(For any newcomers to this blog who may have BlogHopped here, I have a hellacious commute to and from work. It's usually about 1 hour, 40 minutes. Yes, that is each way. Yes, I know it is ridiculously insane. Don't ask.)
Several occurances were converging on my city to make this slog worse than it usually is - as if that is possible on a Friday evening. Apparently Toby Keith is performing at some venue nearby. The alternative music station is throwing a shin-dig. There's a Phillies game. We're within a few hours of two separate beach locales, and on Fridays, it seems that every car on the road is heading for the shore. (Or the beach. Yes, one is known as the shore, the other is known as the beach. Don't ask.)
And to top it all off, there were the Jonas Brothers, also performing downtown for the second night in a row.
Sitting in 20 miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic (I wish I was kidding ... the backup really was 20 miles), I followed this car most of the way.
I caught a glimpse of the parental-type units that were chauffering the teenyboppers to the Jonas Brothers' concert, and I really wanted to take a photo of them because their expressions were priceless. Yet, something about their wearisome faces told me they might not have taken too kindly to a stranger snapping their photo, in 20 miles of standstill traffic, with their car a mobile shrine to the Jonas boys.