Obviously, this photo is of the crowd of shrieking 12 year old girls who lined West 75th Street on Friday night, the police cars that escorted a black SUV down the street to the stage entrance to the Beacon theater, and Nick Jonas getting out of the SUV.
I passed by the mob scene on my way home from work and thought it was hilarious enough to stand around in the cold for a few minutes and repeatedly mumble, "Oh. My. God. It's the Jonas Brothers!" as other startled Upper West Siders made their ways home. The best part is that I didn't know it was Jonas-related, but decided that it had to be, given the situation. (I guess it could have been for Taylor Swift, but then maybe boys would also be there.) I was only partly right - the show was Nick sans Brothers.
Once upon a time, in a land far away, I was a 12 year old girl. The New Kids on the Block were the hotties of the moment. The female tweens would line up on cold streets and shriek for their heartthrobs, but I didn't really get it back then, and I still don't today. This weekend, Dr. P and I discussed our wonderment at the crazed desire that girls threw toward Elvis. (We saw a clip of an Elvis flick on TV and she commented that he was sort of chubby, even before he was Fat Elvis.) Maybe if I was a youth when the Beatles first journeyed across the ocean would I feel compelled to participate in such behavior. I'm such a dork.