moving out

I bit the bullet (not literally --it's an expression, but you never know who knows it & I am in the U.S., so you can be excused for thinking I meant literally, if you did).

I got a website.

I plunked down a little bit of cash after a trial period and I got a website. Which has a blog on it. Which means ...

This one will likely be sadly neglected shortly.

I feel a bit bad because it's been a friend. It listened to me when I couldn't talk to anyone else (not that no one would have listened, but I just couldn't). I know the new blog will do the same thing, but ...I don't know. Deep inside somewhere, I'm a very nostalgic person in strange ways.

Could I stick with this one? Yes. Realistically, will I? 

No.

So I have linked my first blog post from the website (now called agnes-bookbinder.squarespace.com but which will be called agnesbookbinder.com in about two months because of an error on my part) to here, so I can come back and visit. Similarly, you can use this link to find me over there, if you happen to want to.

Thank you for reading. 

roar

A remembering:

Katy Perry's song "Roar" came out when? 2013? Five years ago now, I guess. It's one of those songs you know was likely written to be anthemic and a hit and so on. You know --a pop song. I'm predisposed to be cynical and want to hate it because it seems purpose written to push certain buttons.

However ...

I cannot, to this day, listen to that song without bawling my eyes out. It came on the radio the other day while I was driving, and it was a bit hard to see the road, if you know what I mean. I want to hate it, but I don't.

Why not?

Kids. 

Every year at my school, we have an end-of-the-year assembly. Every child in the school (nearly 600 of them, ages 6-11) fills into the multi-purpose room --also known as the cafeteria and the gym with the dividing wall opened up --and spends the majority of the last day of school with the rest of the school. They sit down on the floor and watch teachers being silly and their peers play musical instruments. And there's always a photo montage.

One of the fourth grade teachers puts it together with photos taken throughout the school year of kids doing what they do: playing, learning, having fun. Every child makes it into the photo montage. People manage to get photos of the shy kids somehow. They manage to capture still moments of kids who never keep still. She edits it  and uses songs that are currently popular (incidentally, this is how I learn songs that are currently popular --I wait until June every year and get them all at once).

So flashback to what must have been 2013.

Picture nearly 600 kids singing every damned word of that song. They all knew it. They all loved it. You should have seen their faces, belting their little hearts out, watching their memories on the big screen. Every single kid --and when I say every single kid, I am including kids that may not always have that chance at joy and kids who have trouble fitting in sometimes. And not one of them was doing it because anyone else was doing it; they were singing because they felt it.

And I blame Katy Perry for making a school full of kids feel like champions, at least for a little while. And I blame her for every time I think of that song and start crying.

Damn Katy Perry.

logic

Once upon a time, in a far-off land called the 20th Century, I studied Logic.

Yes, it was a course. No, really.

I studied Logic with the same man who taught me Sanskrit. People study strange things in college --at least they do in the U.S. because we want our university students to be well rounded. In the U.S., we have math and science requirements in college (university) even if you want to study basket weaving, and we have humanities requirements even if you want to be an engineer. There is a certain logic behind this (it suits me because I like everything), and yet, at the same time, it flies in the face of logic because, by age 18, presumably you know what you're good at and what you like and what area you never want to take a test in again.

I took Logic to fulfill a math requirement. I was never going to use higher-level math other than statistics, which I also studied, and Logic seemed to me both useful (for figuring out what makes logical sense in what the world presented me with) and useful (my school did not have a prescribed course for what I wanted to major in, and I could justify Logic as part of the coursework to the powers that be).

One interesting thing I learned while taking Logic: I don't think in a straight line. Ever. And yet, somehow, in my Logic class, I always ended up with the right answer. I circumnavigated the straight line every single time. For me, logic is a process of elimination that meanders. Other people can do it in a straight line, and I envy them in a way as it simplifies things. Other people have trouble with the thought process (but, as with many other things that are taught, I believe it can be learned to some extent).

Regardless of whether or not I did it 'right', I still see the study of logic as a very useful thing. I wish we taught it more in school, in balance with a social-emotional curriculum. Sure, there are some things in life that defy logic, but there are other things where logic is greatly needed. Take, for example, all of the recent political talk --regardless of your political affiliation, an ability to spot false equivalence and other logical fallacies is helpful.

art is not a handicraft

"Art is not a handicraft, it is the transmission of feeling the artist has experienced." -Leo Tolstoy

I tried something new recently: I am applying to have an art exhibition. My CV is sadly lacking in what art exhibition folks look for --things like training and prior experience. I have had training --lots of it --but I never went to art school for reasons I've explored prior to now. My prior experience is called life and fiddling around with whatever I could in the spare moments not filled with all of the other things I was expected to do.

There was a period of time that I won't go into where I didn't get out much --an understatement, but I don't like to think about it and  people prefer uplifting redemption stories to stories about why the redemption was needed. The point is, I didn't get out much and my personal world was limited to the left side of a couch, occasionally venturing into the kitchen or going for walks.

During that time, I found things I could do in very small spaces. One of those things was papier-mâché because it cost nothing and I could use things around the house. I made my son's mask for his Halloween costume. Another thing I did was papercutting. Part of an old egg carton could be turned easily into a bird puppet.

And one more thing I did was sew.

I discovered tivaevae, beautiful quilts from the Cook Islands that women grow up learning to make, and tried to emulate it (poorly) by myself. I made a giant floor pillow out of an old curtain, sewn by hand (my fingers still hurt thinking about pushing that needle through that thick canvas). And I made the letters up above for a project inspired by my work at school with literacy and those old magnet letters that people use on refrigerators.

With all apologies to Tolstoy, sometimes art is a handicraft and handicraft is art. Traditionally, that has been the avenue left open to women to express themselves. And there's plenty of feeling there. 

club membership

"I don't want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member." -Groucho Marx

Groucho Marx meant that humorously, but as with all great humor, it captures a truth.

We aspire. That's what people do. But we aspire by trying not to be ourselves.

Here's the thing: why would you want to belong to a group that doesn't want you? I understand wanting to belong --we're social creatures. But why would you want to belong where you're not appreciated or wanted? Why would you not want to be accepted?

So for 2018, when you come across clubs that won't accept you as a member (and they're out there), remember that Groucho Marx was a comedian and this was meant to poke fun at how we are as people. We're silly grasping things. 

When you come across clubs that won't accept you, stop grasping. Start your own club.

And have a great day.

happy new year blogpost

Maneki-neko: good luck cat (origin Japanese)

The new year is coming. For some of you, it may already be here (as I write this, it is 31 December 2017, 10:07 AM PST, so not yet in this part of the world), and I hope it is treating you well. I hope it will treat all of us well.

Today, I would like to share this photo I carry around with me inside my phone. We have a local store (local to this part of the world) called Uwajimaya, and it is wonderful place, full of color --makes me happy anyway. I regularly take out my phone to take photos when I am there because it is so colorful and so happy. I also pick up groceries, but that's a bit of a tangent ...

This is/was a display they have there: maneki-neko. These cats are seen to be good luck for the owners. The raised left paw is meant to bring good fortune. The lovely thing about technology (such as phones and digital photos and blogs) is that I don't have to keep these cats all to myself --I can share them with you. You may be anywhere in the world, but through the magic that still exists, I can share them with you. There are more than enough to share.

The origin of the symbol is interesting and timely. In the original story, a shopkeeper with nothing used what little he had to feed a cat that came by looking for food one day. The cat --being clever as all cats are --came back, and continued coming back, and the shopkeeper did his best to keep the cat fed, sometimes going without food himself; this was the nature of his hospitality and generosity of spirit. Then a funny thing happened: the cat stayed, and customers followed. The customers enjoyed seeing the cat and they sensed that this was a kind and thoughtful man, and the shop began flourish.

That is the way the world should work. If you see kindness in the world, encourage it; if you have a chance to be kind, do it. I'm not going to spend too much time on bad things going on in the world because that's what the news is for. I'm not going to spend too much time on other people's choices, good or bad. Make your own choices in the new year. Make choices that leave the world in better shape than it was in yesterday when and where you can.

And may 2018 be a year that is kind to us all. Happy New Year.

why poetry? (end of 2017 edition)

• Feelings still matter.
• Memories like to be taken out & dusted off.
• Our thoughts are still our own.
• That time we laughed with a friend about nothing in particular.
• The little mew of the neighbor cat means I'm not alone.
• When we read a poem, we watch acrobats tumble & fly.
• Bigger is not always better.
• Words can be a heartbeat, and a heartbeat is what keeps you alive.
• There's linear, but then there's the rest of us ...
• There is nothing so political as seeing beauty in the everyday.

in spite of/because

you are loved 

in spite of

your bad attitude --

I suppose I

could put up

with it, since

I love you.

you are loved

in spite of

your likes and

dislikes (they don't

match with mine,

and so you are

not very interesting).

you are loved

in spite of

the way you

won't hold still

and take the 

medicine --it's

meant to help.

you are loved

because of

your bad attitude --

it is part of
who you are,
the questioning, and
I love you.
you are loved
because of
your likes and
dislikes (they don't
match with mine,
and so you are
so very interesting).
you are loved
because of
the way you
won't hold still
and take the 
medicine --that
fierceness, and you
will decide for
yourself in your
own sweet time.

that face

"The face that launched ..."

• A thousand ships. In the opposite direction.
• A thousand bottles --directly at it.
• A thousand investigations (we'll go with Nixon for today because there's enough distance there).

• A thousand questions, beginning with, "Why did they use their face to launch? The launch button is clearly hand-sized."
• A thousand points of light.

• A thousand products. Go, capitalist face.
• A couple of sillies this morning. Have an excellent day today.

a bunch of old bs

Heads up: everything in the next section I am about to write is bullshit. Don't know why you'd read after that glowing endorsement, but maybe a few of you have a little Pandora in you and want to know what's in that box labeled 'Bullshit' ...

________

The world is for the young. If you're of a certain age and you haven't already established your reputation, you didn't really want it enough, did you? If you're of a certain age and you need or want to start over, you're only embarrassing yourself. You're set in your ways. You can't learn anything new. What could you possibly have to say that's interesting? You're old.

_________

If you are young (we'll define 'young' for our purposes as under the age of 27 --sounds like a nice even number) and think any of the above, then you are setting yourself up for a great big load of disappointment in your later life, guaranteed. You think you know, but you have no idea.

If you are old (28 and up) and think any of that, then stop it. Seriously. Stop. I'm talking as much to myself here as to any of you. 

The world (another term we need to define --I'm in the US, and as everyone knows, we're the center of the universe in our own minds, so what the hell, we'll go with that) prefers the young. We love the precocious. We love prodigies. We loved Coreys Haim & Feldman until they grew up. We do not love messes or baggage or anything other than unbridled enthusiasm on shining faces. If there is a mess, it had better be young and hot and cute because ew.

That doesn't mean the world is right. It means the world likes things wrapped up in neat little packages.

__________

Fuck neat little packages --seriously, fuck them. They're just fancy boxes, aren't they? And fuck the world if it can't handle a mess without calling for it to be taken away.

___________

Despite the angry tone to all of that, I am actually feeling pretty hopeful. 

I've written before about coming late to art and expressing myself. Extensively. Seriously, that sums up about 1/3 of my blog posts, you're welcome --no need to read now. In my explorations into what to do with what I've figured out about my creativity, I've looked up "okay, now what?" and have been greeted with a gaggle of young faces (or faces that may look like mine, but with a long list of credits tattooed on them). It can get discouraging. Baggage weighs me down.

I can't put the baggage down. It's like a scar --I've earned it. It's my baggage. I can carry it smarter, though. I'm all about ergonomic solutions at this stage.

____________

What people aged 28-108 can contribute to the world and to the arts:

• Breadth --life experience is, in fact, experience, and we have more of it
• Perseverance --think Keith Richards (we are all Keith Richards)
• Leadership --a lot of us have had kids, so we've had to learn to lead
• Patience --again, we've had kids
• The Ability to Spot and Call Bullshit --speaks for itself
• Resources --we get jobs while trying to figure stuff out, and we're cantankerous enough to work and create (yes, at the same time)

________________

Do not preemptively assume that you have nothing to contribute to the arts. You have a lot to contribute --what that is may remain to be seen, but you have a lot to contribute. Use your well-earned patience. Persevere, because you know you can do that (Keith Richards lives!). Spot the bullshit, both what the world lays on you and what you lay on yourself. Now is the time. It wasn't before, and that's okay, because you were learning to get to where you are now.

Don't buy the old bullshit. You're not old, you're mature. Now go make whatever the hell you want.

And Happy 2018, when it comes.

saying no to sisyphus

Everyone knows the story of Sisyphus, sort of. He was the guy in Greek mythology with the boulder, right? He rolled the boulder up the hill, and it rolled back down, and then he rolled it up, and it rolled back down, ad infinitum. That's him, right?

Along comes the 20th Century and Sisyphus is celebrated as an absurd everyman. We're all Sisyphus now, rolling our metaphorical boulders up metaphorical hills and down they come again and up we push them again, over and over again, until we die.

Except ...

1. Sisyphus was a bit of an entitled jerk, and the boulder rolling was a punishment. I mean, the guy was a king who didn't like to honor his contracts, thought he was smarter than everyone else, and was disloyal to everyone but himself. The boulder rolling occurred in the Underworld, not in this one.

2. We tend to overapply the term to mean anything repetitive (or I do anyway). Sometimes, doing things repetitively is a means of meditation, and is not meant to be a source of frustration. Think of knitting or prayer beads or deep breathing. 

3. We tend to feel something is Sisyphean when it doesn't come to immediate fruition, in some cases within our lifetime. That doesn't mean it's not meaningful. He was rolling a boulder. For what purpose? For no purpose. But what if that boulder were something like, say, advancing educational opportunities for more people or civil rights? You're not just pushing for yourself.

4. With a growth mindset, failures or setbacks --think of that stone rolling down --are a learning opportunity. If we start again, it may not be the same boulder --maybe we modify it before we start rolling it again, or perhaps we don't tackle that hill the same way, or maybe we modify the hill, or develop new tools, or maybe we ask for help. Or maybe that boulder was one we tried to tackle many different ways and it didn't end up being one we could successfully roll. That happens. Sisyphus couldn't leave --we can, after we give it a try.

So Sisyphus is simplistic. We're not Sisyphus --we don't have to be.  We may roll some heavy stones, but we try to be conscious of which stones we roll, and how. Oh, and if you feel tired from pushing that rock? It's understandable. Sisyphus wasn't allowed to take breaks, but you are. 

Happy end of 2017.

  

unintended consequences

In the space of about five minutes this morning, I've come across two references to unintended consequences, so let's go there this morning ...

The first thing I came across was a movie from this year that I hadn't heard about prior to today because I live under a rock, I think. The name of the film is Roman J. Israel, Esq., which stars Denzel Washington. Reading a summary of the film, it sounds as though a "good" man gives up and goes for the money, but then, there are unintended benefits and he may be finding himself again. Or something. I haven't seen the film, but it looks interesting.

The second thing I came across was a tweet thread (a thread is a Twitter thing --you might not understand) by Dr. Andrew Thaler. It spoke about how the porgs in the new Star Wars film The Last Jedi were actually puffins that couldn't be erased from footage shot at Skellig Michael, an island off the coast of western Ireland, and the unintended consequence of including the porg/puffins may actually be good for conservation efforts indirectly. (Unfortunately, another possible unintended consequence I just read about was possible loss of Skellig Michael's UNESCO World Heritage status because it's getting too many visitors following the Star Wars exposure).

Humans cannot see the future. All the tea leaves in all the world cannot tell you what may happen later today, let alone a year from now, five years from now, a decade from now. We can use what we have --past experience, data --but it's all ultimately guessing because we exist in a complex system. There may be unintended benefits, unintended drawbacks, or perverse results (meaning the opposite result of what was intended occurs --think the Western concept of bad karma). The point is, they will happen, regardless of all of our planning and most definitely because of our lack of planning or ignorance.

Do I have any answers? Nope. Not a one. Just thinking about this stuff, and I'm left with more questions than answers. If you have any answers about predicting the future accurately (besides self-fulfilling prophecies --can't stand those things!), please let me know.

theirs not to reason why

Having a flashback this morning. No, not drug-induced. Not really trauma-induced (although more on that throughout) ...

I'm having a flashback to 2012. That was the year everyone seemed to be going through the angry stage of grieving, or perhaps every stage of grief that occurs pre-acceptance.

You see, I work with children. I may have mentioned that once or twice before. Because I work with children, I also work with families --parents, grandparents, etc. The children I work with have disabilities. Family members have a variety of feelings about that which they work through over time.

In 2012, it wasn't going too well. Several families were struggling to come to terms with who their children are. All at the same time. With lawyers involved.

We had reached a point with one family where the relationship between the parents and the school parts of the educational team had broken down entirely. In these educational teams, all of the members have something to contribute and we are all supposed to work together for the education of the student, keeping the student's needs first in our minds at all times. This was not happening in 2012.

These parents did not trust us to do our jobs, for whatever reason, and that spilled over into everything. It was not a joyful time. It was not even a tolerable time. What it was, I can say on reflection, was a time in which nothing we could do or say would ever be good enough because they were grieving. We knew that at the time, because it happens a lot, but it's hard to remember that the anger and words sometimes are more about the person saying them than the person they are directed at.

I find myself thinking about one particular event during this time. There is a valuable lesson in it, which is why I am writing this down and sharing it.

One of the parents had done an observation in the classroom. As we always do, we were thoughtful in coming up with an activity and materials that are appropriate for all students and allow them to participate. Furthermore, we try to make the activities engaging so all of the students want to participate. The parent had a lot of questions about the activity, as happens, and we had an after school meeting scheduled to discuss that and other issues since school teams can't really meet during school hours (because that's when we teach kids).

At the after school meeting, the parent asked many questions that required thoughtful explanations, which we provided. School teams sometimes come up with a form of shorthand thinking needed to be efficient (there are a lot of kids!), but we should be able to explain everything that we are doing when we are asked, and we did that.

Then the parent brought up the student's seating.

The student had been seated at a table with another student. It was not in the center of the room. Were we trying to exclude him? Why wasn't he seated more centrally? The parent wanted him seated centrally.

No one gets into special education to make kids feel excluded. We set about coming up with a way to seat him centrally. How would we do this? How would we do that? We all looked at each other with panic while we were discussing what would be needed, knowing the amount of time that would be required to make that happen --time that couldn't go towards the activity.

Our lawyer stopped our panicked troubleshooting.

"Why?"

The parent had no answer.

The fact was, the student was seated closer to instruction than the other students in the classroom. All of the groupings in the classroom were in groups of 2-3 students; he was paired with an appropriate peer. His participation was encouraged throughout. Had we tried to reconfigure the room (essentially what the parent was asking for), it would have discouraged his participation in his daily activities and would have taken time away from instruction for the lesson the parent observed, a lesson that would only occur once.

Why?

There are times when we want to do the right thing, and someone will tell us what they believe that right thing to be. We get very busy sometimes, and we are so used to making things happen, that we don't stop to ask if what we are doing is the right thing to do or necessary. People want what they want, and that's fine. 

But it is not wrong to stop and ask why (or for what purpose). Sometimes, the answer to "why?" is no answer at all, except that it's the way it's always been done or it's the way someone wants it because they just do or there are larger issues that no amount of scrambling can compensate for. 

It is okay to ask why, and sometimes, it's our responsibility to ask.

birthday eve reflections

Birthday tomorrow. Yup yup yup ...

Ordinarily, I am a fan of birthdays. Today, however, I am feeling rather tired --winter is hitting me extra hard this year. Am I getting old?

The answer is yes. And that's a good thing. The answer is no, also a good thing. The answer is yes and no, because it's complicated.

Yes, I am getting old. Until one of us invents a time machine (won't be me --I have trouble updating my operating system), time moves in a forward direction. Every once in a while, we might have a memory, but time goes that away. 

Forward would lead to older, not old, you say? True, but eventually older is old. That's fine. Old isn't dead --it's just old. Old means adjusting your way of living slightly to accommodate changes that go with age. Need longer? Take longer. Can't do back flips anymore? Make pancakes & flip them backwards. Adjust.

No, I am not getting old. The whole age is a state of mind thing is partially true. There has to be something in life you are excited about, and if you have that, then you're fine, regardless of age. It's been hard lately to feel excited in a way I felt pre-November 2016. You know what I'm saying. The world is what it is, and we've all been experiencing the equivalent of existential dread on steroids. 

To that, I say, I do not give anyone permission to mess up my birthday. Come to think of it, I do not give anyone permission to mess up any other day, either, but my birthday? No. F*** off. It's mine, and you can't have it, so there. 

Unless you'd like to share it --I'm always happy to share.

Am I getting old? Hell yeah --eventually. And there will be cake, so it's all good.

i understand the luddites

Preparing to do my daily writing on a computer that took a while to update ... *insert writerly grumbling*

Deep breaths. Patience is a virtue. And now, for a little writing warmup --a villanelle.

i understand the luddites: a villanelle

we throw our phones against the wall --

efficiency's a poor excuse.

technology must surely fall!

you make us feel weak & small,

& we recoil from the abuse --

we throw our phones against the wall.

so we begin our vicious brawl.

it tried but failed to seduce --

technology will surely fall!

...

we lack sufficient wherewithal --

destruction now seems half-obtuse.

we threw the phone against the wall.

we can't return the agent's call,

& violence constitutes misuse --

our anger came before the fall.

we'll bathe our wounds in alcohol.

we're slow but eager to produce?

we threw our phones against the wall,

& so, we brought about our fall.

friday

There's something about Friday.

I know not everyone works Monday to Friday, so if you don't, substitute any approaching break. That feeling when the struggle lets up for a little bit --it's a feeling that we all have in common. Relief. Even if it's only for a little bit, relief is a necessary thing.

Enjoy your Friday or whatever it is that brings you relief for a little bit. In this world where people talk about "deserving" and "earning", we all deserve and have all earned those small moments in which we recuperate.

Happy Friday.

early morning poem

the cold outside the window

& sounds from cars

on their way in the dark

inside (here in the chair)

thoughts like soft-boiled eggs

tender in their cups

on the inside we are molten gold

on the outside

we are cold & dark & on our way

sunday's not monday

"Tomorrow is Monday."

She lies there on her side, sheets wrapped around her like swaddling clothes. Daylight peeks in through drawn curtains --is she awake? She is awake, but only just barely. She lies still in the bedsheets and thinks about the day beyond today.

Her thoughts shift and she flips over onto her stomach.

"Yesterday was Saturday. I wasted Saturday, and now, tomorrow is Monday."

Her thoughts slide back into their original position. She flips onto her side again. The daylight is still there, peeking in and waiting for her. It takes a moment for her to realize the daylight is there because she only wants to squint to see past the daylight.

She adjusts her focus. Daylight.

"Today is Sunday."

"It's Sunday morning."

She looks at the clock. She can see it now without much effort; the sunrise has turned on the light for her. The second hand ticks like a foot tapping.

"It's 7:00 on Sunday morning. There is a whole day ahead, and right now, the sun is coming up. And Sunday's not Monday."

She unwraps herself. The daylight plays with her toes as she sets them on the floor.

___________________________

Enjoy the rest of your day.

villanelle for the exhausted

there's nothing special on my mind,
but still, it's filled with life's travails,
and I'm in need of something kind.

the wind will blow, and I'll unwind --
I'll lose my thoughts in gusts and gales
'til nothing special's on my mind.

those that will seek will also find
(or so it's said in fairy tales),
and I'm in need of something kind

move forward, back, ahead, behind;
that which succeeds --it also fails.
there's nothing special on my mind.

the trees for which my soul has pined,
the rolling hills and gentle dales --
I dream of them and something kind.

but here I sit, again resigned --
I have no treasures, quests or grails,
and nothing special on my mind.
I wait in hope for something kind.

brief thoughts on hedy lamarr

No, it's not Hedley. That'd be from Blazing Saddles, the excellent Mel Brooks film. No, this is more to do with the film Algiers. Heck, this has more to do with the films Argo and Ratatouille than it does Blazing Saddles. Follow along ...

Hedy Lamarr was a glamorous actress who appeared in the 1938 film Algiers, among others. She also happened to be an inventor who invented a code for radio signals to change frequencies. It worked very well and was the forerunner of the frequency-hopping technology we use today in secure digital communication systems. Here's the thing: she offered her invention to the U.S. Navy during World War II, and they turned her down. She was familiar with the manufacture of Nazi torpedoes, she had this invention which would have prevented the Nazis from jamming U.S. signals to their own weaponry, and the Navy turned her down.

Why?

Fast forward to a couple of months ago. I'm on Twitter (it happens), and someone makes a joke about Dennis Rodman. Obvious in the joke was this person's disdain for Dennis Rodman's intelligence, and the implication that there was no way Dennis Rodman could bring about any kind of resolution in the North Korea/U.S. standoff over nuclear weapons when none of other parties involved --learned, lifetime diplomats, etc. --could do it. I mean, this guy's called "The Worm", right?

Why?

We have these ideas in our heads that only certain types of people can do certain types of work, and that that work has to follow a particular script. Before dismissing people out of hand because how could a movie actress invent groundbreaking code, how could a flamboyant former basketball player bring peace, how could a film crew evacuate hostages, how could a rat create exceptional food, we need to ask ourselves this ...

Why not?

"Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere."  Ratatouille