My name is Ted and I live in the mountains because I am a misanthrope. I study plant molecular evolution at Claremont Graduate University. Springtime in the San Gabriels is beautiful; Yucca whipplei in bloom.
The view from my house. Beyond this ridge is the smoky, sunlit mortuary I despise, Lost Angeles.
Saturday I was driving home and came across a nasty car accident where a big Toyota truck had ended up on top of a smaller sedan. There was a cop there but no ambulances yet. People were scattered about crying, and a pair of people were laying on the ground, really mashed up. In case you were wondering, they really do drape white sheets over the recently deceased.
After this, I went home, traveled back in time and edited this post which was originally about how gay male footbag players look in shorts. Yesterday, I was a judge at the California state science fair. I had to wake up at 5:30 am to drive (read 'sit in traffic') to downtown Lost Angeles by 7:30. It was fun though, lots of bright little minds. I got a judges handbook before I spoke to the kids. There were a few guidelines we had to abide by; I was not allowed to solicit personal information from the students (yuck), I was supposed to act interested and engage the students in conversation, I was not supposed to tell them what they should have done, and I was supposed to 'treat them with respect and avoid having contempt for the students.' What kind of corrupt, callous bastards do they typically have as judges?
On a side note, how is it that I can be so shitty at footbang after 5 years of playing? I have sessions where my skill is roughly equal to that of 3 years ago. I hate you kicky-sac!!!!
I make the best peach cobbler.
I have the cutest baby daughter.
I can bench press 100 dollars.
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. It seems no one knows the purpose of these very unique structures.
