So moved was she by her own generosity that the only thing that kept her from tearing up was a deeply ingrained fear of ruining her makeup.
The backhanded brag is like four times more annoying than the backhanded compliment, and Andrew Levy’s new book on migraines, A Brain Wider Than the Sky, is the ultimate backhanded brag.
This book would be a great read for someone who suffers from both migraines and low self-esteem. By the 100th page even I am convinced that all genius, from Jesus to Nietsche, is the result of migraines. Migraine sufferers are just smarter than other people. Their brains are so large and the blood flow to them so intense and mystical that their skulls are literally splitting open. If only we could all have that kind of problem. It wasn’t curiosity that killed the cat. Forget the cat. Intelligence killed the genius, or at least made him wish he was dead.
I’m starting to wonder how I can set myself up with a migraine. According the the book, women are about 12 times more likely to get them than men, but so far I only get non-debilitating headaches, and those only rarely. I knew I wasn’t as smart as I had always thought when my father revealed that he has had like three headaches in his entire life. The thing is, until last night, I was pretty sure Albert Einstein was my dad, so not only did I find out that I did not erupt from a rip in the space-time continuum, but I also learned that as the child of the migraine-less I will probably never be mistaken for Marie Curie.
So reading expands your mind, but it kills your dreams, and no matter how much your mind is expanded it’s never going to try to chainsaw out of your skull, unless you suffer from migraines, in which case you probably already know that you’re a genius.