braaaaaaains

Well, I still don't have a brain tumor. What I do have is more pictures of my brain to share.

I find this one amusing, mostly because you can totally see right up my nose.
In this one, it looks like my brain has a butt. (Also, look how crooked my nose is.)
And this one is just creepy.
Woo. I feel like earlier I had witty and interesting things I wanted to say, but now I can't find them again in my brain -- which, although (as you can see) it is very handsome and also tumor-free, is not functioning optimally today. So perhaps bullet points are in order. Apologies if I'm not as witty as usual (ahem, ahem).

• In addition to not having a tumor, I also do not have any infection or inflammation or anything else identifiable from an MRI. The neurologist is, therefore, returning to his previous diagnosis of "atypical migraine." Whatever it is, the medication he gave me seems to have actually made a significant improvement -- I can now scratch my head when I get an itch, for instance -- although it's a little worse again this morning, so I'm just remaining cautiously optimistic. I do believe it's the medication that's making me dumb, but I'll take dumb in exchange for being able to wash my hair.
  
• The neurologist (who I'm not crazy about) tells me lots of little irrelevant stories. On Thursday he told me about one of his college admissions interviews. Then, later, after making some sidelong comment about my purse that I didn't quite catch, he informed me that his best friend is a man who carries a purse. Then he very quickly explained that he's not feminine, at all, no, and it doesn't look like a woman's purse or anything. He repeated this at least three times, then informed me pointedly that the man has six grandkids. Dude! I don't care whether your best friend is a fag* or not.
  
• Also in the medical vein (heh heh... oh god I hope my brain starts working again soon): my dentist sent me a birthday postcard. It has multi-colored toothbrushes on it. This makes me very happy.
• Moving on: the Idler and I went to a concert on Sunday night, for the first time in a year (I think literally). Grant-Lee Phillips at Soho. It was a very laid-back show, not much of a crowd, and the tables were out so we had seats and no tall guys came and stood in front of me. Grant (yes, we're on a first-name basis; I've known the guy since high school, after all) was quite charming and funny, and he played "Honey Don't Think," which, even if the rest of the evening had sucked, would have made the show for me. After we'd been sitting at our table for about 15 minutes, the Idler leaned over to me and asked, "Is that Glen Phillips (also an old acquaintance of mine) at the table next to us?" Reader, it was. (Although I would never have recognized him; to me he just looked like... a guy. This is probably why despite having lived in L.A., Hollywood, and Santa Barbara for the past 13 years, I have yet to see a single famous person.) Eventually Grant called Glen up to play with him, and they played "Happiness," and they played "All I Want," and hearing the songwriters of two bands that got me through high school together on stage playing the songs that got me through high school -- well, it just warmed the cockles of my heart. And I didn't even know I had cockles.
  
• I bought a Flowbee and I'm going to cut all my hair off. Initially I was planning to do it because of how my head would hurt when I even brushed my hair out of my face, but now I'm just going to do it for shits and giggles. And because I hate going to the salon.
  

Now I'm off to the Planned Parenthood book sale. Yay!

* Term used because I suspect it's how he thinks of gay men, not because it's how I think of gay men. For the record.