I used to like French people. Certainly I like French literature, French film, French art, and bits and pieces of French music, too. But I also used to like French people, so much so that I grossly overrated the film Amelie. That was back in 2001 or so. I’m not sure what happened since. Before the neighborhood where I live was overrun by trust-fund hipsters and young semi-professionals subsidized by real-estate-value-inflating parents, it was semi-overrun by French people who are still around, and who, like the aforementioned trust fund hipsters and young semi-professionals, seem to be under the impression that they and their small children are so blessed and wondrous that nothing else in their immediate vicinity actually exists. So I’ll be sitting in a local eatery and have my foot stepped on by a five-year-old French person whose parent will either act as if nothing at all has happened, or expect me to act as if having my foot stepped on by a five-year-old French kid is the m