hen American Idol debuted in the summer of 2002, I was knee-deep into a 26,000 mile road trip around the country. I spent most days hiking, and driving, and recovering from bottle-smashing ragers with friends I visited. One of those friends was Lisa, who lived with her husband Craig in New York, and she was the first person I knew addicted to American Idol. I suppose part of me trusted her judgment, but another part felt like she had just confessed a love of the Mickey Mouse Club. Wasn’t American Idol a little young for her? For anyone not wearing braces?

But you know where this is going. I start watching, I get addicted, I start shooting American Idol into the soft tissue of my upper thigh. Fast-forward five years, and I have finally written a piece about American Idol. Actually, come to think about it, I have written about American Idol before, but this is the first comprehensive piece I’ve written on the show. It’s about how scandal and debauch are busting up the AI empire. You can read it here.