I'm not an especially smart guy, but I think with such speed and such constancy, and I have a sufficiently keen awareness of my own thoughts, that whenever a single pellet from my shotgun blast of cranial crosstalk actually hits on something insightful (not because I aimed well but because I threw out enough boxes of shells), I'm usually able to collect my game. Most of the time, I just enjoy it myself, barbecued on a stick. Occasionally I'll share it, and about half of those times, the person or people I'm sharing it with recognize the sharpness of it and tell me so, which makes me very happy. My greatest disappointment, though, comes that one time a year when a pellet takes a miraculous ricochet into some undiscovered dimension of understanding and I hit on something really, earthshakingly smart. If I had any brains at all, I would simply enjoy this new, hard-won knowledge myself, barbecued on a stick. But I don't have any brains at all. Instead, I keep thinking that, if I shout my grand idea to the world loudly enough, someone will acknowledge the brilliance of it. I keep thinking someone will acknowledge the brilliance of me! As it always happens, though, my one brilliant thought of the year, the one output that made my 365 days of constant, deafening brain noise all worthwhile, is completely lost on the rest of the world. Once, just once, I wish I'd be walking through the mall and hear a voice behind me saying, "Dude, your fucking jersey rocks!"