I read an article in a New Yorker while I was eating a burrito a couple of hours ago, and it had a bit about the writer's pasta-forming attempts. It reminded me of a time I was working in a fundraising-frybread-stand, doing something that was new. Usually someone made dough, someone else formed the bread, and I'd fry it. Not a highly skilled duty, frying the frybread -- just don't burn it, remember to flip it over, don't catch on fire or fall into any huge hot-grease-filled pots. Once, though, I had to form the frybreads -- a task that I knew was hard. I didn't have a choice -- I was working where I was needed. A parent looked at my frybreads and said, "Look! The art teacher is making abstract frybreads!"