I Hate the Grand Prix What wears a white leather suit, gold wrap around sunglasses and has skin like leather? That would be my impression of the crowd hanging out on St-Laurent and Crescent, celebrating in high shallow style fast cars and fast women. Ugh! It's like all of Montreal has turned into the Playboy mansion. While I can appreciate camp style as much as any gal, when icky euro-trash wannabes increase my commute time by 400%, I resent it. Crossing the Plateau and downtown last night at around midnight was pratically impossible. For revenge, I think I'm going to strut around Crescent street in a gold lame halter top and short shorts that do nothing to camouflage my cellulite. Quick, where's my insta-tan spray?