text:
CEMB buys M&B Engineering, adding tire changers to equipment portfolio
Budget woes may affect Ontario's recycling efforts, but government welcoming ideas
Miles Moore
HILTON HEAD ISLAND, S.C.—Disagreements over Ontario's pending provincial budget have left Ontario Tire Stewardship (OTS), the province's industry-run scrap tire management organization, intact for now.
However, the subject of rewriting Ontario's Waste Diversion Act certainly will come up again, and soon, according to Glenn Maidment, president of the Rubber Association of Canada (RAC). The delay will allow Ontario's tire industry to have more input in a new law's provisions, he added.
Kathleen Wynne, prime minister of Ontario and leader of Ontario's Liberal Party, called for new provincial parliamentary elections June 12 after Andrea Horvath, leader of Ontario's New Democrat Party, declined May 1 to support the $130.4 billion budget package issued that day by Ms. Wynne's government.
"I cannot in good conscience support a government the people don't support any more," Ms. Horvath said in a statement broadcast May 1 by the Canadian Broadcasting Corp.
With Ms. Horvath's rejection of the budget, all unfinished legislative business before the Ontario Parliament became null and void, according to Mr. Maidment.
That unfinished business included Bill 91, the Waste Reduction Act, which called for sweeping alterations to the structure of waste recycling efforts in Ontario.
Proposed in June 2013 by the Ontario Ministry of the Environment, Bill 91 would have mandated Individual Producer Responsibility (IPR) requirements for the collection and recycling of all end-of-life products in Ontario, including tires.
The bill would have converted Waste Reduction Ontario—the government corporation created by the previously enacted Waste Reduction Act—to a new Waste Reduction Authority with responsibility to enforce compliance with the IPR program and levy fines and penalties.
That would have spelled the end of OTS, the Extended Producer Warranty (EPR) program run by Ontario tire manufacturers, dealers and importers.
Whereas OTS funds its activities through a graduated scale of fees on new tire purchases, the IPR program would have been funded through fees and penalties to be determined later. The IPR program would have been phased in during 2016 and 2017.
"For now OTS remains fully constituted as it is," Mr. Maidment said. "That said, the election is but a pause.
"Virtually everyone and all three political parties agree the current Waste Diversion Act has many flaws and must be changed," he said.
"The good news is the election will give industry—all affected industries, not just tires—time to consider and present some ideas we can all buy into to make these diversion programs better."
In other Ontario scrap tire news, OTS lowered its fee on passenger and light truck tire purchases to $5.43 per tire from the previous $5.69.
This is the second time OTS has issued a fee decrease on passenger and light truck tires, the organization said. When OTS was founded in 2009, the fee on those tires was $5.84.
All other tire fees remain as before, OTS said.


Don't just take our word for it. See what our customers are saying about us. We are proud to have a 5 star rating on the highly respected and independent Review Centre website.
Just thought I'd share a bit of Australian sunshine with you by way of a personal thank you for exceptional service once again.
My wife and I are delighted with our Trekking Safari camera harnesses purchased last year via your website. They have eliminated the neck pain we had both experienced with standard camera neck straps and we can now enjoy extended photographic expeditions without any discomfort at all.
My daughter and her partner (who are keen photographers) tried our harnesses during our summer holidays and were suitably impressed.
I decided to treat them and ordered two harnesses (plus a cross system to add to my harness to carry an additional lens) last Sunday evening 5th Feb (our time).
You posted it on Monday 6th February and it arrived here in Melbourne this morning (Friday 10th Feb). I thought the speed of my previous order might have been an aberration, but apparently not so.
"Good Service is Good Business" is obviously not just a catchphrase for you. I often waited longer for packages from local companies.
So well done and thank you once again.
"Thanks for your first class services"
"I ordered just two step rings to make up the set I needed to be able to use a previously purchased 62mm polarizer filter. Now I can use this one filter on all seven lenses I have in my Praktica BC1 and Nikon F65 systems.
I received the rings on Wednesday after a late night order the previous Saturday!
I've said it before and I'll repeat myself by saying thanks for your first class services and camera materials.
As you can see from above, I'm not in the DSLR category of photographers but I still get what I need from JackTheHat in most cases!
By the way, I'm still searching for the Adaptall 2 adapter so that I can use my Tamron's on my Nikon F65, just in case any customer you have read this and are able to assist!!"
"Fully recommended and thank you"
"A review of the items I ordered late this past Saturday evening. I ordered a 62mm Circular Polarizing filter, a 52-62 Stepping Ring and a 52mm Rubber Wide angle Lens Hood. I received them Wednesday!! I was expecting them from Thursday onward as they were coming without packaging and mailing cost!!
All the items were first class and I will be purchasing another couple of Stepping Rings in due course.
Whenever I have had a query to be answered I have turned to JackTheHat and have always received positive replies even though at times the company could not supply me with certain pieces of equipment.
I can only thank them for their attention to detail and first class service.
Fully recommended and thank you."
"Fantastic consideration for their customers"
"I am a top professional photographer based in Kent and have been using Jack the Hat photography suppliers the past couple of years.
This is a company that have fantastic consideration for their customers unlike some I have dealt with in the past. The company's director Jamie personally takes great care to deal with any issues or problems ( which are rare) that may arise and act on them instantly.
I have always had such a pleasant experience every time I have used Jack the Hat and everything I have ordered has always been 'as it say's on the tin', arrived extremely promptly and is brilliantly parcelled.
I would recommend Jack the Hat photography to anyone.
"Excellent fast service to Southern Spain"
"A very efficient and fast service to Spain. The hotshoe cable for my nikon speedlight is of a surprisingly good quality even though its from China. Sorry to my chinese friends! Its looks strong and durable and for amateur use will do just the job ! Recommended!"
"Have bought a few items from Jack the Hat Photographic now and always have great service, items at a great price with excellent communications concerning delivery. The last item I bought was ordered on a Friday afternoon and I paid for First Class delivery and received the item the following day. Can thoroughly recommend"
"Excellent products & service every time. Highly recommended."
"I have bought recently 2 products from Jack the Hat Photographic and their service, delivery & communication is really excellent.
I have just purchased a slide viewer which is a marvellous piece of equipment.
This company is a valuable find in the declining field of photographic retailers on the high street - I live in Leicester!
What more can I say from a very satisfied customer."
"first time buyer. first class service, only took three days delivery. very pleased."
"I've used Jack the Hat for quite a while now so I think they deserve a review from me. Their service is pretty incredible to say the least. It's nice to deal with a company that actually answers emails and know exactly what they're talking about. Nothing is too much trouble for them. Not only that, their prices are very competitive. Definitely a website for photographers to add to their favourites."
"just what I was looking for. Good price and speedy delivery. Overall good service. Would certainly recommend."
"Fantastic service from here.They listened to what I personally needed for my photograhy and nothing was too much trouble.It came quickly and now I can get my photos looking better.Would definately recommend."
"Better pictures needed for on-line presence?"
"I needed to take better quality pictures to use on line, so if you have a on line shop or sell on Ebay, I can thoroughly recommend this range of backdrops from Jack The Hat.
I love my new backdrop as its big enough for anything I need to photograph and small enough to take anywhere with me.
Now, I'm still no David Bailey, but having taken a couple of pics for friends, they are also pleased with the result.
It is crease free and stays that way, so no frantic ironing before it is needed.
For under £30 it has made a HUGE difference!
Great Service, Good Quality and a Fantasitc product.
Thank You Jack the Hat!"
"After struggling to find a flashgun diffuser to fit my Metz flashgun I contacted a few different companies for advice. Jack the Hat Photographic were the only company that seemed willing to help and they bent over backwards to find a suitable item for me. Not only that, delivery was completely free and they were even happy to deliver it to my work address on a Saturday. Now that's what I call great customer service! I cannot recommend them highly enough and they'll be my first port of call for any future camera related purchases. I normally don't bother to write reviews but in this case I felt their fantastic service deserved to be mentioned."


Add to that, the Tiger Mountain Ramble veterans, Taiwan's own southern folk and Americana super-group "The Muddy Basin Ramblers" will be backing the guest headliners, and offering their own complete set of Louisiana and Mississippi bayou inspired folky goodness.
Since the first Countryfile Ramble in 2015, the programme has raised PS2.
The 10km Walk starts at 10am, the 10km Run at 11am and the 5km Ramble at 11.
4-mile linear ramble at the New Forest Activity Centre and head into Beaulieu.
But John, 57, died on the morning of the Shatila ramble, which was dedicated to him.
synonyms: wander, roam, and ramble mean to move about from place to place without a reason or plan.
EST on State Highway 520 when a car driven by David Eugene Butler crossed the double lines and struck the car driven by Kida, investigating Florida Highway Patrol trooper Brian Ramble said.
It lacks the coherence of Naipaul's earlier nonfiction and is more ramble than essay, full of chance encounters and long, breezy interviews with catfish farmers, waitresses, motel clerks, writers, and especially preachers, for whom Naipaul has always had a nose.
Goldman became a user of ChefTec even before Bear Ramble Farm opened its doors.
As a precursor to Worcester County Poetry Association's 17th annual Bloomsday Ramble, there will be an open reading of James Joyce's works from 7 to 9 p.
Richie Baker, right, has organised a Calorie Cruncher Ramble on Saturday and Sunday, January 5 and 6, at 1pm.


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}

CefRefPtr<CefV8Value> CefV8ValueCToCpp::GetValue(const CefString& key) {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, get_value_bykey))
    return NULL;

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Unverified params: key

  // Execute
  cef_v8value_t* _retval = _struct->get_value_bykey(_struct,
      key.GetStruct());

  // Return type: refptr_same
  return CefV8ValueCToCpp::Wrap(_retval);
}

CefRefPtr<CefV8Value> CefV8ValueCToCpp::GetValue(int index) {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, get_value_byindex))
    return NULL;

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Verify param: index; type: simple_byval
  DCHECK_GE(index, 0);
  if (index < 0)
    return NULL;

  // Execute
  cef_v8value_t* _retval = _struct->get_value_byindex(_struct,
      index);

  // Return type: refptr_same
  return CefV8ValueCToCpp::Wrap(_retval);
}

bool CefV8ValueCToCpp::SetValue(const CefString& key,
    CefRefPtr<CefV8Value> value, PropertyAttribute attribute) {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, set_value_bykey))
    return false;

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Verify param: value; type: refptr_same
  DCHECK(value.get());
  if (!value.get())
    return false;
  // Unverified params: key

  // Execute
  int _retval = _struct->set_value_bykey(_struct,
      key.GetStruct(),
      CefV8ValueCToCpp::Unwrap(value),
      attribute);

  // Return type: bool
  return _retval?true:false;
}

bool CefV8ValueCToCpp::SetValue(int index, CefRefPtr<CefV8Value> value) {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, set_value_byindex))
    return false;

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Verify param: index; type: simple_byval
  DCHECK_GE(index, 0);
  if (index < 0)
    return false;
  // Verify param: value; type: refptr_same
  DCHECK(value.get());
  if (!value.get())
    return false;

  // Execute
  int _retval = _struct->set_value_byindex(_struct,
      index,
      CefV8ValueCToCpp::Unwrap(value));

  // Return type: bool
  return _retval?true:false;
}

bool CefV8ValueCToCpp::SetValue(const CefString& key, AccessControl settings,
    PropertyAttribute attribute) {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, set_value_byaccessor))
    return false;

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Unverified params: key

  // Execute
  int _retval = _struct->set_value_byaccessor(_struct,
      key.GetStruct(),
      settings,
      attribute);

  // Return type: bool
  return _retval?true:false;
}

bool CefV8ValueCToCpp::GetKeys(std::vector<CefString>& keys) {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, get_keys))
    return false;

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Translate param: keys; type: string_vec_byref
  cef_string_list_t keysList = cef_string_list_alloc();
  DCHECK(keysList);
  if (keysList)
    transfer_string_list_contents(keys, keysList);

  // Execute
  int _retval = _struct->get_keys(_struct,
      keysList);

  // Restore param:keys; type: string_vec_byref
  if (keysList) {
    keys.clear();
    transfer_string_list_contents(keysList, keys);
    cef_string_list_free(keysList);
  }

  // Return type: bool
  return _retval?true:false;
}

bool CefV8ValueCToCpp::SetUserData(CefRefPtr<CefBase> user_data) {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, set_user_data))
    return false;

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Unverified params: user_data

  // Execute
  int _retval = _struct->set_user_data(_struct,
      CefBaseCppToC::Wrap(user_data));

  // Return type: bool
  return _retval?true:false;
}

CefRefPtr<CefBase> CefV8ValueCToCpp::GetUserData() {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, get_user_data))
    return NULL;

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Execute
  cef_base_t* _retval = _struct->get_user_data(_struct);

  // Return type: refptr_diff
  return CefBaseCppToC::Unwrap(_retval);
}

int CefV8ValueCToCpp::GetExternallyAllocatedMemory() {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, get_externally_allocated_memory))
    return 0;

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Execute
  int _retval = _struct->get_externally_allocated_memory(_struct);

  // Return type: simple
  return _retval;
}

int CefV8ValueCToCpp::AdjustExternallyAllocatedMemory(int change_in_bytes) {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, adjust_externally_allocated_memory))
    return 0;

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Execute
  int _retval = _struct->adjust_externally_allocated_memory(_struct,
      change_in_bytes);

  // Return type: simple
  return _retval;
}

int CefV8ValueCToCpp::GetArrayLength() {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, get_array_length))
    return 0;

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Execute
  int _retval = _struct->get_array_length(_struct);

  // Return type: simple
  return _retval;
}

CefString CefV8ValueCToCpp::GetFunctionName() {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, get_function_name))
    return CefString();

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Execute
  cef_string_userfree_t _retval = _struct->get_function_name(_struct);

  // Return type: string
  CefString _retvalStr;
  _retvalStr.AttachToUserFree(_retval);
  return _retvalStr;
}

CefRefPtr<CefV8Handler> CefV8ValueCToCpp::GetFunctionHandler() {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, get_function_handler))
    return NULL;

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Execute
  cef_v8handler_t* _retval = _struct->get_function_handler(_struct);

  // Return type: refptr_diff
  return CefV8HandlerCppToC::Unwrap(_retval);
}

CefRefPtr<CefV8Value> CefV8ValueCToCpp::ExecuteFunction(
    CefRefPtr<CefV8Value> object, const CefV8ValueList& arguments) {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, execute_function))
    return NULL;

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Unverified params: object

  // Translate param: arguments; type: refptr_vec_same_byref_const
  const size_t argumentsCount = arguments.size();
  cef_v8value_t** argumentsList = NULL;
  if (argumentsCount > 0) {
    argumentsList = new cef_v8value_t*[argumentsCount];
    DCHECK(argumentsList);
    if (argumentsList) {
      for (size_t i = 0; i < argumentsCount; ++i) {
        argumentsList[i] = CefV8ValueCToCpp::Unwrap(arguments[i]);
      }
    }
  }

  // Execute
  cef_v8value_t* _retval = _struct->execute_function(_struct,
      CefV8ValueCToCpp::Unwrap(object),
      argumentsCount,
      argumentsList);

  // Restore param:arguments; type: refptr_vec_same_byref_const
  if (argumentsList)
    delete [] argumentsList;

  // Return type: refptr_same
  return CefV8ValueCToCpp::Wrap(_retval);
}

CefRefPtr<CefV8Value> CefV8ValueCToCpp::ExecuteFunctionWithContext(
    CefRefPtr<CefV8Context> context, CefRefPtr<CefV8Value> object,
    const CefV8ValueList& arguments) {
  cef_v8value_t* _struct = GetStruct();
  if (CEF_MEMBER_MISSING(_struct, execute_function_with_context))
    return NULL;

  // AUTO-GENERATED CONTENT - DELETE THIS COMMENT BEFORE MODIFYING

  // Verify param: context; type: refptr_same
  DCHECK(context.get());
  if (!context.get())
    return NULL;
  // Unverified params: object

  // Translate param: arguments; type: refptr_vec_same_byref_const
  const size_t argumentsCount = arguments.size();
  cef_v8value_t** argumentsList = NULL;
  if (argumentsCount > 0) {
    argumentsList = new cef_v8value_t*[argumentsCount];
    DCHECK(argumentsList);
    if (argumentsList) {
      for (size_t i = 0; i < argumentsCount; ++i) {
        argumentsList[i] = CefV8ValueCToCpp::Unwrap(arguments[i]);
      }
    }
  }

  // Execute
  cef_v8value_t* _retval = _struct->execute_function_with_context(_struct,
      CefV8ContextCToCpp::Unwrap(context),
      CefV8ValueCToCpp::Unwrap(object),
      argumentsCount,
      argumentsList);

  // Restore param:arguments; type: refptr_vec_same_byref_const
  if (argumentsList)
    delete [] argumentsList;

  // Return type: refptr_same
  return CefV8ValueCToCpp::Wrap(_retval);
}

// CONSTRUCTOR - Do not edit by hand.

CefV8ValueCToCpp::CefV8ValueCToCpp() {
}

template<> cef_v8value_t* CefCToCpp<CefV8ValueCToCpp, CefV8Value,
    cef_v8value_t>::UnwrapDerived(CefWrapperType type, CefV8Value* c) {
  NOTREACHED() << "Unexpected class type: " << type;
  return NULL;
}

#if DCHECK_IS_ON()
template<> base::AtomicRefCount CefCToCpp<CefV8ValueCToCpp, CefV8Value,
    cef_v8value_t>::DebugObjCt = 0;
#endif

template<> CefWrapperType CefCToCpp<CefV8ValueCToCpp, CefV8Value,
    cef_v8value_t>::kWrapperType = WT_V8VALUE;

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


text:
package org.acme;

import jakarta.inject.Inject;

import jakarta.ws.rs.*;
import java.util.List;

@Path("/customer")
@Produces("application/json")
@Consumes("application/json")
public class CustomerEndpoint {

    @Inject CustomerService service;

    @GET
    public List<Customer> list() {
        return service.list();
    }

    @POST
    public List<Customer> add(Customer customer) {
        service.add(customer);
        return list();
    }

    @PUT
    public List<Customer> put(Customer customer) {
        service.update(customer);
        return list();
    }

    @DELETE
    public List<Customer> delete(Customer customer) {
        service.delete(customer);
        return list();
    }
}


text: [Using Vagrant to Learn Ansible](http://blog.scottlowe.org/2015/06/08/using-vagrant-to-learn-ansible/)


text:
Home » News » Get Ready For Controversy: Trailer For Paul Verhoeven's Religious Thriller BENEDETTA
Get Ready For Controversy: Trailer For Paul Verhoeven's Religious Thriller BENEDETTA
Posted on May 5, 2021 by Niall Browne in News
It looks like Paul Verhoeven is going to do what he does best with Benedetta – court controversy. I can image that the Dutch director behind Basic Instinct and Showgirls is going to get a lot a lot of press for this latest religious thriller which stars Virginie Efira, Charlotte Rampling, Daphné Patakia and Lambert Wilson. A historical erotic lesbian Nun thriller is pretty much hitting the jackpot if you're playing 'Verhoeven Bingo'!
The film is based on historian Judith C Brown's 1986 book Immodest Acts: The Life Of A Lesbian Nun In Renaissance Italy. The below trailer doesn't pull any punches either – so be warned.
Benedetta is has been confirmed as an official selection at this year's Cannes Film Festival and will screen in competition during the event which is scheduled to run July 6-17 2021. It will open in France on 9 July 2021.
The synopsis:
In the late 15th century, with plague ravaging the land, Benedetta Carlini joins the convent in Pescia, Tuscany, as a novice. Capable from an early age of performing miracles, Benedetta's impact on life in the community is immediate and momentous.
daphne patakia
Review: BLADE RUNNER 2049 Is A Disappointing Delayed Dystopian Sequel
Spice World The Movie: A Whole Host Of Images From Denis Villeneuve's DUNE
Behind The Scenes: Harrison Ford, Ryan Gosling & Denis Villeneuve On The Set Of BLADE RUNNER 2049
Behind The Scenes: Francis Ford Coppola & Gene Hackman On The Set Of THE CONVERSATION
BAFTA 2018: Nominations For The EE British Academy Film Awards

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


On the night of the joyous festival of Shemini Atzeret of the Jewish year 5738 (October 4, 1977), while celebrating with thousands of his Chassidim in his synagogue, the Rebbe suffered a massive heart attack. Following that episode the Rebbe was confined to his office, and it was not until five weeks later, on the first day of the Hebrew month of Kislev, that he returned home. This date was duly designated by his Chassidim as a day of celebration and thanksgiving.
The doctors had warned the Rebbe of a sixty percent chance re-occurrence if he continued his vigorous daily routine. But the Rebbe heard positive news: The doctors were of the opinion that there's a forty percent chance that there's nothing to worry about.
Two years earlier, in the summer of 1976, a group of disabled Israeli war veterans touring America on a program sponsored by the Israeli Defense Ministry came to the Rebbe. Ten large commercial vans transported their wheelchairs from their New York hotel to the Rebbe's synagogue at 770 Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn.
For several minutes the Rebbe walked among them, shaking hands, smiling and making light conversation. Then he addressed them, apologizing for his accented Hebrew.
Indeed, the face that the Rebbe showed the men who had lost their limbs in the defense of their people was warm, cheerful and optimistic. A number of them later said that this was the first time since their injury that they were met with such a natural response from another person, rather than a look of pity, guilt or revulsion. But when the Rebbe returned to his room, his personal secretary saw how shattered he was by the encounter. It was a full week, the secretary later told, before the Rebbe recovered from the experience.


text:
Rock Candy Records Latest - Y&T
3 news titles from Rock Candy - all available now from www.rockcandyrecords.com
Y&T 'EARTHSHAKER' CANDY360
WHEN Y&T reappeared in 1981 and released Earthshaker most hard rock fans were shocked that the band were still a functioning unit. Having made a name for themselves in the late seventies with two fine, but obscure, albums released on the decidedly unhip London label, very little was then heard of them. But when Earthshaker appeared on the rather more happening A&M label, brandishing a streamlined name change from the cumbersome Yesterday And Today to the far more manageable Y&T, fans could not have been happier.
Released in 1981, Earthshaker stunned the hard rock world with its aggressive songs and production. It was a double whammy that breathed new life into the band's profile, helping to re-establish them as real contenders after years spent hiding in the shadows on a label that offered little in the way of promotion or career advancement. In Europe, where the band had already enjoyed a cult following through imports of their previous two records, the news was embraced with open arms and word soon spread that the band were not only back but sounding bigger and better than ever.
Recorded in their native San Francisco, the album harnessed a new raw energy, allowing songs such as 'Hungry For Rock', 'Dirty Girl', 'Squeeze' and 'Hurricane' to explode like molotov cocktails, whilst the epic and lengthy album closer 'Rescue Me' showed that the band could write anthems equal to the best of the genre. It also showed just how masterful they had developed as musicians, especially Dave Meniketti's extraordinary vocals. Honestly, we can't recommend this album highly enough.
SPECIAL DELUXE COLLECTOR'S EDITION, FULLY REMASTERED AUDIO, 16 PAGE FULL COLOUR BOOKLET, 4,000 WORD ESSAY ABOUT THE MAKING OF THE ALBUM INCLUDING NEW INTERVIEW WITH DAVE MENIKETI, ENHANCED ARTWORK AND RARE PHOTOS
TRACK LISTING: 1. HUNGRY FOR ROCK 2. DIRTY GIRL 3. SHAKE IT LOOSE 4. SQUEEZE 5. RESCUE ME 6. YOUNG AND TOUGH 7. HURRICANE 8. LET ME GO 9. KNOCK YOU OUT 10. I BELIEVE IN YOU
Y&T 'BLACK TIGER' CANDY361
Y&T'S PREVIOUS album Earthshaker had revitalised this highly respected San Francisco based quartet's fortunes, appearing almost by stealth after years of what appeared to be complete inactivity. Signed to a new label and attracting fresh interest from various corners, Y&T quickly capitalised on their fortunes by moving their base of operation to the UK for the follow-up album Black Tiger. Almost unbeknownst to the band, the UK and Europe had earlier on embraced them as one of their own. It was an appreciation born out of a revived interest in hard rock, fuelled by the emergence of the NWOBHM.
Recorded in the Surrey countryside and produced by acclaimed British producer Max Norman (Ozzy Osbourne, Coney Hatch, Malice) Black Tiger was a triumphant statement of intent, complimenting and, in many respects, eclipsing the achievement of the previous year's Earthshaker album. Having established a solid template the album saw them looking for more melodic possibilities but not compromising their muscular style. It was a successful manoeuvre and one not lost on their burgeoning European fan base. In fact, during the recording sessions, the band embarked on a sold out UK and European tour that included two nights at London's Marquee club and a high ranking support slot at that year's Reading Festival.
Black Tiger, Issued in 1982, is now regarded as one of, if not the definitive Y&T album, showcasing a number of tracks that are regarded as classics, such as 'Open Fire', 'My Way Or The Highway', 'Hell Or High Water', and the title track itself. It also contains the epic 'Forever', another gold standard ballad in the classic Y&T canon.
SPECIAL DELUXE COLLECTOR'S EDITION, FULLY REMASTERED AUDIO, ONE BONUS TRACK. 16 PAGE FULL COLOUR BOOKLET, PRODUCED BY MAX NORMAN (OZZY OSBOUNE, ARMORED SAINT), 4,000 WORD ESSAY ABOUT THE MAKING OF THE ALBUM INCLUDING NEW INTERVIEW WITH DAVE MENIKETI, ENHANCED ARTWORK AND RARE PHOTOS
TRACK LISTING: 1. FROM THE MOON 2. OPEN FIRE 3. DON'T WANNA LOSE 4. HELL OR HIGH WATER 5. FOREVER 6. BLACK TIGER 7. BARROOM BOOGIE 8. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY 9. WINDS OF CHANGE. **BONUS TRACK**: 10. SOMEBODY FOR ME
Y&T 'MEAN STREAK' CANDY362
WHEN Y&T, THE hard rockin' San Francisco quartet, signed to A&M records in 1980, it signalled a golden era for the band, revealing a fan base in the UK, and Europe in general, that they were utterly unaware of. Their debut major label album, Earthshaker, was more successful in Europe than in their own country, building an audience that was hearing much in common with the NWOBHM and welcoming their hard edged sound as if they were homecoming
heroes. The bond was further cemented when the band elected to record their Black Tiger album in the UK, and also attracted an impressive reaction when they toured, which included a special guest performance at the coveted Reading Festival.
It came as no surprise, then, to find that their next album continued the British connection, with the band securing respected studio wizard Chris Tsangarides (Thin Lizzy, Judas Priest, Ozzy Osbourne) to produce Mean Streak, another molten slice of face melting hard rock in the finest Y&T tradition. Recorded in their native San Francisco, the record continued to enhance the band's reputation as one of the most potent outfits of the era, delivering great songs and incredible performances. They refused to sweeten their sound or kowtow to ill informed suggestions, stated or implied, to become more accessible.
Produced with pin-point accuracy, the album (issued in 1983) resonates with explosive authority, harnessing razor sharp guitar riffs and impressive songs. Tracks such as 'Midnight In Tokyo', 'Hang 'Em High', 'Down And Dirty' and the title track itself are all Y&T classics, allowing vocalist Dave Meniketti to ride the tiger with all his might.
SPECIAL DELUXE COLLECTOR'S EDITION, FULLY REMASTERED AUDIO, ONE BONUS TRACK. 16 PAGE FULL COLOUR BOOKLET, PRODUCED BY CHRIS TSANGARIDES (THIN LIZZY, JUDAS PRIEST), 4,000 WORD ESSAY ABOUT THE MAKING OF THE ALBUM INCLUDING NEW INTERVIEW WITH DAVE MENIKETI, ENHANCED ARTWORK AND RARE PHOTOS
TRACK LISTING: 1. MEAN STREAK 2. STRAIGHT THRU THE HEART 3. LONELY SIDE OF TOWN 4. MIDNIGHT IN TOKYO 5. BREAKING AWAY 6. HANG 'EM HIGH 7. TAKE YOU TO THE LIMIT 8. SENTIMENTAL FOOL 9. DOWN AND DIRTY. **BONUS TRACK**:10. I'M NOT SORRY
RIP Y&T's JOEY ALVES
Two posts today from Dave Meniketti:
It's with great sadness that I write this today. Y&T's original rhythm guitarist, Joey Alves, passed away at 7:10 this morning at the age of 63. He suffered from ulcerative colitis and other complications that led to his passing. Joey was one of the finest rock rhythm guitarists, and I'll always remember playing next to him chunking out those monster chords with his classic red double cutaway '59 Les Paul Jr. As Ronnie Montrose once said about Joey, "There are rhythm players, then there's Joey. A class of his own.....".
He was a fun guy who always played with attitude and conviction, and was responsible for writing some memorable riffs for Y&T over the years. His friendship and presence will be missed. This is a great loss for all the Y&T family and faithful. He now joins Phil and Leonard in rock and roll heaven.
I saw this clip of Joey 2 days ago when I was reviewing part of the documentary. Seeing Joey on the screen while knowing he was not long for this earth was a shock to me at first, but hearing what he said in this clip really touched me. What he said is so right and I wanted to share this with deep respect for my friend. Thank you Mark and Geoff for putting this together for me.
Joey Alves
Dave Meniketti


On January 22, Amazon Go, a futuristic grocery store with no lines, no cashiers, and no wait, opened to the public. Amazon released the news about their store in December 2016, but for the first time, it was open to the public. Amazon Go had their first store opened in Seattle, Washington and said franchising would depend on the success of the first store.
The only thing required to shop at the Amazon Go Store is a free Amazon account and the free Amazon Go app. Customers can scan their app at the door and then they are free to shop. When they leave the store, all of the items in their bags are instantly charged to their Amazon account.
When customers pick items off of the shelves and place them in their bags, the item is charged to their Amazon account. When customers are done shopping, they simply walk out of the store with their items. The bill for items is added to the customers Amazon account and they can pay it at any time. "Every time customers grab an item off a shelf," Amazon says "the product is automatically put into the shopping cart of their online account. If customers put the item back on the shelf, Amazon removes it from their virtual basket" (NY Times.com).
The appeal of Amazon Go is that customers can buy any items found in a regular grocery store and leave without check-out lines, cashiers, or a wait. There is a small staff of employees in each store, but they are only to help, prepare food, and check ID cards for purchases of alcohol or tobacco products.
Amazon Go is meant to replace normal grocery stores by increasing the speed and convenience of the shopping experience. The store offers all of the items that can be found in grocery stores, but they also have a selection of ready-to-eat snacks and meals and local products. "Amazon offers delicious ready-to-eat breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snack options made by our chefs and favorite local kitchens and bakeries" (Amazon.com).
Amazon Go is a futuristic grocery store meant to enable customers to a faster and more efficient shopping experience by cutting out lines and cashiers. Currently, the store is only open in one location in Seattle, Washington, but Amazon is planning to add their modern grocery stores in locations all around the country.


text:
That time I moved to France and didn't blog about it: preparing to move abroad during a pandemic
June 29, 2021 by Cat Gaa · 3 Comments
2020 will be the year that the world stopped for so many. But for me, it's the year I got to live in France.
France was a lovely little séjour, despite those pesky aspects of living abroad. Every pain au chocolat reminded me of being 16 and traveling around France with my grandfather, every new word learned was a small personal victory to untrain myself from Spanish while slowly making sense of street signs and school communications. In a year where no one traveled, a summer of exploring a new home base became our salve, the balm that soothed away all the scary stuff and ever-present threat of the virus.
We spent six months living in Écully, a wealthy village of 18,000 people just west of Lyon. The largest park was on the grounds of an old château (now home to Lyon's premiere cooking school and the only hospitality school restaurant in France to hold a Michelin star), the village church and Liberté-Fraternité-Egalité-emblazoned mairie anchoring a small downtown that was once the carriage route to St-Etienne. It wasn't Belle's Alsace but it was pretty damn cute, the homes named for flowers, doors overgrown with lilacs and ivy and random châteaus hidden behind apartment complexes.
I didn't blog. The attempt to jot down a vignette or two every week suddenly seemed a momentous task after a day trying to fumble through French and not get lost and perfect a quiche lorraine. I truthfully didn't want to find the time to do it. And now, half a year since we returned to Spain, I am ready to talk about it. And, truthfully, I don't want to forget.
I have been a Francophile since I was a kid. Maybe it was growing up reading Madeline, or my mother's obsession with French silk. I begged her to let me learn French at a fancy sleepaway camp in Minnesota, something I'd read about in a magazine. She scoffed that I could go to the park district camp and wade in a creek instead of drowning myself in baguettes.
By the time I was 13, she signed the permission form to let me start language classes – Spanish. I got the last laugh when I married a Spaniard and Nancy lost me to the mother continent.
Lyon. While Paris has long swooned me, I fell deeply in love with Lyon. The city is home to the second largest urban area in France, crowned by the Monts d'Or and framed by the confluence of the Rhône and Saône rivers. Les gones – a nickname given to the lyonnaises – are comme si-comme ça about all things Parisian, crown themselves as the gastronomic capital of France and have witnessed some of France's most emblematic events. The Romans. The Gauls. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. The Lumière brothers. Jean Moulin. Paul Bocuse.
Mon dieu, I was in love with this place before even looking for flights, much less asking permission to work from another country. I would wind my way through the streets of the Croix-Rousse like the old canuts, dine in every restaurant Bourdain had stopped in on Parts Unknown and pick up my produce and cheeses that reeked of grass and the countryside at the Saturday morning market. I had dreamed of living in France since kids were learning French on tapes, and it was finally happening. Quelle aventure, la France!
As the weather warmed, so did my urge to get planning. When I first moved to Spain, fresh out of college, I literally left just about everything to chance. I had spent a few days in Seville and knew I liked it, but the prospect of living there didn't register when I was subsiding off of gazpacho in the July heat as a study abroad student.
We interviewed with a relocation company that specialized in expats one afternoon. As the Novio's job as a civil servant got a delightful smirk, hearing I was American and hadn't yet mentioned the prospect of moving was troublesome to her. Add in two kids who needed schooling and a budget during a housing crisis, and she declined to work with us. I was aghast: someone was refusing our euros?
Little did I know just how much I would hear the word non when we eventually got to France that summer.
Well, then the rest of March 2020 happened, and I promptly cancelled my trip to the U.S. that summer and planned on an été français.
April – May
One silver lining of the pandemic is that housing options suddenly opened up, meaning that the offerings were suddenly ours for the picking. We weighed commute against price against outdoor space (post-pandemic trauma is real) and found a suitable place in Écully. I loved its proximity to the city of Lyon and the village's town center; my husband loved that it was 1.5 km from the autoroute and only 20 minutes to his new headquarters.
After we'd booked our house, schooling for Millán suddenly got solved, too. I had long heard the praises of the public education system in France, but that a spot at a crèche was about as difficult as getting one at an elite preschool in New York City. I took to Facebook as any old millennium would and immediately found a Facebook group called Españoles en Lyon.
Un tal Fulanito messaged me, un voisin d'Écully by way of Huesca, and he sent me the inscription forms, detailed information about timetables and the names of a few good places to check in town. On a whim, I called one, not even realizing that there was a crèche a lot closer to our new digs.
"Âlo?"
I tried, in French, to ask about inscriptions. She told me someone would call back (I think), and he did (thank goodness), but it wasn't until he wrote me an email that I thought to ask if he spoke Spanish or English. François ("me llama Ud. Paco, s'il vous plaît!") was half Spanish, with an andalusian surname.
As it turned out, the woman who appealed to the mayor, Mme. Parfait, had called that morning to ask how many spaces François would need, and if I could just send the baby's birth certificate and our proof of housing, he would ask for a five-day spot for Millán.
This.could.not.be.more.perfect.
It was all falling into place. Enrique's school was LITERALLY across the street, and Millán had somehow gotten a spot (COVID, you fickle bitch). We had a home, my Spanish to French translations had arrived, and I could finally start dreaming about ma via française.
I bought tickets for July 2, direct to Lyon from Seville.
As Seville began to awaken and we could finally leave our homes, that travel-panic mode kicked in. I still hadn't learned any French and, despite having everything seemingly under control, I'd never been more wound up. The pandemic definitely made my anxiety shine hot and bright, and my family was often on the receiving end of grunts and shouts. We made tentative plans to come back in late October, when Enrique would have a school break, so I dutifully packed our bags for the summer and early fall, chose a few toys and books and helped the Novio pack the car.
He arrived to Écully on June 23, found the nearest supermarket, his way to work and a few other Spanish families. I moved in with his parents, juggling the kids and work while tip-toeing around my father-in-law's schedule. As I was sending out an email invitation to 40,000 juniors in high school, I received an email from Transavia that my flight had been cancelled.
I rebooked on Air France for the same day, via de Gaulle, forwarding my mother-in-law the tickets to print.
Oye, niña: Millán's name is spelled incorrectly, she announced as she passed them to me.
I was aghast. HOW could this be happening? She shooed the kids away while I called Air France. And waited. And waited. In a post-COVID world, there were so few operators that I was on hold for hours before the agent told me I'd have to call Air France in France. Cue more hours on the phone, a credit card that had reached its limit, my American card assuming the purchase was fraudulent and the tickets on July 2 selling out. I was nervous that borders would close just as soon as they'd opened up, so I hastily booked us onto the July 4th flight via Paris. It was three times as much as I'd paid on Transavia originally, and my privilege was on full display right then and there. I could afford to book and rebook – what would it be like fleeing for our lives when I was crying over an extra two days in Spain?
We made it to July 4th. As my mother-in-law helped me wheel the bag to the check-in counter at the Seville airport, I felt a sense of relief that we were almost there, that my gumption (or truly just my stubbornness) had got us this far. Millán slept the whole flight to Paris, waking up as we touched down. The airport terminal was practically a ghost town, but that didn't stop my kids from rolling around on the ground, sticking their suckers on every surface and pulling their masks down.
Let me remind you that the early summer months was a very small breath of air, like breaking to the surface after being underwater. There is the awareness that the virus is still circulating freely but no one has really, fully let down their guard.
Breathe, Cat. You will be fine.
Only NO ONE in France was wearing a mask when we arrived. The enormous Carrefour in Grand Ouest didn't enforce them until later in the month when cases began to climb. Vieux Lyon, a UNESCO World Heritage site and huge tourist draw, merely suggested wearing them indoors. My family were the only weirdos masking up unless we were eating because we didn't want to be assholes (and we didn't know enough French to survive a hospital setting – despite everyone needing a hospital but me during our stay).
But WE WERE IN FRANCE.
I got to exploring the village in our first days, not wanting to spoil Lyon by going without the Novio. We found all of the bakeries, slowly working from one end of the display case to the other, with me clumsily ordering coffee. The betting house had cheap beers, so we stopped there after the park for Super Bocks and a sirop, the French version of a soft drink, for the kids. I even got a loyalty card at Picard for frozen foods.
Le (merde de la CAF)
One morning, we marched over to the town hall and asked to speak to the woman in charge of school assignments. She was impressed that I had gotten my documents translated to French and – voilà, Madame – gave me the cell phone number of his Spanish-speaking teacher, who wrote me an email that same afternoon.
I called François at crèche and asked about the adaptation process for Millán and how to complete his registration. Do you have the CAF? he probed, telling me that he could not finalize the process nor tell us how much we would owe for care until he did.
And thus began the two-month odyssey into getting Millán registered for daycare. The CAF, or the caisse des allocations familiales, is the social services body that serves families and young people, often giving rebates according to salary. When creating an account online to request our family allowance, I realized I'd need a French phone number. That was easy. I'd also need a French bank account. Every bank we tried told us no – either because of U.S. tax laws, or because I'd tried to get a bank account without my husband's signature (who could guess that the patriarchy in France was more dominant than in Spain?). One flat out refused because he said our short stay was not worth his time. The Novio was frustrated by having to take time off of work, and the CAF refused our Spanish bank number.
There was a bright spot: when we stopped by LCL, a woman heard us discussing the situation in Spanish. Odiel, a widow who had lived in Écully her whole life, offered to accompany us to other banks as a translator and quickly became a friend.
By the end of July, we had finally succeeded in opening a compte nickel, which is an account that is typically reserved for refugees before they are fully established. We kept the minimum amount – 20€ – in the account and paid Enrique's school cantine through school intranet.
Bank account and French number in hand, I applied for the CAF number online and went to Social Services to request help. After 10 minutes of bank and forth and calling another social services office, I was told to stop the following morning for a doctor's appointment and to speak to the official in charge of the CAF in town. We were getting somewhere! I treated myself and the kids to macarons as the church bells rang. Because it was noon. And, just like Spain, everything closed in the middle of the afternoon.
The following morning, I showed up at the Maison de la Metropole, a trailer in the middle of a dirt lot. We saw a doctor, who spoke enough English to give my kids a clean bill of health and a few hints about the CAF, and then said they'd be closed for the entire month of August. Damn, Europe.
When I wasn't dealing with bureaucrazy, Millán turned a year old and began walking, we spent a lot of time on our terrace and in the yard with the neighbors and finally exploring the city's museums, parks and bakeries.
It could have been easy to mourn the loss of our summer in the U.S., but every weekend brought the opportunity to see how much we could cram into 48 hours. The hilltop Dauphinais castle at Allymés, followed by a walk around Pérouges. Down to Grenoble and to Vienne. We even made it to Geneva on our wedding anniversary and to the Black Forest to celebrate our birthdays. The weekdays meant working while Millán napped and spending the afternoons somewhere – often a park, a château or a park next to a château.
Enrique woke up most mornings asking, "Where are we going today, Mommy?" My intrepid three-year-old definitely takes after his mother.
I would occasionally meet other families at the park who spoke English, or who I could cobble together our basic story. But my very Spanish children couldn't muster getting out of the house before noon, which meant that the parks were often for us while families had their midday meal.
In late August, I took Millán to the adaptation days for the crèche. It was lovely to meet François, who was gracious but told me it was impossible to do anything without the CAF because the computer system wouldn't let him input information.
In the meantime, I looked for childcare options for Millán. Getting an assmat, or an assitante maternelle, was also impossible without the CAF, and the micro crèche in town was 800€ for five days, part-time (we pay 280€ for full-time in Seville). I took to Facebook again, where we found a lovely nanny who had lived in Chicago before coming to Europe, and she watched the kids each Wednesday and on school holidays. Oh, yes – Enrique had no school on Wednesdays, so I decided to keep Millán home, too. My kids adored Natalia, and as Millán napped, we got to know one another over tea.
Taking Enrique to his new classroom on September 1 was a slow, steady build up to a taste of freedom. For nearly six months, they'd been my little shadows. It was hard to work, to exercise, to sleep with the constant interruptions of kids. But it was also bittersweet after six months of new adventures, new milestones and time to grow as a family unit.
François called shortly after the start of the term and told me that we'd been given a provisional CAF number but had to present a number of documents. So, it was back to Maison de la Metropole, but I asked the Novio to come with one of his French coworkers for assistance. They took our documents, bank statements, copies of our family book and maybe two years off our lives due to stress, but we were finally given a provisional CAF number that was set to expire on December 31.
The next step was to petition for the spot to the mayor, who would have to cover any extra expenses if we weren't able to pay for the schooling. At the end of September, I had both boys in school four days a week. Formidable, non?
Some time in mid-October, I suddenly felt adapted. I didn't rely on my GPS or I didn't fumble over my words at daycare to tell them when Millán had woken up (only to discover, a month later, that I had reversed word order). The library and children's center recognized my children as les americains. I learned that the 69 on the license plates corresponded to the metropolitan district. Auverge-Rhône-Alpes shrunk to the Rhône shrunk to the le Metropole to le Grand Ouest and to Écully. Our world seemed small yet expansive simply because it was different.
We'd been to the big draws, and I jotted down small museums and villages to visit in our second half. There were wine harvests and film fests, and we'd hardly ventured to what Lyon offered further away from the Presqu'île.
"They'll never shut our museums or cinemas, pas les choses culturelles," they whispered. Enrique was home on a Tuesday, thanks to the ever-present vacances in the French school system. We said goodbye to his sitter and I stuffed him quickly into the car, got some McDo and found a spot to park in Vieux Lyon. Another lockdown was imminent so I wanted to take him to see one more Guignol. A distant relative of Punch & Judy, Monsieur Guignol is the beloved lyonnais puppet whose shows were social commentary on the buttoned-up Catholic society in the early 20th Century. We loved him. The theatre was packed, and Enrique sat on a shallow, overturned bucket as Guignol outwitted the evil proprietor of Club Sandwich to get the francs that he owed Mama Swing, who didn't even have money for a hotel and was forced to sleep out in the cold.
We ended the outing with ice cream from René Nardonne next to a slate grey river. It was the last time we'd be able to eat at a restaurant, but we were told one month until freedom and culture and normal life. You know, to save Christmas.
I held out hope that my December holidays could be cashed in on a museum day and eating somewhere on my ever-longer list. I had to laugh: my Spanish cellphone company informed me I'd start paying roaming on November 3, so I only used WIFI while at home (and I was ALWAYS home). We stopped spending money on entertainment, instead using our allotted one hour out of the house, time-stamped attestation in hand, to see how much of our one kilometer perimeter we could trace.
Life became mundane – gads! boring! – while in France. But we were in FRANCE. Where only the self-proclaimed gastronomic capital could have outrageous prices on every piece of produce but cabbage and fish that tasted like freezer burn at a fine dining restaurant. It rained every day and eventually the neighbor's geese stopped honking.
I called Menchu on Tuesday afternoon to see if she was free. The Confluence mall, with its cheap parking and endless dining options, was our halfway point, a merging of both our rivers and our families and our shared experience. "Jo, muero para tomar un café" Starbucks and a long stroll to the car became a simple taste of freedom and we joked about how Madrid was wide open to the French, but we couldn't venture further than 15 kilometers from our homes.
The month went by quickly. Packing, purging, eating through whatever was in our freezer. We planned for a Christmas with Ángel, Menchu and their children but prepared for a feast at home. The pandemic brought out the resourcefulness in me: we made wreaths out of paper plates, a nativity from a 12-pack box of Kronenburg. My car battery died, and I could somehow find a place to get it replaced after buying Christmas presents at Carrefour. The days ticked down, and it made me sad to think of the experience we had lost by moving abroad during a pandemic. For my husband, it was six months of torture. For me, it was six months of reminding myself how exciting everyday life can be.
As we pulled away from Chemin du Chancilier shortly before the end of 2020, I bouncily told my eldest to wave goodbye to his school out the window. Au revoir, Stèphane! Au revoir, petite section! He asked for the tablet as I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes. Down we went on the A-6, crossing the Presqu'île on a needle-thin bridge before turning south on the A-7, the gastronomic motorway between Paris and Marseille. Out past the refineries, the shabby outskirts, snaking down the Rhône towards the Mediterranean.
I left Lyon with a heavy heart. Maybe it's because Millán began walking here, and Enrique got his first stitches as I held his hand and looked away (and onto the Château d'Annecy, what!?!?!?). Maybe because it was my chance to live in a country that has forever captured my heart, even if the chance to really do it right was muffled by a global pandemic (can we say it again? Fuck COVID). Maybe because I need some challenge on a more regular basis.
When you meet people and know that your connection to them is fleeting, every minute seems important. François. Odiel. Julie. Menchu. Natalia. I have been overwhelmed with the generosity and warmth of the few people we have met and even wrote the mayor a thank you note to express my gratitude that he saved Millán that spot at the crèche.
Into 2021
What I may have liked best about those six months in France was how simple our days seemed. Even in the ho-hum of daily life, even when we were shuttered away, once more, in our homes, I couldn't shake the tingly magical feeling. That we'd weathered a global pandemic, only to find ourselves more willing to try something new, to explore. And there were no extra distractions: no doctors appointments or social engagements, not always running off to see something and snap a few pictures. We had the space to grow together as a family over meals, trying to make sense of French pop songs and their odd music videos (Je te voie, Julièn Doré) or testing out all the snacks at the gas station as we visited little villages or explored further afield. I find myself craving the butter and cheese crackers that cost more than a 12-packs of cans of 1664 beer as I type.
There are little things about Lyon that have stayed with us: Millán's favorite stuffed animal is called his beloved doudou, and Enrique's birthday cake was a whimsical take on Guignol. We tend towards camembert when we can find it. I bought a six-pack of 1664 just because (I definitely didn't get it for the taste) and work to French pop.
"You know we've been home for six months already." The Novio is right, anything post-pandemic lockdown seems to have passed at warp speed since.
Home is where we are truly anchored. What we brought to France fit into my car, underneath kid feet or jammed into the crevices between seats. I brought a cheap bottle of Beaujolais jeune in Oignt on our third and final trip to that beautiful little village, and maybe we will drink it some day and reminisce about that time were were foules enough to move to a foreign country during a pandemic.
Yes, it was disappointing in many ways. I didn't get the full experience I had been dreaming about since reading about the girl who lived in an old house in Paris, covered in vines. The French I learned was by way of a little green owl. The boys missed swim class and play dates and even catching a last guignol show.
Je ne sais pas, I still can't put my finger on what France was. As the days fade into summer, as we plan for the long, hot months and the upcoming school year, I pine for it. Life seemed simple, simply because we had one another and a good rind of cheese and the balmy summer nights watching the sun set over the old farmhouse next door.
Am I vraiment folle for moving abroad during a pandemic? What other topics should I cover about Lyon or France?
Filed Under: bureaucrazy, COVID-19 Spain, culture shock, Expat Advice, expat life, Featured, France, moving abroad, Travel in Europe, Travel Stories · Tagged: Expat Life, France, Moving Abroad
Parenting in Spain: the differences between raising children in Spain and the USA
May 15, 2019 by Cat Gaa · 9 Comments
The 48 hours I spent in the hospital post-birth were a bit of a blur. Between doctors and nurses coming in and out, trying to figure out breastfeeding and the cycle of 20 minutes of dozing before I was interrupted by doctors or a hungry child, it wasn't until I was back home and fumbling through the first few days and dozens of dirty diapers that the habits of Spanish parents – and just how different they were to my own upbringing – shook my baby-lagged brain.
Fast fashion: my mom sewed all of my clothes growing up
I grew up without technology and in an American family in a large suburb of Chicago during the 1990s. Most of my childhood was shaped by the adults who had grown up in the 50s and 60s, and my mother stayed home with her two daughters until I, the elder, was seven years old. Summer camp, sports leagues and a part-time job in high school color my memories of growing up American, and they are also coloring the way I view child-rearing in Spain as I expect my second and push through the terrible twos of my somewhat terrible Spanish son.
The differences between parenting in Spain and parenting in the US are stark, and it begins with the fact that Spaniards tend to begin their families later. When I got married right as I turned 30, many of my friends back home were already parents or expecting; I was the first of my group of American girlfriends in Spain to have a baby, and many of my Spanish friends – including those older than me – have not made a foray into parenthood.
I'm a cool mom: taking my kid to a goat roasting festival in Quirós, Asturias
At home, I rule the roost and tread water between a full-time job, a toddler, a child on the way and a husband completing a master's. It all feel imperfect yet under control, even if my American parenting ways sometimes clash with age-old Spanish upbringing habits – particularly with the older generation.
When my husband and I found out we were expecting a boy, I breathed a sigh of relief: I would not have to make excuses for choosing to not pierce anyone's ears. Most Spanish families pierce baby girls's ears while they are a few weeks old or even at the hospital before being released. This is mostly due to the fact that the baby will not remember the pain, but it also aids in distinguishing boys from girls. I grew up playing sports and did not pierce my ears until my junior Prom, and at my mother's insistence.
Even still, Enrique was a lovely baby who did not wear just baby blue, and many older women in the neighborhood mistook him for a lovely niña. I was always too tired to argue and just said a quick gracias to the nosy abuelas at the pharmacy.
Babies must be weighed at the same time every week
As Enrique grew, I became obsessed with knowing how much weight he had gained. It became a fun guessing game with my mother-in-law, who would take the bus to my home every Wednesday afternoon to weight him at the nearby pharmacy.
"Remember," she said after a doctor's appointment, "what he's wearing and this time of the day, as you should always bring him into the pharmacy at the same time on the same day of the week and in the same clothing. That way, you get the most accurate reading."
Imagine the horror when Enrique pooped shortly before the 5:30 pm weigh in one afternoon, or how much we laughed when he gained more than half a kilo in one week during a growth spurt.
Perfumes and perfect outfits
Babies are adorable and sleepy and smell good, they say.
They also spit up on themselves, poop constantly and get weird baby pimples as they fatten up. No matter – babies in Spain wear perfume and outfits that clasp, snap and buckle, both of which I find outrageous. I opted for buying newborn clothes that were soft, durable and well-priced. Enrique had a few beautiful pieces sewn and embroidered for him by family members, which I saved for special occasions and outings. Most of the time, he was in a zip-up pajamas in the cooler months and onesies that snapped at the crotch in the summer.
My mother-in-law dotes on my son and pleaded to buy a number of big-ticket items despite having a number of hand-me-downs. She was especially proud to buy him his first pair of shoes when he began to stand, but I was surprised when two came in the box. One pair were lovely brown boots to dress up a look, whereas the others were what we Midwestern Americans call gym shoes. "Well, because you don't dress him like the other mothers. He's 'sporty.'"
While there was absolutely no malice, she was right: I didn't dress my child like the rest of the mothers (and I didn't always dress myself up to leave the house, either – gasp!). I found the clasps and snaps a hinderance during a blowout caca, and considered his comfort over being adorable.
Thankfully, all of the baby perfumes were re-gifted as soon as we discovered Enrique is prone to dermatitis. A baby who pooped himself still smells like poop, even masked by a thick veil of Tous perfume for newborns (and who spends that much money on a baby perfume?!).
Breastfeeding, solid foods and when kids eat
I breastfed Enrique exclusively until he was four months old, something I felt pressured to do. It was time-consuming and he had reflux, but on the flip side I could do it anywhere (out to lunch! At the movies! On an airplane!) without scrambling to find a microwave or shelling out money for formula. We moved on to cereal at four months and were advised to start solids at six.
Enrique is a pretty good eater, but I was shocked when the pediatrician suggested his first lean meat come fro her barnyard friend, the horse, and that he should try kiwi at six – which landed him in the ER with a rash. In the US, we typically start on mushed veggies and certainly do not eat horse (my mother was silently weeping when I mentioned this to her).
Don't let this picture fool you – Enrique ate everything from charcuterie to tiramisu to caccio e pepe on our Rome trip
Kike's favorite foods now are mostly kid friendly: fish sticks, yogurt and hot dogs. But he'll also eat a full cocido marileño, is capable of eating an entire tapa of marinated olives and asks for bocadillos de foie for a snack. O sea, español when it comes to eating.
Bedtime and schedules
Spanish children go to bed extremely late. My friends – even the Americans – gasp when I tell them that my bedtime was 7:30 p.m. until I was 8, after which I could read until 8pm but that lights out was to be adhered to – no matter how late it got dark in the summer.
In casually mentioning that my kiddo is usually in bed by 9pm, I am met with bewildered looks. But when does he eat?! Around 7:30 or 8pm, right after his bath. Don't you lay with him until he falls asleep? Nope, we have a bedtime routine after which I say, "Now Mommy is going to have dinner." Enrique was not a good crib sleeper, but he leaves me to have some adult time in the evening.
Likely talking grandma into not having a nap
My biggest thing is that my son's designated nap time at daycare is right in the middle of the day, which is when we'd ideally like to be outside on cooler days or taking friends up on plans for meals. I am moderately strict on the weekends with both nap times and bedtimes, even when there are some tears (even from my friends when I tell them the time won't work for me).
We also let him sleep late on the weekends. There is nothing better than me waking up on my own at 8am and having a cup of coffee and mindlessly scrolling through social media before I have to start the trudge through changing diapers and clothes and fighting against the TV. Speaking of…
Having the TV on all the time
This is as Spanish to me as a tortilla – Spanish households seem to have the TV on at every moment of the day, and my kiddo asks for Pocoyo as soon as he's lucid in the morning. I try not to use no TV as a punishment and encourage him to play with his toys or color before he's pushing the remote buttons and mine.
Family roles and relying on grandparents more
When I was a child, we lived five hours away from both sets of grandparents, so my earliest memories of being at home are with my mother. When she comes, 100% of her energy is focused on my son, and he knows Grandma speaks English, and Abuela speaks Spanish. I have only gotten a babysitter once, and that babysitter was a family member who traded a Saturday night out for Netflix and a pizza.
Dueling grandpas
Grandparents are very involved in Spain, particularly because both parents tend to work in major urban areas. It's common to see grandparents pushing strollers, at the pediatrician and hanging out at the park. Some of my friends' children do not even go to daycare but spend all day with their abuelos.
More than two years in and expecting my second, I feel like I have struck a balance. A Spanish friend of mine once said, you either raise a child "a la alemana," or according to a strict schedule, or "a la gitana" or with the kiddo in charge.
Not a politically correct way to call it, but I am trying to raise Enrique and Millan "a la sevillamericana" – a hybrid of American and Spanish ideals and parenting habits. This all goes out the window when we're in casa de los abuelos: his Spanish grandparents let him stay up until he is falling over, force feed him chocolate and homemade pudding and allow the TV to babysit. Still, I appreciate the closeness they've developed with Enrique and their desire to be involved or let this frazzled mom go have a haircut in relative peace.
Advice for being an expat parent abroad
Being a parent is a hard job, no matter how you slice it. It takes patience, humbling and some commiserating. Add to that cultural and often linguistic barriers, and you'll find that the highs are extremely high, and the lows can feel crushing.
I often ask other expat parents in Spain for their advice and ideas for exploiting the fact that my children will grow up as not only bilingual but bicultural – and likely without noticing the difference between the two.
Perhaps the hardest part for me is doing so with my parents so far away, and knowing that their experience raising two kids in the 90s was way different than the issues and challenges I'll face in the new millennium. It's a frequent topic of discussion when we have our weekly chats: "You know, Catherine, things were just so different!"
Seek out other parents – both expats and locals – to help you navigate and lend a hand if you need childcare. A friend of mine came to visit Seville with her husband and two girls, and I loved watching them while my friends had dinner out for once. She's been inspirational and helpful in seeing what's coming and having the shared experience as an American mother raising children in Spain.
Remember that your child needs the fundamentals first – food, shelter and your love and attention. The rest will figure itself out. If you lead by example and encourage your child, he will learn (even if that means a watch down the toilet, having the kid with a dirty school uniform because you forgot to run a load of laundry or a house littered with toys and crumbs).
Don't compare yourself to what everyone else is doing. There is no handbook to parenting, and especially a handbook to parenting abroad. They say in Spanish, cada niño es un mundo, and it's true: each child is different, and so is every family. You will do the best you can if you believe in the work you're doing. And you will mess up, so get over that fast.
I'm 30 weeks pregnant with another little boy (have you missed me on the blog?) and preparing for a second isn't so much about researching car seats and ironing onesies – it's about making peace with the fact that chaos is coming, that there will be four of us, that my body will turn back into a milking cow, a pillow and a punching bag. Now, who has advice for not losing my shit when I'm nursing one and scolding the other?
Have you noticed any other odd parenting habits in Spain or the country where you live?
Filed Under: American in Spain, Childcare in Spain, culture shock, Expat Advice, expat life, Family Life in Spain, Featured, Guiri Guides, living abroad, Pregnancy in Spain, Raising Children in Spain, Spanish Traditions · Tagged: Family, life abroad
Paris's Jardin du Luxembourg and my musings on expat life
October 30, 2018 by Cat Gaa · 4 Comments
In a little old house that was covered with vines,
lived 12 little girls in two straight lines.
For as long as I can remember, I have been borderline obsessed with Paris. I blame my mom, who bought me Madeline books. Remember how the book started?
My house was neither old nor plant-covered. But I had a lamp shaped like the Eiffel Tower and black and white postcards of Paris in the 30s that I garnered at a rummage sale tacked to my bulletin board.
Growing up in the suburbs of a major city, my jaunts into Chicago seemed to go along with the soundtrack of a coming-of-age movie from the 80s: I wanted to live and breath the big city lights, maybe work for a glossy and have a string of good-looking boyfriends. Which is the plot to essentially every movie that came out when I was a teen.
When I asked my mom to let me study French in middle school, she told me Spanish would be far more useful in a future career. At 13, I didn't know that learning another language would allow me to pivot from magazine editor to ESL teacher. Not as glamorous as I'd hoped, of course, but everyone starts somewhere.
"We breathe in our first language, and swim in our second."
Ever since I read Adam Gopnick's account of expatriated life in the French capital, "Paris to the Moon," I was resolute that I'd live abroad at some point in my life. I didn't particularly love the book – required reading for one of my college courses about Parisian architecture – but I did love what it represented: freedom, adventure and a healthy dose of red tape.
My class was meant to be a study in Eiffel and Hausmann. Instead, it was two Midwesterners waxing poetic about the bistros and brasseries just steps away from the Sorbonne. Iowa City is 4,291 miles away from Paris, but that Spring 2005 class somehow seemed to push me towards Europe and towards a city that held so many of my teenaged dreams.
I'd had one of those soul-restoring deep sleeps and woke up early on the first truly autumnal Sundays in Paris. My work trips always fall on a Sunday – a godsend for catching Parisians at play but nearly impossible for eating anything decent. I put on a Mango dress that passed as a raggedy version of Chanel and some lipstick and took the RER down to Luxembourg.
Gopnick often wrote about taking his young son to the Luxembourg gardens – in fact, it's on the cover of the original 2000 book, a collection of essays he wrote for the New Yorker. I've criss-crossed Paris on half a dozen occasions, but usually as the tote-along on a first timer's foray into Paris, or as a 24-hour stopover punctuating a long work trip. I purposely booked the last Eurostars train out of London so that I could take advantage of a late September morning and visit the park.
Armed with a baguette (fine, it was left over from my London trip and a little soggy) and a jacket draped over my arm, I found the eastern gate of the gardens, constructed in the 17th Century by Marie de Midici. It was just before noon and the Eiffel tower peeked over golden-tipped leaves, reflected in the small, circular pool. My college professors has spoken about the Palace du Luxembourg – its history, its current use in the French senate – but I was contented to have it as a backdrop to the children sailing model boats, their flags and colors somewhat tattered, on the pool.
Olive green metal chairs ring the basin, some reclining towards the sky. I dragged a free sear on the southwest side of the park towards the sun and unwrapped my sandwich. A man crumbled the end of his baguette and fed it to a pigeon while a mother scolded her child in French for nearly climbing into the pool after the stick he was using to guide the boat drifted away from his fingertips. Chatter came from all around me in about half a dozen languages. I've always said said markets and plazas were the best place to catch Spaniards wrapped up in everyday life; in Paris, it's Luxembourg.
Somehow, everything and everyone is picturesque and chic and unsoiled here.
Hell, even my soggy baguette tasted magical because I was eating it in Paris.
"This can shake you up, this business of things almost but not quite being the same.
A pharmacy is not quite a drugstore; a brasserie is not quite a coffee shop;
a lunch is not quite a lunch."
As a perennial American abroad, I now see my own adulthood reflected in Gopnick's telling of the mundane – as well as the truly fantastic – parts of expat life. I didn't know it at the time, but the cadence of my life in Spain would be similar: everything and nothing is the same as back home.
Later that afternoon, post-recruitment event and a few cheeky beers with colleagues, I returned on foot to the garden. Nestled between the 5eme and 6eme arrondisments, I had two choices: using Luxembourg as my anchor, I could follow a foot map along the highlights of the district, or wander around. My professors had laid out all of the 5ème for me, so I veered into the 6ème.
Snaking down the Rue du Condé that flanks the Odéon theatre towards the Sorbonne, some of the major highlights the professors talked about in class were suddenly right in front of me. Every alleyway offered me a glimpse into the allure of Paris. Long-legged university students pulled their jackets tighter as they glided down the steps of the Sorbonne's medical school. It all seemed so Truman Show – until the cost of a beer and the snobbery when I asked to pay with a card brought this Midwesterner right back.
In Paris we have a beautiful existence but not a full life,
and in New York we have a full life but an unbeautiful existence.
Gopnick's wife says, upon deciding to return home, that "In Paris we have a beautiful existence but not a full life, and in New York we have a full life but an unbeautiful existence." I find my experience to be the contrary: my life feels fuller and far more rosy in Spain.
Since that class, ARTH 3020: Paris and the Art of Urban Life, the Parisian joie de vivre and, alas, European life and the string of attractive (foreign) boyfriends has alluded me. My life in Spain is often chaotic and has a noticeable lack of afternoons whiled away at the brasserie down the block. But the small victories and the sobremesa and the afternoons in a complete trance over how I ended up here are fuel. They're what has kept me in Spain.
I'm sure that, had I chosen Paris over Seville, I'd be fighting the urge to look at my phone while my child played with a model boat at Luxembourg. And that I'd have stepped in something or spilled on myself or still gotten a zit at an inopportune moment.
Every time I return to my childhood bedroom, I switch on the gaudy Eiffel Tower lamp and drag a finger along the dozen or so books that I haven't given away. Paris to the Moon is one of them, standing between the Michelin Le Guide Vert that was its class companion and a well-worn copy of a Let's Go Europe book, published in the same year as the summer I spent in Spain. In an age where mobile phones dictate where we travel and what we share – and even prevent us from losing ourselves in a city – the book is a tangible reminder of the life I chose in Spain.
"There are two kinds of travelers.
There is the kind who goes to see what there is to see, and the kind who has
an image in his head and goes out to accomplish it.
The first visitor has an easier time, but I think the second visitor sees more."
If you're my kind of traveler, you enjoy meandering around and taking it all in rather than ticking sites off of a list. I've been to Paris half a dozen times and have done all of the big draws, so this time I wanted to wander through a new arrondisment on a free evening I had in the French capital.
I used the GPS MyCity app for points of interest around the 5ème and 6ème during my afternoon off in Paris – you can easily download sightseeing or local haunts maps and use them offline in more than 1000 cities worldwide.
Comment below for your chance to win a year's subscription to GPSMyCity and tell me a city you love to get lost in or hope to soon!
Disclosure: I was not paid for this post but GPSMyCity kindly offered me a one-year Premium Pass, which I'll also us in Vienna next week. All opinions are my own.
Filed Under: American in Spain, Europe, Expat Advice, Featured, international travel, living abroad, moving abroad, Parks and Gardens, Travel in Europe, Travel Stories · Tagged: European travel, Expat Life


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