Apres Nous

J e dis ça, je dis rien is a French idiom that translates literally as, “I say that, I say nothing.” Its nearest English counterpart is the comparatively flip “just sayin,’” which is as close to a raison d’etre as I can presently muster for this column.

You see, the problem with being a humorist during unfunny times is that the joke is inevitably on me. Fortunately, self-satire is a forté of mine. Perhaps it’s a defense mechanism developed from bearing a weird name or a career spent pissing in the wind from the bloodshot eye of a storm of mixed metaphors. Or, I’m just regardant mon nombril.

This much we know-I made a pledge to avoid writing about Bay Area Bastille Day celebrations because A) encouraging people to gather during a pandemic is irresponsible and B) Francophiles.

To avoid both, and the possibility of accidentally writing about them, I decided to flee the area and hide outside the jurisdiction of my beat. San Francisco seemed safe. Somehow, I ended up in Sausalito on Caledonia Street.

I took a socially-distanced seat outside the nearest café, which turned out to be called Fast Food Français. The name sounds like an oxymoron. Does gourmand France even have fast food? I suppose if Tarantino is to be believed, there is such a thing as a “Royale with Cheese,” ergo there must be a Gallic McDonald’s.