The year was 2004. I was a preteen—or a tween, as "preteen" or any specific demographic vernacular wasn't in mainstream usage yet—and I was busy covering up the framed Pokemon poster on my bedroom wall with posters from Smash Hits of my #1 crush at the time. No, not Jesse McCartney, Justin Bieber's mop-haired predecessor. Jesse was relegated to the space on my bookshelf. No, this prime real estate, banned as I was from Blu-tacking my walls, was reserved for the one and only Anthony Callea. 2004 was the peak era for reality television, and Anthony Callea, the runner-up to that year's Australian Idol, was my favourite singer. Well, alongside Delta Goodrem, Avril Lavigne, and the boys from Simple Plan. But his first two albums were on a constant rotation in my CD player.
Fast forward almost two decades, and Anthony Callea's memoir popped up on my Borrowbox under the New to library category. Man, was I excited. And what's worse—I'd just missed out on my boy Anthony signing copies of his memoir at Highpoint Shopping Centre. I immediately requested the book out, knowing full well I had eight other books to read, and honestly would have finished it in a few days if not for those meddling other books and their looming due dates, and a busy bout with the real world. Finally, I had a few spare hours. I zoomed through the rest of that book, reliving old memories, learning the stark reality of the Australian music industry and reality television, and the life of a man beyond his experience on Australian Idol.
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