Nothing says “spendthrift” like Ramen noodles, and nothing offers more ways to cook ’em than the Ramen Recipe Page. There’s one hundred seventy two ways to tickle your tastbuds, ranging from “Orange Ramen Pancakes’ to “Florentine Noodles a la Marco Polo and Paul Newman” to “Nukem Spaghetti Ramen”. Mmmmm, mmmmmm. That’s good eatin'!

It’s “beg week” for Georgia Public Radio. Somehow they managed to snag a killer web address, pledgenow.org.

Last night, the University of Georgia here in Athens mourned its dead. It’s been a record semester for death, with causes all across the spectrum: suicide, overdose, accidents, illness, car crashes, and fraternity hazing. So far this semester, there are eleven dead. Oddly enough, there has been a perceptual shift in attitude here, albeit a likely temporary one. Folks are realizing that they (and more importantly, the people around them) aren’t invincible.

I woke up this morning to a flock of wild turkeys perched in the trees in my front yard. They weren’t too concerned with me down below, so I brought my food (poundcake, strawberries, and freshly whipped cream) outside and joined them for breakfast. The conversation was very pleasant.

Steven Baum over at Ethel the Blog did what I didn’t have time to do yesterday: link to a whole mess of information about fire ants. If you like my story from the weekend and want to know more about the industrial little beast, Ethel’s the place to go.

Tanzanian Peaberry coffee beans are about the size of a pencil eraser. I’ve got a tad under a pound of them at home, sealed in a bag in my pantry. They’re still green – well, more like a greenish-brown, really – because they haven’t been roasted yet. This morning I scooped about six spoonfuls into my roaster and turned it on while I showered. After 15 minutes the house was filled with the aroma of freshly-roasted coffee. If you’ve not smelled that, and you like coffee, you are missing out. It’s like the smell of coffee beans, or a nice coffee house, but smokier, richer, earthier. Enormously pleasant. I took the beans, still hot, and whirled themin my grinder. Steam was released and condensed back to water in the underside of the domed lid, all in ten seconds. The coarsly ground beans were then transferred into my French Press where they sat in nearly-boiling water for about five minutes. Twenty minutes total from raw bean to brew. To the coffee in my cup I added a spoonful of the freshly whipped cream I’d made for my strawberries and stirred with a piece of freshly cut sugar cane (a gift from my neighbors just returned from Florida. They also brought some segments that were starting to sprout, which I promptly planted in the side yard.).

Some people drink coffee to wake them up. For those folks, a Mr. Coffee pot with a timer is the perfect thing. Myself, I never liked the taste of coffee until recently. When I discovered coffee drunk for the sheer pleasure of it rather than as a caffeine vehicle, I realized what I was missing. And now that I can quickly go from green bean to hot liquid, I see (and smell, and taste) what I was missing at even the nice coffee houses. If you like coffee, there’s no reason why you can’t do this too. See my April 2nd entry for all the information you need. Likely, you can drink your home-roasted coffee for cheaper than you’re paying for Folgers grounds now, if you’ve got a hot air popcorn popper lying around. (Note to Wendell: just another example of my cheap-ness.)

The board of directors for Athens’ Town & Gown Players theater group set next year’s season last night. Included in the six main shows is Christopher Durang’s controversial (and very, very funny) Baby with the Bathwater, and they gave me the director’s chair. The show will take place at the end of March, 2001, and will run for two weeks. It’ll be a hoot!

No matter what your views are on President Clinton, there’s no denying that this video presentation he made for the last White House Correspondents’ Dinner is one of the funniest things to come around in a long time. Requires Real Player, but it’s worth it. Thanks to Dan at Lake Effect for this one.

How I Destroyed a Thriving City With Nine Gallons of Water

In my front yard there’s a mighty oak tree. Up until a month or so ago, encircling its trunk was a carpet of wild flowers and unbloomed jonquils. After a visit from an over-zealous landlady with a weed eater, there’s only a circle of dirt about fifteen feet across left. It was the perfect spot for a nest of fire ants. I’d seen the beginnings of the mound a few weeks ago, but didn’t get to it timely enough. Yesterday, the neighbor boys (aged five and three) came to play “garden” in my yard – they love watching me in my garden – and, trowels in hand, made straight for the ants. There was only one bite, but the younger boy was covered in them. This morning, I did what I had to do.

Before the ants were warmed up by the sun, I put three gallons of water on to boil. I investigated the mound a bit more while I waited. It looked like the ants were centered around the stump of a sapling that had been cut before I moved here. When the water was hot, I slowly poured it around the stump. The mound, mostly a hollow-out pile of dirt, collapsed. The water found ant trails and drained away. Gurgles emanated from below. The ground steamed. Hundreds or thousands of ants were caught unawares. The water instantly killed them and hard boiled the eggs. The bodies and pure white eggs were everywhere. I left them and went inside to my sourdough pancakes, putting another three gallons on to boil.

When the water was ready, I took it outside. The ants behaved like a responsible government would – medics were swarming over the bodies and eggs looking for signs of life (Some of each were being drug below. To the hospital or pantry, I couldn’t say.), engineers were inspecting the damage and repairing what they could, and I’m sure insurance adjusters were paying off claims. I behaved the way a reprehensible terrorist would – I unleashed a second flood of boiling water. The ants didn’t have a chance. Clouds of steam, gurgles from the deep, a thicker pile of bodies. Enough dirt had washed away that it became easy to pull up the stump, and I drug it across the road. In the hole I saw a few more ant trails, but precious few ants. I went inside for coffee and put another three gallons on to boil.

The last of the water was hardly necessary. When I took it out, only a few ants were about. These ants were from the lowest levels of the city and were staggering about like they were blinded by the light of the sun. The ground was fairly saturated, so the final three gallons were slow to drain. The pit held the water like a leaky bowl, and when the water was gone, so was any trace of the ants. All that remained was a crater. A square foot of total destruction.

I’ll watch the place for the next few days. It’s possible that the neighboring cities in the cow pasture may send in their best search and rescue teams, food, and construction equipment. If they do, I’ll be ready, stock pot in hand.

The official They Might Be Giants page has just redesigned. It’s got babbling presidents! And a music video filmed with a QuickCam. Fun stuff.