Extra sugar, extra salt, extra oil and MSG!

Wednesday, April 30, 2003

One of these days I'll get around to boring you with details of my big city adventure (I know, I'm such a tease).

Fortunately, there's more on-the-job fun to report. So, check it out: ten minutes before closing last night a gargantuan woman bursts in (she was nearly as wide as she was tall, I swear) and asks where the DVDs are. I showed her to them and she asked me to help her pick out three "good ones." That's not enough information, really, now, is it? So I'm looking at what we've got, and she's fighting with her daughter between me and the shelves ("don't disrepsect me or I'll get you later!"), and I'm trying to find out what kind of films she likes ("I like action, and fiction"), and then she actually says to me: "hurry up, I've got a cab waiting." You have got to be kidding me. I gave her a long, hard look and she may have realized that perhaps she was just a teensy bit out of line. It made it all worthwhile, though, when she said "oh, I like him!" and grabbed the film Pollock. I assumed she meant Ed Harris. Then she pointed at it and said "isn't he a judge?" I said, "no, he's an artist." But she insisted, "no, it's about a judge, right?" Cooly, I replied "It's about Jackson Pollock, an alcoholic artist who was famous in the forties." She put the DVD back on the shelf.

Friday, April 18, 2003

I'll say goodbye
To all my sorrow
And by tomorrow
I'll be on my way...

I don't know about the Lord, but I'll be in New York City all next week, so don't expect any updates. Meanwhile, go find out what this is all about. See you soon!

Wow, the Star Tribune is really on the cutting edge. Reporter Chris Riemenschneider recently discovered that some local bands are using keyboards. No way, man!

The article wasn't totally without merit, though, as I did learn one thing: I'm proud to announce that Ed Ackerson and I own the same keyboard, the Korg MS2000. If you have the same gear as the pros does that automatically make you as good (or cool) as them? I sure hope so! Next stop:

Thursday, April 17, 2003

I picked up the most recent issue of Time magazine and was greeted with two horrific stories. First, "A Faith-Based Initiative":

Among those [Christian Aid Organizations] at the border [of Jordan and Iraq] last week were the International Missions Board of the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) and Samaritan's Purse, which is run by evangelist Franklin Graham. Both operations are associated with sharp criticism of Islam, the faith of 97% of Iraqis. Graham, who gave the invocation at George W. Bush's Inaugural, has called it a "very evil and wicked religion," and a former SBC president dubbed Muhammad a "demon-possessed pedophile."

Next came the lurid, sickening tale "When Kids Are in the Cross Hairs":

The kids, boys, were maybe 7 or 8 and had no place there. Bravo Company wasted them. Had to. Right when the fire fight was at its hottest, when maybe 100 guys were popping up across the rooftops firing AK-47s and rocket-propelled grenades, the boys bounced into the courtyard below the building where Bravo was spread out and attempted to retrieve an RPG dropped by a dead Iraqi. "It sounds terrible when you hear about this cold, away from the fight," says commander Lieut. Colonel Chris Holden. "We shot and killed children. But I accept full responsibility for that. That's the kind of fight it was."


The Image of Librarians in Pornography

With all the new traffic to my blog, I thought it would be a good time to say "hello" to you all. "Hello!"

Ha ha! Wow, this is great.

Welcome to "Liberry Blooze." Though the archives will tell you otherwise, I started this here thing in October 2002 as a way to vent my frustrations about my job and demonstrate how cool I am. So far, it's been a raging success!

Yet, the mystery remains: who in the Hell is this ultra-cool guy? Your author started out calling himself "Da Liberrian," and quickly reverted to his nom de plume "Dr. Chameleon" after focus groups literally "pooh-poohed" the former. While he orginally intended to shroud his gender in secrecy, the common use of pronouns in American society prevented this from lasting long.

Why hide my identity? I don't want to get into it (let's just say that the "overnment-gay" has an "arrant-way" out for my "ass") but now it's time to reveal the details I've hidden for so long: I am a 78-year-old man with fourteen law degrees and nearly a full week of bar school under his belt. The title of this blog, an obvious pun on "Virginia Slims," refers to my love of women's cigarettes. My favorite color is twelve, and I live by the maxim "just do it."

Well, that pretty much sums it up. Glad to get to know y'all! Thanks for stopping by, and have a very merry Christmas.

Tuesday, April 15, 2003

Things were much simpler six years ago. It was cool to like Belle+Sebastian. It was not cool to like Tom Petty. It was cool to listen to Queen, but only with a hearty dose of ironic detachment. I tried to follow the rules, tried not to listen to CCR when anyone was within earshot. Slowly, though, I let go. I was never cool, and I was never going to be. I was just being a closed-minded dick for no good reason. Now I like practically everything and it constantly gets me in trouble. I want to blame society, or my friends, or Journey, but really it's all my fault.

Saturday night I was playing some tunes for my pallies and it did not go well. Again, I can only blame myself, considering the very first song I played was Andrew Gold's "Lonely Boy." Nonetheless, I'd had a recent conversation with Spacewaitress in which I said I felt like none of my friends enjoy the same music as me anymore, and she told me that I never play the stuff I like for any of them. I think we were talking about Crooked Fingers, specifically. She was right, I had to share the music if I expected anyone else to like it, too. I took that as encouragement to play more music for my friends.

So I'm spinning some records and she FREAKS OUT about "Hooked on a Feeling" by B.J. Thomas, like she's never felt more agonizing pain in her whole life. The overreaction was irritating; it's just a nice little sixties pop song! Foolishly, then, I took another risk and put on "Righteously" by Lucinda Williams. I had heard this song exactly once on Radio K, and I thought it was obnoxious, but in a mysteriously erotic sort of way, and I couldn't get it out of my head. I'd heard her last album "Essence" and enjoyed it, and I'd been in a rootsy kind of mood, so it seemed like it would be worth buying. Little did I know, Doktor Millennium had been listening to Drive 105 and they've got it in heavy rotation. How the Hell was I supposed to know that? I can see how quickly that song would become annoying (cheesy guitar work, exaggerated drawl) but, alas, that was three songs in a row I'd had to shut off or feel ashamed of.

So much for fun sharing time. At least they didn't all just scowl at me and decide, collectively, that I was too big of a dork to hang out with. Fortunately they'd been beaten down by my previous selections enough that when I put on the new Calexico album they tolerated it. I don't know if anyone really liked the CD or if it just seemed okay in comparison to all the other horrible stuff I'd played.

Back in the day I would've known what music to play when people were hanging out. There were clear rules to follow: play something ultra-new, something everyone had been talking about, or something so obscure it would seem cool. I would've just stuck with Royksopp, or the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, or brand new MP3s by The Hang Ups. We all would've been cool, though some of us might've felt cooler than others.

Now there's a new kind of cool. We've got these awesome blogs and catchy pseudonyms that make me feel like I'm in Captain Beefheart's Magic Band. Why talk to each other when we can obliquely communicate through this mediating technology? It doesn't seem like this'll let up anytime soon, though. Will blogs outlive indie-hipsterism? Only time will tell...

Is there a reason? Someone explain?
And in the end will we pay?

Time will tell
I will

There's no use looking back
Everything's turning black
Time's running out for us all

--Yngwie Malmsteen

Monday, April 14, 2003

OH NO...
A bunch of our usual freaks were all in here at the same time recently. The Ferret Lady (formerly known as the Mink Lady) was asking my co-worker about de-scenting minks when a mentally challenged lad (formerly known as "the bloody-mouthed child") approached her. She greeted him and said "I'm the ferret lady, I can teach you anything you want to know about ferrets, and I can also teach you all about God and Jesus." I just about choked when I heard that.

Saturday, April 12, 2003

More news about the soon-to-be-eternal Patriot Act and libraries here:

...in a survey conducted by researchers at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, about 550 libraries across the country reported receiving requests over the past year from federal and local investigators for records of patrons. More than 200 libraries also said that they had resisted such requests from authorities


Last month, Rep. Bernard Sanders (I-Vt.) introduced legislation to exempt library and bookstore records from the Patriot Act. Several dozen other lawmakers, both Democrats and Republicans, have endorsed the measure. It also has the backing of the American Library Association and the American Booksellers Association.

"Obviously, we're aware of the dangers of terrorism," Sanders said. "But we don't want to see September 11 being used as an opportunity to take away basic constitutional rights."

The uproar over how much access the government should have to library records is in some ways a new chapter in an old debate. Libraries felt similar pressures amid the anti-communist fervor that gripped the nation after World War II. This time, many are vowing not to be bullied into giving up records by what they call vague appeals to patriotism or national security.

[ via LIS News ]

The Village Voice reports that Homeland Security officials have confiscated public library materials and FBI agents attempted to copy the hard drive of a Temple University library employee.

[via Anarchist Librarians Web ]

Friday, April 11, 2003

Yesterday, as I was leaving the local falafel place, I witnessed a well-dressed white guy with a bag full of junk leaning into a black woman's car, trying to sell her an ugly little table lamp with decorative ceramic bears on it. What a beautiful, hilarious, and sad thing to behold.

Thursday, April 10, 2003

...but we're back up and running. Sorry for the delay, folks (there will be no refunds). And now, more crap about music...


Current listening
Loose Fur "You Were Wrong"
Creeper Lagoon "So Little To Give"
Johnny Cash "Hurt"
Califone "Horoscopic Amputation Honey"
Calexico "Sunken Waltz"
Papa M "Orange World"
Cat Power "He War"

I've never been too interested in Chan Marshall (alias Cat Power), having heard her mostly in the context of old Matador compilations, but either she's made a change for the better or I've grown accustomed to her sound. Either way, I bought the new album, "You Are Free," and have been enjoying it pretty well. "He War," especially, rocks, and I imagine I like that song for the same reasons people went ga-ga over PJ Harvey circa 1993-95. I tried to get into PJ Harvey but never really managed to share the world's enthusiasm (these days I have the same problem with The White Stripes, though they're accessbile in a way that Polly Jean wasn't).

Back in the mid-nineties, I was obsessed with Lisa Germano, who made gorgeous yet horrific albums that nearly nobody listened to, probably because they were filled with themes like self-loathing, rape, and alcoholism. People can usually only stomach those topics if they're gobbed with overdriven, multi-layered metal guitars or given the modern Nashville treatment.

I've just been listening to Lisa Germano's music again because, joy of joys, she's putting out her first new album in five years. She'd been playing with Neil Finn (formerly of Crowded House) recently, but I haven't heard any of that stuff. I also found out that in 2001 she sang a couple of songs on an album by Yann Tiersen, who did the "Amelie" soundtrack. I can only hope she makes decent money working as a session musician, since she's played violin on albums by David Bowie, Sheryl Crow, and other bland big-timers (she started out playing fiddle and mandolin in John Cougar Mellencamp's band). I discovered her around 1993 or so, when her song "You Make Me Wanto Wear Dresses" [sic] got some play on Cities 97, back when they had occasionally adventurous programming. Heck, you could even hear the Waterboys on FM radio!

It's tough listening, though. Some of those songs I just won't touch, like "...A Psychopath," which features a recording of a frightened woman calling 911 while her house is being broken into. Despite bordering on exploitative, Germano has herself dealt with stalkers and abuse, and has explored negativity from nearly every conceivable angle, so it seems justified, though cruel. It's kind of sad, looking back on how I related to her music, because I've made pretty impressive leaps in terms of my emotional health over the last few years. Fortunately, there's an occasional twinge of hope and humor to her work, even if it isn't always readily obvious, so I can still listen and take pleasure without feeling pulled toward any kind of self-hate or pity.

Above all, the production on her records is incredible, starting with the 4AD re-release of her Capitol album "Happiness." Malcolm Burn produced "Happiness" and "Geek the Girl," which was her darkest and most delicate record of all. Burn is an admitted disciple of Daniel Lanois, but I much prefer the rough edges of Burn's work. I spotted his name on a Midnight Oil album ("Breathe") a few years later and wasn't disappointed by it.

Lisa stuck to her native Indiana crowd for her next album "Excerpts From A Love Circus," featuring producer Paul Mahern (worked with Antenna, Blake Babies, and Mysteries of Life), and musicians John P. Strohm (of Blake Babies and Antenna) and Jake Smith (of MoL). It's still a fascinatingly off-kilter sounding record, despite the rootsy pop surroundings.

Finally, Lisa's last album on 4AD, "Slide," was produced by none other than Tchad Blake, who for my money was a perfect collaborator. The big juicy SansAmp-effected drum sounds on tracks like Crash and Tomorrowing were a nice addition to her breathy vocals and scratchy violin. The last time I saw her perform was with Latin Playboys, featuring Tchad Blake and Mitchell Froom along with David Hidalgo and Louie Perez of Los Lobos.

I also caught her at "The Suffragette Sessions," a monsters-of-indie-chick-rock tour with Josephine Wiggs (Breeders), Kate Schellenbach (Luscious Jackson), and others, notably Canadian chanteuse Jane Siberry. Back in the day, Jane Siberry and Lisa Germano were my big female artist obsessions, and there they were, on stage together! Rapture! I was such a pathetic fanboy. I wrote Jane a letter, ostensibly to purchase something from her record label, Sheeba, and she sent me back a lovely, witty note. More shamefully, I scrawled a heartfelt note to Lisa Germano and handed it to her a show at First Ave. Sometime later I recieved a barely-legible postcard form her, still on tour somewhere in America. I should dig those out and scan them into this blog to make the cycle of nerdiness complete.

I like to think that I've improved over the years. Now I just lurk near Steve Barone in hopes that he'll mistake me for a hot groupie.

Wednesday, April 09, 2003

Last night I saw my favorite band, Guided by Voices, in what was probably the biggest venue I'll ever see them play, the State Theater, opening for none other than Cheap Trick. Midwestern rock is in da hizzouse!

Cheap Trick were a little too fast and loud, it seemed, like they were trying hard not to appear old and tired. Rick Nielsen had a new guitar for every single song and was clad in a shiny velour suit over a t-shirt, with his requisite baseball cap and shades. Robin Zander had a sparkly translucent black shirt that most opera singers would die for, and bassist Tom Petersson looked like a cross between Joe Perry and Prince. In short: beautiful, all of them. The set was a bit light on hits, other than the expected triumverate of "Surrender," "I Want You To Want Me," and "Deam Police," during which I straddled two chairs and flailed about in spasms of rock ecstasy. They also did "Southern Girls" and, yeesh, "Ain't That A Shame," but no "She's Tight" or "He's A Whore." I think we were spared the torture of "The Flame," though. I think. God, I can't remember. I do recall being pissed off that the bar closed at 10. It was worth every penny of the exorbitant ticket price to see Rick Nielsen actually play that monstrous five-necked guitar of his. I could've done without the flood lights they kept blinding us with, however.

Fortunately I had no complaints about the GBV set. Their's was even lighter on hits, but I'm sure most of the people present wouldn't have known any of their songs, anyway. Nate Farley was laying on the rock-star poses pretty thick, obviously excited to be playing such a big house, and the booze was brought out to the band in discrete red plastic cups. The Spacewaitress inspired a gaggle of hardcore GBV fans (and a few enthusiastic, though clueless, biker chicks) to jump up near the stage in defiance of the stolid crowd and security dudes. I didn't join in the fray until "Glad Girls," impossible for me not to pogo to. Other song highlights included "Game of Pricks," "Back to the Lake," "Cut-Out Witch," "The Official Ironman Rally Song," and a new one called "Secret Star." They also played "Everywhere with Helicopter" and "Christian Animation Torch Carriers" from "Universal Truths and Cycles," "Things I Will Keep" from "Do The Collapse," some more new stuff, a Circus Devils song, and I think "Visit This Place" and "Skills Like This," but that's about all I can remember since I didn't bother to take notes.

This Saturday I should have my soul shattererd by the Polyphonic Spree, and then I'm going to New York where I'll be seeing Yo La Tengo with Portastatic, and I might check out Califone and Brokeback, too, and hopefully some jazz. April rules!

Tuesday, April 08, 2003

To celebrate National Library Week 2003, we're stickin' it to da man! Well, I'm not exactly, but some librarians are busy shredding documents to show opposition to the Patriot Act(s). Read about it here (use Jessamyn West's awesome login- Member ID: corporatemedia, password: stillsucks). Consider it a pre-emptive strike on civil rights encroachment. Oh, damn...they've already hit back hard.

Why you should worship a librarian. [via The Shifted Librarian]

Library service reductions are still a big question mark in the Twin Cities, but here's the current word on your local library:


Seventeen full time employees to be laid off. It could get even worse, though, with serious talk of closing four branches and a hazy future for the recently demolished central library. Please recall that the city spent $60 million on opening your beloved new Target store on Nicollet.

Saint Paul

Hours reductions and a mere 2.7 layoffs...well, maybe make that three. The Mayor hints at a grim future, however. Then there's this whole tax levy issue, supported by the City Council and The Friends of the library, despised by fiscal conservatives and Mayor Kelly (who has yet to make an official statement, but is clearly not keen on the idea). I guess I'd be siding with the City Council on this one, as they apparently favor keeping libraries and rec centers open over funding another round of Peanuts characters around town.

"Amen" to that. I mean, Snoopy was fine. It was fun. Charlie Brown and Lucy were both lame. Get some damn bank to cough up the dough if you want to go on a Sally (Woodstock, Pigpen, whatever) hunt next year. Otherwise I'll propose a joint Peppermint Patty & Marcy statue and that'll be the end of that.

Monday, April 07, 2003

Friday afternoon, the delighted squeals of a tiny child and an arhythmic metal clanking sound led me to a toddler who had pulled up a carpet square over one of our hidden power outlets in the floor. She had exposed a metal plate and was pounding on it with a metal bookend. When I crawled over to her and put the carpet back where it belonged, the father, standing over her examining an auto-repair manual, then decided to tell her to knock it off. Why bother making a show of it? It wasn't like he tricked me into thinking he was paying any attention to his kid.

Friday, April 04, 2003

Here's an "essay" I wrote for my book club three years ago (I chose neither the title nor the topic):

"On the Temporal Nature of Socio-Corporeal Beings"

Seated in Caffeto, surrounded by what looked like high school kids (but were more likely college aged) I made the Andy Rooney-like observation that "I'm only going to get older." Good God! It can't be! But it is. I already complain about the kids today with their boy bands and their "cellular telephones." And what is it that makes 'em want to stick metal through every other part of their young, supple bodies? Mmm. I just don't know, and I'm not meant to know.

I used to think - just months ago - that I'd enjoy getting older: commanding respect, eliminating my debt, throwing rocks at dogs, etc. But I'm starting to doubt it all. First of all, I thought, really thought hard about what it would be like to lose my hair. I don't think I'm psychologically equipped to deal with that. And I don't want to be, because I'd rather retain the blind optimism that I won't ever have to face such an absence.

Mortality. Everyone goes through a phase, or several phases, of obsessing over this basic fact of life. It frequently takes ridiculous forms, as can be seen in numerous great works of art. One of my favorite moments in television (and there are very few of those) is from a commercial that featured Neptune mocking the consumer in his booming voice: "FOOLISH MORTALS!" I can't remember what the commercial was for, or when it aired, but I remember those two words. My mother and I used to repeat them over and over again. We thought it was funny. I like to imagine Roman gods squishing puny Earthlings and laughing about it.

I take a rather cavalier attitude towards human life. This may be a problem based on the fact that I haven't lost anyone important since I was about 8 years old (my mother's father). But it has a lot more to do with overpopulation. Overpopulation is one of the most vile words in my vocabulary. I am sick and disgusted with the amount of reproduction going on in the world. It needs to stop. There are too damn many people and it's causing too damn many problems. The planet can't handle us all. Especially us damn Westerners who use up so much goddamn energy to accomplish so damn little.

But what should we be doing? Well it’s clear that having sex has been a big contributor to the overpopulation problem. I’ve had pretty good luck at having sex without making any babies- but not everyone is so fortunate. And many of them - most of them - do it on purpose, which really makes me mad. Jocelyn Elders, bless her soul, had it right on the money: teach our children to masturbate. No more tying our kids down at night. No more circumcision. Just good, safe, sex with ourselves. Enjoy!

Keep in mind: all the orgasms in the world won't stave off the inevitable. Scrubbing otters, building houses for all those extra people, and writing dull essays that nobody reads won't. Making beautiful music might make it seem to take longer, but then so will watching bad movies. You might even be one of those who wishes it would come sooner.

Supposedly it's part of the human condition that we want to make ourselves immortal, and failing that to leave behind something important, like a hit play or a child. To anyone who feels this way: may Neptune unleash his liquid wrath upon you.

I've been in repeat-play mode a lot lately. It started when I heard "Faded From The Winter" by Iron & Wine on Radio K. I bought the album ("The Creek Drank the Cradle") and listened to it every day for nearly two weeks. Yep, I'm a sucker for pretty, low-fi, acoustic murmuring (fans of Nick Drake, Elliott Smith, or Red House Painters, take note). The record would've made my top 20 list had I known about it last year.

Then I got a 3-disc set called "The Millennium/Ballroom Sessions" for my birthday. The Millennium released one brilliant LP ("Begin") in 1968, only to have it become a lost, (nearly) forgotten treasure. This set includes that record, an entire unreleased album by The Ballroom, The Millennium's 1966 precursor, and all kinds of other goodies. Both bands were the brainchild of one Mr. Curt Boettcher, a writer, singer, and producer who worked with The Association, Tommy Roe, and Sagittarius. Gary Usher co-produced "Begin," and is a better-remembered name for his work with The Beach Boys (he co-wrote "In My Room" with Brian Wilson), and as a producer on several of The Byrds' classic albums.

The first two tracks are pure sixties pop pleasure. "Prelude" consists mainly of some funky harpsichord with a drum track that wouldn't sound out of place on a Flaming Lips album. Really- they got a huge sound out of the things, unusual for the time. "Prelude" is followed by "To Claudia on Thursday," a lovely pop song that I recognize from who knows where. Outer space? The ether? I dare say, the song is timeless. The rest of the album is good, but I've been listening to "Prelude/To Claudia..." over and over again.

Along similar lines comes the song "Waterfall" by The Smoke, from their 1967 LP "It's Smoke Time." I've been searching for more music along the lines of The Move, The Who, The Small Faces, and Creation, and these guys looked like a good fit. While The Smoke are not quite as earth-shakingly brilliant as their contemporaries, I'm happy I got the CD (with numerous singles tacked on as bonus tracks). I've had much worse luck with some American psychedelic bands, like The Peanut Butter Conspiracy, a sorry mishmash of Jefferson Airplane and the Mamas and the Papas. I'm not particularly fond of either of those groups, but the PBC makes them look pretty damn good in comparison. I can't go full-bore Anglophile, though, since I do love the Byrds and some lesser American acts like the West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band.

Back to The Smoke, then. "Waterfall" is a gourgeous song. My pal Alasdair Maclean might very well have "It's Smoke Time" lying about his house, as there's a very Clientele-ish sound to the guitar on "Waterfall." They nearly had a hit in England with the single "My Friend Jack," but it was banned from the radio due to lyrics about eating "sugar lumps" and the like, which were supposedly drug references. The Germans ate it up, however. Let's hear it for good international relations! C'mon! Guys? Where'd everybody go?

Finally, shame of shames, I've had to give "Soul Ram" a few listens. That's an easily-obtained Steely Dan demo from the late sixties or early seventies, apparently featuring one Mr. Keith Thomas, soprano, on vocals, belting out lines like "didn't know she dug the heavy stuff, Steely Dan, play it rough, back door man." It's that bad, folks. Oh, and then there's some stuff about "carousels and wishing wells," and a great double-time jazzy break down. Sweet, sweet stuff. You just can't beat a song where the band refers to themselves in the lyrics. See also: "To Live and Die in LBI" by Lifter Puller, "Whiplash" by Metallica, rap songs too numerous to mention, every single song by Tenacious D, and "Show Biz Kids" by...Steely Dan.

Thursday, April 03, 2003


Tonight I went to the 400 Bar to see a Swedish rock band
They were called The Soundtrack Of Our Lives
They rocked like a motherfucker

Soundtrack of our Liiiiiiiiiives
Soundtrack of our Liiiiiiiiiives
Soundtrack of our Liiiiiiiiiives
Soundtrack of our Lives

The local rock station plays their songs
The bar was crowded and hot
There was some pretty girls there
The band really knew how to rock

Soundtrack of our Liiiiiiiiiives
Soundtrack of our Liiiiiiiiiives
Soundtrack of our Liiiiiiiiiives
Soundtrack of our Lives

I took some cold medicine with Wild Turkey
and voices started talking to me vulgar
Those Swedes really kicked out the jams
They coulda whipped a zebra's ass

Soundtrack of our Liiiiiiiiiives
Soundtrack of our Liiiiiiiiiives
Soundtrack of our Liiiiiiiiiives
Soundtrack of our Lives

Rock over London,
Rock on Chicago

Quaker Oats. The right thing to do and the tasty way to do it.

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