|Me at last year's Andernos-les-Bains Jazz Festival|
After all of these incidents going back to Charlie Hebdo, Cynthia and I have gotten messages from friends in the States worried about us and, while I appreciate the concern, I usually respond the same way. I thank them for their concern then tell them that no matter what happens over here, we’re still probably a whole lot safer than they are considering we probably don’t have to worry about anyone nearby stockpiling weapons and ammo for future use in dealing with whatever petty grudge he’s been harboring. In any grievance related occurrence here, the worst cast scenario I anticipate is something like an old 1930s comedy - Henri the chef of the restaurant we’re patronizing, having endured his insults long enough, chases Jean-Luc the maitre d’ around the dining room with a meat cleaver until getting brained with an empty wine bottle by Geneviève the serveuse as the gendarmes arrive in time to carry his unconscious carcass into the night. In short, I don’t plan on changing a thing about the way I go about life. This, by the way, is not false bravado but reflects the realization that, on both sides of the Atlantic, we’ve all got a better chance of being struck by lightning than becoming a victim of terrorism.