Crazy in Montreal

Beyonce's "Crazy in Love" always takes me back to my vacation in Montreal, Canada. The song to me, is immediately associated with summer in the city. The song is so city. The fast beat matches the fast pace of the big city. I hear that song and images of Montreal flash in my head, the skyscrapers, the summer heat and the hustle and bustle all attack my mind as the horns blare and Beyonce asks me if I am indeed ready. When I arrived in Montreal the city was going through a heat wave, of course being from Georgia it was just a typical day in August.  Walking through the city it seemed as if every store I passed not only offered a sweet blast of air conditioning, but a blast of "Crazy in Love." "Crazy in Love" was everywhere and although I loved the song, I thought it was getting overplayed back home. However, I found that Georgia had nothing on Quebec. The song was everywhere that had a radio. It was played in cabs, stores, blasting out of the headphones of a walkman on the subway and of course in bars and clubs. There was no getting out of Beyonce's powerful clutches. Halfway through my trip I had been invited to a barbecue while out and about the night before. The barbecue was an eclectic mix of Montreal. People from all classes and ages were there. Gay and straight mingled casually, while black and white drank merrily. Conversations flowed from English to French and French to English effortlessly. And of course Beyonce had been invited, making occasional outbursts of how crazy the love had gotten her. Being the out-of-towner I was instantly the little celebrity as other guests interviewed me for my opinion of Canada. I even learned a couple of French words. Also being the out-of-towner I was graciously tended to by the host. Honey, your glass is almost empty. I'm worried. Well I certainly didn't want him to worry. It'd be downright rude. So of course I allowed him to constantly fill up my glass with the drink of the day, a mix of gin and Hawaiian punch. As the sun began to set, the barbecue came to a close. The folks that I had rode with suggested getting an early start on partying at a friend's house in the tony neighborhood of Westmount. I was still enjoying my semi-celebrity status as I was peppered with more questions. I was no longer the weird nobody from Columbus, Georgia, but somebody important from Columbus, Georgia, whose opinion mattered. I loved it and had to have more. Ten minutes later, we were outside a row of huge townhouses on a shady street that seemed too quiet to only be a few miles from downtown. The hosts were an interracial gay couple with a surprisingly large backyard. One was older and making money downtown doing something in finance, while the other had an art studio in the basement. Of course being friendly Montrealers they didn't hesitate to offer alcohol, this time it was straight vodka. I was feeling it from the barbecue but I couldn't worry my new Canadian friends, so I quietly sipped as a tour of the recently renovated townhouse went underway. The guests at this party were different. It was no longer a demographic who's who. The crowd was now mostly older and upper middle class. Still I tried to impress. I laughed at the jokes, gave out anecdotes about Georgia life and pretended that I was nowhere near nauseas; all with the intent to impress. Whether or not I did, I'll never know. After about an hour or so my attempts to impress began to mean less and less. Sure enough I found myself in the front yard puking my guts out. Why had I been so intent on trying to impress them? Because they were wealthy? Because I liked the attention? It didn't matter. The new friend that had invited was by my side cheering me on, encouraging me to stick my finger down my throat to get all over with faster. That's definitely what I wanted because I felt like the world was ending. Finally close to 11:00 it was all over and my stomach was empty. Needless to say I was embarrassed. A cab was called and I was sent on my way. I felt somewhat defeated that at the end of the day I was probably pretty unimpressive to those prosperous strangers. I felt like a child being sent home because I was up way past my bedtime. It was Saturday night and traffic near the clubs was bumper to bumper. I still felt sick and wanted the night to be over and I silently cursed the driver for not knowing a short cut. With the window cracked just a little, humid summer air meandered into the cab and "Crazy in Love" blasted through the speakers.