For fourteen years, critic Joe Queenan walked past the Winter Garden Theater in New York City without once even dreaming of venturing inside to seeCats. One fateful afternoon in March 1996, however, having grown weary of his hopelessly elitist lifestyle, he decided to buy a half-price ticket and check out Andrew Lloyd Webber's record-breaking juggernaut. No, he did not expect the musical to be any good, but surely there were limits to how bad it could be.

Here, Queenan was tragically mistaken.Cats, whatGreasewould look like if all the cast members were dressed up like KISS, was infinitely more idiotic than he had ever imagined. Yet now the Rubicon had been crossed. Queenan had involuntarily launched himself on a harrowing personal oddyssey: an 18-month descent into the abyss of American popular culture.

At first, Queenan found things to be every bit as atrocious as he expected. John Tesh defiling the temple of Carnegie Hall reminded him of Adolf Hitler goose-stepping in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower.The Celestine ProphecyandThe Horse Whispererproved to be prodigiously cretinous. And the sight of senior citizens forking over their hard-earned nickels and dimes to watch Joe Pesci inGone Fishin'so moved Queenan that he began standing outside the theater issuing refunds to exiting patrons.

But then something strange happened. Queenan started enjoying Barry Manilow concerts. He went to see Julie Andrews and Liza Minnelli and Raquel Welch inVictor/Victoria. He said nice things about Larry King and Charles Grodin in his weeklyTV Guidecolumn. He spent hours planted in front of the television, transfixed by special, two-hour episodes ofWalker: Texas Ranger. He actually ordered the dreadedzuppa toscanaat the Olive Garden. Most frightening of all, he shook hands with Geraldo Rivera.

How Queenan finally escaped from the cultural Hot Zone and returned to civilization is an epic tale as heart-warming, awe-inspiring, and life-affirming asRobinson Crusoe,The Adventures of Marco Polo,Gulliver's Travels, andSwiss Family Robinson. Well, almost.