Me and Beyonce
It’s a Sunday night in the city, and I’m itching to go out come Sunday morning. I issue a stockpile email asking if anyone is up for going out. The replies are thin. Then night falls, and I’m too tired to go out anyway. Monique calls.
“Are you still up for going out?”
“Yeah, sure, if you are.” I’m hoping she says she’s too tired, so I don’t have to move. If we do go out, I know I’m not showering.
“Okay, good. I’ll pick you up in an hour. Let’s say 9.” 9:00pm for Monique means 9:30pm. I have an hour and a half to get ready. I sit cross-legged in my desk chair and decide to work on an ofoto Italy album instead of my wardrobe. We’re heading downtown to The Spotted Pig.
Monique and I cozy up to a side bar area in the small English pub restaurant. I know, beer is in order. You know, I don’t do beer. Instead, I ordered a Sauvignon Blanc that tasted like Chardonnay. Beggars can’t be choosers.
“You do realize that’s Jay-Z and Beyonce behind us don’t you?”
“Of course.” I had no idea. “I can’t believe I am without camera. Of all the nights.”
“Would you really take a photo?”
“Well, only once they were finished with their meal. I mean, please.” I dig through my handbag and fiddle with the flash function on my cellular phone camera.
Later in the night, my friend Chris London arrives, camera in tow. Once Jay-Z and Beyonce use their napkins and are enroute toward the door, Chris steps in and talks to Jay-Z. Because Chris has read about Jay-Z’s protective nature, he’s formulated a plan. He knows not to speak to Beyonce directly. “Would you mind terribly taking a photo with my girlfriend? She’s a big fan of yours.” Jay-Z agrees to a photo. He smiles and waits.
Okay, the thing is, I still don’t even know what Jay-Z does. Of course I’ve heard of him, but I listen to my iPod full of Guster, Keane, and Dashboard Confessional. I don’t know from J-Zee, JZ, or Jay-Z. So kill me. I have a Tivo at home collecting dust, and the only TV I watch which begins with an M is movies. Without googling, I have no idea if he’s a producer or a singer. I wonder if when Chris approched, if he said “Jay-Z.” I mean, do you say, ‘Excuse me, Jay-Z…” or do you keep it formal, “Excuse me sir.” I wouldn’t even go there. Initials can be hard to work with. I do however know Beyonce from her stint in Goldmember. I know she’s bootylicious, though in person, I never scoped past her face. I’m sure it’s lovely, though. Honestly though, I don’t get into details with her… I don’t pull the whole, “You were wonderful in this, and I love how you sing that.” Good for me, there, because I’d probably site a Destiny’s Child tune.
So, Jay-Z is ready for a photo-op. I breeze past him, “Oh thanks.” I don’t stop for a photo with him. I didn’t know what Chris had said to Jay-Z, only that I was given the green light for a photo. I approached Beyonce and held a smile. Her voice was deeper than I’d expected. They were both very accommodating considering I completely shunned the man of initials. Chris London’s photos are much better than anything I could have taken with my camera phone. Check em out >>