American Idol will cast another singer away from the spotlight and the Ford music video tonight, yet I feel nothing. Two weeks ago, I would have damned my whole schedule just to catch Ryan Seacrest announce who America ignored most this week. Even if I had a massive exam the following day, I would be more than willing to sacrifice a letter grade to see the uber-sappy farewell montage (plus, a special performance from Akon!). But not today.

For today, I have no Sanjaya to rest my hopes on.

At first, Sanjaya Malakar was just another cherub-faced pop star wannabe, a high-pitched manboy the girls swooned about. I ignored American Idol – it was trash television to me, a sign of American culture on life support. But, when my life and Sanjaya’s life intertwined, my existence changed. I will forever remember that night — Spring Break 2007, sitting in a rented house resting on the North Carolina coast, watching America’s favorite TV show. Mr. Malakar took the stage, and belted out one of the most awful performances I’ve ever heard. Everyone agreed he sucked (though the girl next to me clung to her argument that he was cute) and we unanimously agreed he would be voted off tomorrow night. Twenty-four hours and a couple Whiskey Sours later, Ryan Seacrest stood near the bottom two, one obviously being Sanjaya, and announced that Sanjaya…..was safe. The house burst into near riot. How could America, our most beloved home nation, do this!? Why were people so stupid?

And I was hooked.

I started watching the show weekly, to study Sanjaya and the phenomenom surrounding him. Week after week, he delivered horrid song rendition after horrid song rendition, but wasn’t voted off. Sanjaya divided a nation — one half outraged such a pitiful singer was excelling on a show claiming to find true talent, the other half egging him on and voting for the crappy crooner every week. Sanjaya seemed more controversial than The Passion of the Christ.

Sanjaya wasn’t just a joke of an entertainer. He represented a major shift in American culture. America is suppossed to root for and laugh with the hero, the person who deserves happiness and success. Sanjaya welcomes the new idea that, hey, who wants a hero when you can cheer for the guy who sucks super bad. He captures our generations bizarre fascination that, instead of having to work for something to get it, maybe a complete clown who does nothing to warrant winning anything should get the attention. Just look at NU. Nobody celebrates the scholarly students who studies like a maniac to get great grades. Nope, our stories and Facebook photo albums are devoted to kids who load up on alcohol and pee on the side of building. Call us Generation Why (are we so fucking stupid?).

Mr. Malakar crystalized this trend, becoming the walking, talking embodiment of backing those not worthy of actual glory. Week after week, Sanjaya tested the patience of the normal world (he was clearly onto the whole ruse). The famous mohawk he sported one week will be our defining image of Sanjaya, a hair style so repulsive America could not respond and vote over and over again for him.

But, even though he signaled my generation’s decline, he still was the only interesting aspect of the bland show. Sanjaya may not have been able to sing, but he was at least different from all the other ho-hum pop stars. A break from the unexciting Carrie Underwoods and Taylor Hicks of the past. Now who is there to root for? The asshat who looks like Justin Timberlake? The guy all the girls swoon about? The guy who looks like Harry Potter’s arch-nemesis? Nope.

So, no Sanjaya means no interest from me anymore. I probably won’t watch another episode this season. I’ll miss Sanjaya. He’ll probably drift off and end up in a future installment of Dancing with the Stars or The Surreal Life at the very least. But he taught me a lot. About my fellow youth, about singing, about bad hair. But especially, about myself. Mainly, that I will watch the stupidest TV on my Spring Break vacation.