned on me): Regina George started a rumor that Janis Ian was a lesbian in the 8th grade, but it wasn’t out of malice… it was because Janis told her that she was Lebanese

(via brandyalexanders)

5:58 AM

Discussion: Ethiopia’s struggle for dignity

(Source: amodernmanifesto)

April 21st
5:53 PM


the best metaphor posts I’ve seen so far

(via fuckyeahdiomedes)

4:36 PM


The US hypocrisy is so ironic, they have a torture/concentration camp on the soil of a nation they accuse of human rights violations

(via tasnimsmentalroadtrip)

April 20th
11:33 AM
"You can’t say “I don’t do politics”, because silence is a political statement."
—  Tariq Ramadan (via uniteforpalestine)

(via negactivity)

8:56 AM

Dear Sirs:

I have just seen the film Lifeboat, directed by Alfred Hitchcock and billed as written by me. While in many ways the film is excellent there are one or two complaints I would like to make. While it is certainly true that I wrote a script for Lifeboat, it is not true that in that script as in the film there were any slurs against organized labor nor was there a stock comedy Negro. On the contrary there was an intelligent and thoughtful seaman who knew realistically what he was about. And instead of the usual colored travesty of the half comic and half pathetic Negro there was a Negro of dignity, purpose and personality. Since this film occurs over my name, it is painful to me that these strange, sly obliquities should be ascribed to me.


John Steinbeck wrote this letter to 20th Century Fox in 1944! (via roscoemcnally)

Hollywood has been doing this for a long time.

(via racebending)

Guess which Steinbeck character never made it into the 1955 film adaptation of East of Eden, either? Lee is a fully realized Chinese-American in the novel: he has an interior life, he is intimately connected to the other characters in the story. He’s fully aware of his own marginalized status within the country of his birth, and he speaks in pidgin because it’s the only way he can be heard - it’s what people expect, so he gives it to them despite being an educated man.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but it has happened so often to me and to my friends that we take it for granted. If I should go up to a lady or a gentleman, for instance, and speak as I am doing now, I wouldn’t be understood…. Pidgin they expect, and pidgin they’ll listen to. But English from me they don’t listen to, and so they don‟t understand it” 

He becomes a father-figure to a white girl - Abra (incidentally, the source of my fic pseudonym) - whose own father is a thief.

Abra came in with shining eyes and a red nose from the frosty wind, and she brought such pleasure that Lee giggled softly when he saw her.

“Where are the tarts?” she demanded. “Let’s hide them from Cal.” She sat down in the kitchen. “Oh, I’m so glad to be back.”

Lee started to speak and choked and then what he wanted to say seemed good to say— to say carefully. He hovered over her. “You know, I haven’t wished for many things in my life,” he began. “I learned very early not to wish for things. Wishing just brought earned disappointment.”

Abra said gaily, “But you wish for something now. What is it?”

He blurted out, “I wish you were my daughter—” He was shocked at himself. He went to the stove and turned out the gas under the teakettle, then lighted it again.

She said softly, “I wish you were my father.”

He glanced quickly at her and away. “You do?”

“Yes, I do.”


“Because I love you.”

Lee went quickly out of the kitchen. He sat in his room, gripping his hands tightly together until he stopped choking. He got up and took a small carved ebony box from the top of his bureau. A dragon climbed toward heaven on the box. He carried the box to the kitchen and laid it on the table between Abra’s hands. “This is for you,” he said, and his tone had no inflection.

She opened the box and looked down on a small, dark green jade button, and carved on its surface was a human right hand, a lovely hand, the fingers curved and in repose. Abra lifted the button out and looked at it, and then she moistened it with the tip of her tongue and moved it gently over her full lips, and pressed the cool stone against her cheek.

Lee said, “That was my mother’s only ornament.”

Abra got up and put her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek, and it was the only time such a thing had ever happened in his whole life.

Lee laughed. “My Oriental calm seems to have deserted me,” he said. “Let me make the tea, darling. I’ll get hold of myself that way.” From the stove he said, “I’ve never used that word—never once to anybody in the world.”

Abra said, “I woke up with joy this morning.”

“So did I,” said Lee. “I know what made me feel happy. You were coming.”

“I was glad about that too, but—”

“You are changed,” said Lee. “You aren’t any part a little girl any more. Can you tell me?”

“I burned all of Aron’s letters.”

“Did he do bad things to you?”

“No. I guess not. Lately I never felt good enough. I always wanted to explain to him that I was not good.”

“And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good. Is that it?”

“I guess so. Maybe that’s it.”

“Do you know about the mother of the boys?”

“Yes. Do you know I haven’t tasted a single one of the tarts?” Abra said. “My mouth is dry.”

“Drink some tea, Abra. Do you like Cal?”


Lee said, “He’s crammed full to the top with every good thing and every bad thing. I’ve thought that one single person could almost with the weight of a finger—”

Abra bowed her head over her tea. “He asked me to go to the Alisal when the wild azaleas bloom.”

Lee put his hands on the table and leaned over. “I don’t want to ask you whether, you are going,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” said Abra. “I’m going.”

Lee sat opposite her at the table. “Don’t stay away from this house for long,” he said.

“My father and mother don’t want me here.”

“I only saw them once,” Lee said cynically. “They seemed to be good people. Sometimes, Abra, the strangest medicines are effective. I wonder if it would help if they knew Aron has just inherited over a hundred thousand dollars.”

Abra nodded gravely and fought to keep the corners of her mouth from turning up. “I think it would help,” she said. “I wonder how I could get the news to them.”

“My dear,” said Lee, “if I heard such a piece of news I think my first impulse would be to telephone someone. Maybe you’d have a bad connection.”

Abra nodded. “Would you tell her where the money came from?”

“That I would not,” said Lee.

She looked at the alarm clock hung on a nail on the wall.

“Nearly five,” she said. “I’ll have to go. My father isn’t well. I thought Cal might get back from drill.”

“Come back very soon,” Lee said. 

I adore that scene - absolutely adore it. It’s seminal for me - for how I think, for how I write, in every possible way. Lee is a character that is, in many ways, indispensable to the message of East of Eden, and he is completely erased from the film, and little more than an afterthought in the 1980s miniseries. And that makes me angry.

(via ohthatsloverly)

(via oldfilmsflicker)

8:42 AM
"Is everything forbidden us except to fold our arms? Poverty is not written in the stars; under development is not one of God’s mysterious designs. Redemptive years of revolution pass; the ruling classes wait and meanwhile pronounce hellfire anathema on everybody. In a sense the right wing is correct in identifying itself with tranquility and order: it is an order of daily humiliation for the majority, but an order nonetheless; it is a tranquility in which injustice continues to be unjust and hunger to be hungry."
—  Open Veins Of Latin America, Eduardo Galeano (via fuegosdeoctubree)

(via amodernmanifesto)

4:06 AM

"These experiences were so meaningful to me that I don’t want you to soundbite them."


"These experiences were so meaningful to me that I don’t want you to soundbite them."

April 18th
6:49 AM





these muslim guys at uni always lower their gaze when they walk past a hijabi and today my friend was going past one of them but because shes so short he just looked extra up bless him


It’s not amusing it’s amazing

kvmfkdkfv but why