American Idol in My Coffee

 

Hi. My name is Melissa. And I’m an American Idol addict.

It all started back in season one. My mother, of all people, turned me on to Idol. “Melissa, you’ve gotta watch this show,” she said. I sat down and took a gander. After a few minutes I turned to my mom and said, “This show is way too cheesy for me.” I snorted and made a few more derogatory remarks. Then Kelly Clarkson stepped up and belted out a number. I cocked my head. “That wasn’t half bad,” I pointed out. “It was really good,” my mom retorted, “she’s my favorite.” I joined my mom to watch the vote-off the following night. It was kind of a rush, watching those kids perform, and then seeing them squirm under the scrutiny of America’s voters. I watched again the next week. And then again, and again. That summer, I attended the concert. I was ashamed, but I was hooked.

On the Wagon

During seasons two and three I got on the wagon. Total Idol sobriety. I spent my weeknights writing and being productive and sneered at the people who couldn’t fight the urge to watch. Idol was just a way for America to mainline pop culture. It disgusted me. I watched 24 Hour Party People, popped the Ramones into my CD player and hit the repeat button. I promised myself I’d stay cool. I was all for the artists, the real ones. Not the American cheese that Hollywood and the music studios were processing and shoving down my throat. That’s not what I was about.

And then season four came along.

The Fall

At first, it was easy to resist. I’ll admit that I’ve got problems, but people who watch the auditions, they’re like dragon chasers. Even I’m not that hardcore. But when it came down to the top 24, I got sucked in. Someone had sprinkled Ryan with stardust, Randy was dope, Paula was a disco biscuit, and Simon… Simon was bittersweet honey oil. Mario Vasquez sang I Love Music. I swooned. Jessica Sierra sang my favorite song from sixth grade: Total Eclipse of the Heart. She nailed it and I was stuck like glue. Constantine sang Bohemian Rhapsody and that’s when I hit rock bottom. I called in and voted. Week after week after week.

I started checking the American Idol message boards. I was scouring the Internet and downloading pirated videos of the performances. I did it in the wee hours, I did it at work. I started to think I could lose my job. And when people gathered around the water cooler to talk about the Idols, I stiffened up, and tried to act casual. “Yeah, I watch it sometimes.” I had to maintain my composure. When Constantine got voted off, I had a hissy fit. And that’s when I knew it had gone too far. It was only supposed to be something I did for fun, a social activity. But the truth was, I’d sunk so low that sometimes I watched Idol at home, alone.

Carrie Underwood took the title for season four, and I was absolutely disgusted. It was like someone pissed in my beer. She has no personality, I whined. Bo Bice was a southern rock knock-off. America, you done Constantine wrong. I was on the sauce and I couldn’t get off. Those first few weeks after the season ended were rough. God, I wanted a fix. The message boards and videos I’d downloaded just weren’t cutting it. I needed the real thing, even though I realized that hiatus was a blessing. Deep down, I knew that the show was getting the best of me. It was interfering with my life. It was Idol or nothing. So after sweeps week, it was nothing. And I vowed I wouldn’t be sucked into the dark hole next time around.

My Cup Overfloweth

I always think of the auditions like soda beer. You know, something like Coors Light. That’s not my kind of poison. I’m more of a dark ale girl, maybe a little red wine every now and then. I need substance and flavor. But by the time season five started, I’d gotten so desperate, I hit the cheap stuff. Watched the auditions. Felt like a loser. My standards were shot, my credibility ruined. I figured I might as well go out and buy the entire Backstreet Boys discography. That’s who I had become. It was pathetic, and so was I.

By that time, my entire family and most of my friends were in it too. Even my grandparents. I don’t know, maybe it’s genetic. I thought about getting help. I even looked into some twelve-step programs, but season five had a stellar lineup. I was hitting it so hard, the entire season became a blur of jaw-dropping acts juxtaposed against what Simon so charmingly refers to as “ghastly karaoke performances.” I don’t know who’s taking more meds, me or Paula. I promised myself that after season five, I’d kick the habit completely. But that show is crack. I was such an Idol junkie by the time season six started, I had completely given up. Now it’s just part of who I am and what I’ve become. And I’ve started smoking and consuming large amounts of caffeine between seasons, just to hold me over.

I don’t think there’s any hope left for me.

But you don’t have to go down the same path I did. Now that I’m starting to accept my addiction I want to help others. I think the key is abstinence. Stay away from Fox on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Take up a healthy pastime like crocheting or painting by numbers. Make that your anti-drug. And when someone asks if you want to come over and watch Idol, for God’s sake, just say no.