High School Muse-ical

In conjunction with my last post, here's the long-awaited recap of the other major event of my final week in Utah: my ten-year high school reunion.

I have to say, it went pretty much exactly how I thought it would. I showed up, looked around at all the new additions (the school underwent a major remodel since I attended, allowing it to be used for various Disney productions, and this was my first time back since all of the changes were made), enjoyed seeing old friends for the first time in years, and either avoided talking to them because I figured it would get awkward, or talked to them briefly, allowed the awkwardness to ensue, then stopped talking to them and avoided them the rest of the night.

A few people have lost some hair, some (including myself) have put on some weight, and there was at least one intra-graduating class marriage that I was unaware of, but there weren't too many big surprises. A few reasons for this: there weren't any kids around (there had been a separate event for families earlier in the day), which kept me from feeling like we had all aged; I'm friends with many of these people on Facebook, so I kind of know what they look like even though I haven't seen them for years; and, as mentioned, most of the brief conversations I had were kept highly superficial, even by reunion standards.

I did enjoy the slide show, which was basically the senior picture of anyone who RSVP'd that they would be there, followed by any current pictures that were submitted. I didn't send any in, but that didn't stop the reunion organizers from poaching some photos from my blog. It worked out great: I didn't have to do any work, and everyone got to see me in my Batman costume. The music was also outstanding; I definitely felt like I was at a stomp in the old gym in 1998. Good work, Spencer.

Now let's see some pictures, which, if you visit here often, you know I only ever include with my posts as a set-up for jokes, some of which are even amusing.


Me in front of the new school sign. This is before I even went in; I brought my own name tag. Weirdest part of the day: my mom going on and on about how awful that shirt looked with olive green shorts, which is how I originally dressed that morning. I've never claimed to know much about fashion, but I can't figure out why that wouldn't look ok.


I found myself on the nerd board, I mean the 30+ Club plaque, honoring those students who aced the ACT. They could've saved wall space, and continued to honor me, by changing it to the 34+ Club. That's right, I'm a genius.


My siblings also test well, although the plaque-makers seem to be part of the 15- Club. We may be smart in the HofmanN family, but we lack the brains and beauty combo possessed by Ms. Harrington, if I'm accurately remembering the stories my brother told me in junior high.


Murray High School even makes their own soap dispensers. Fancy.


Emily, my best friend from college, was kind enough to be my date for the evening. One person thought they recognized her as a member of our graduating class, but most people assumed we were married. Speaking of which...I extended my streak of marriage-related faux pas statements to two high school reunions. This one wasn't as bad: I asked my good friend Mathew, who took this picture, if I was the only single guy there that night. He informed me that he was in the same category, having recently been divorced. I think I'll just stop talking at reunions, assuming I ever go to another one.


Although spearless, I think I strike just as regal a pose as our mighty Spartan mascot. Then again, I'd probably stand just like this if I were trying to look like a Smelterite.

See you in 2018, MHS!

American Idle

In honor of Clay Aiken's coming out party (also known as, his desperate attempt to stay famous without appearing on Dancing With the Stars), I figured I'd finally get around to chronicling my American Idol audition from two months ago.

I'd been waiting for them to hold auditions in Salt Lake for years, figuring that getting some friends together to observe the freakshow that is the Idol auditions and maybe get on TV in the process would be a great time. I was right.

My friends Megan, Marlene and Katie joined me in making the trek up from Utah County early in the morning (they've streamlined the audition process, eliminating the need for camping out overnight, which made Katie's experience much scarier when she auditioned in Detroit a few years ago) and joined the back of the line, already behind thousands of people even though the doors to Energy Solutions Arena wouldn't open for another two hours.

But there was plenty to keep us entertained while we waited. I brought my camera, but as often happens, I didn't bother to get it out. The most eventful thing that happened to me outside was having some girls spill coffee on me, but my friends wandered around to check out the competition. All of the following pictures were taken by Marlene and Katie.


This guy was all over the place, mugging for the cameras. I'm not sure if he even went inside to audition, but you'll definitely see him when they air the SLC audition episode.


Upset at her recent elimination from the National Spelling Bee earlier in the summer, Marlene's new friend here set her sights on another competition. Overall, there weren't as many freaks and weirdos as I had hoped for, but the quality of freaks present was pretty high. Alas, I don't have many pictures of them; maybe my friends have more they can send me.


Oh my gosh! It's AI season 1 runner-up Justin Guarini! Star of the hit movie From Justin to Kelly! I can't believe it's really him! Marlene was one of the lucky few to get Justin to pose for a picture, because his break was over and he had to get back to stocking shelves at Circuit City.


We finally got inside...only to wait several more hours, most of which was filled by take after take of big, sweeping crowd shots, of us sheep singing "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" and saying things like "Welcome to Salt Lake City!" and "First Archie, now me!" (a reference, of course, to Murray, Utah's second favorite son, David Archuleta) and cheesy stuff like that. If I'm on Idol at all this season (or ever, since next year I'll be too old to audition) it will be in one of these group shots.


Our foursome was slightly separated inside the arena, allowing Marlene to get this excellently juxtaposed shot (I'm in the green shirt). Calling me Husky Idol is nicer than calling me Fat Idol, or Ruben Studdard, I guess.

Finally, the auditions begin. Once the camera was taken down, the number of tables doubled. At each table sat two producers, and four people at a time would get sent to each station. One at a time, each person sings until one of the producers would hold up their hand to stop you. After all four sang, the producers would huddle behind their clipboards, then tell the group whether any of them were moving on to the next stage. There were so many people that it was hard to hear individual singers, but everyone could see when someone got a golden ticket, and a cheer would erupt from the 8,000 or so in the arena.

Did it just get tanner in here? Ladies and gentlemen, it's Ryan Seacrest! The auditions were paused for a few minutes while we did a few more group shots with the Idol host. I can't stand him, but I will admit that he's very good at his job. He reads a teleprompter without making it seem like he's reading a teleprompter better than anyone I've ever seen.

Here's Katie, once we finally made it down to the arena floor (a mere eight hours after we arrived). During that wait, I had bumped into my friend Talitha and her friend Emily, who played Trish in Napoleon Dynamite. They were both glammed up Pat Benatar-style, and auditioned together. Their combined talent worked, as they advanced to the next round--pretty impressive, since throughout the day it seemed like only one out of every 40 or 50 got to stick around. The next stage involved filling out some paperwork and singing for more producers, and if they liked you then you got to come back in September and sing for Simon, Randy and Paula (apparently they were too busy to come to Utah within six weeks of the original audition date). Talitha isn't allowed to tell me what happened, but I'll be watching for her in January.

Megan and I taking our walk of shame. When we got up to the table, I belted out "Total Eclipse of the Heart" (which narrowly edged out Bowie's "Golden Years" as my song of choice). They let me go for a while, probably about 45 seconds. I tried hard to hold eye contact with the more stern producer at my table and didn't really pay attention to the other one, but Megan told me after that she saw her lean over towards her partner and say "he's adorable." I gave it my all, but it wasn't enough. After the four of us sang, we were told that we were good, but "not quite the quality of voices that the show is looking for at this time." Marlene and Katie received the same verdict and similarly hollow encouragement at their tables. It was time to piece our broken egos back together and head home. So sad. I guess, though, that it's at least slightly encouraging that I'm talented enough to avoid being one of the "bad" auditions on the show.

As we rode TRAX back down south, this couple boarded the train, and proceeded to stroke each other's faces for the entire journey, with their eyes closed the whole time. It was pretty creepy. But at least they were oblivious enough that we were able to document their weirdness. Which, again, was what this whole day was about in the first place.

(By the way...I'm becoming a big fan of the idea of using spokesmodels to illustrate my blog posts. Thanks, Marlene, Megan and Katie. I'll have to use this tactic again during the next sweeps week.)

I'm so glad I auditioned for American Idol. I didn't expect to make it, and I didn't; I did expect to have a great time, and I did. The show is a juggernaut, and being part of it is much better than getting crushed by it. Hofmann out!

Stalk market crash

When I was in the hospital, the doctors made their rounds at about 6:30 every morning. I usually had a group of four doctors checking me out, all in various stages of their residency, I think (I'm not certain, because I didn't ask them, and I don't understand how the doctor-training process works). Over the six days I was there, I was checked out by several other doctors as well (which, of course, means dozens of medical bills will soon be coming my way). I'm grateful that all the doctors and nurses who helped me were (or at least seemed) competent and professional, and most of them were also very kind.

But my favorite was Dr. Kim, the leader (I think?) of the crew who visited me every morning. She was the only female doctor, and she's very cute, with an excellent bedside manner, if you know what I mean (actually, me adding that last bit probably made it less likely that you know what I mean. Nothing weird happened).

So I was pleased that Dr. Kim was the doctor I saw when I went to get my staples out at the clinic last week. She read me the entire report made after my surgery; of several sentences describing the condition of my gall bladder when it was removed, the only word I can remember now is "gangrenous." So it's good I got it out when I did, and according to her exam and how I feel generally, my recovery is going very well.

Now I can get to the point...a few days later, I had a dream in which Dr. Kim got my phone number from my medical records, called me, and asked me out. We went to a Yankees game, had a great time, and became a couple. It was a very good dream.

In the morning, I took the logical next step, and did some online stalking. (I've done stuff like this many times before, even chronicled it on my blog, and I'm not embarrassed to admit it, because I'm convinced most people Google other people.)

I quickly found her bio on the hospital's web site. Now, armed with her first name (can't remember what I called her in my dream), I did a simple, three word search. And then it got weird.

Among the first ten Google results was a page announcing my doctor would be hosting a get-together for some professional society--and it listed her home address and telephone number. It was shockingly easy to find. I had quickly gone from harmless cyber-stalking to feeling like I had violated a restraining order.

I'm not sure if this marks the end of my Googling days, but it will certainly curtail them for a while at least. And I'll probably be more careful about who has access to my logistical information (my thoughts will continue to flow freely here, though, without me worrying about who finds them).

One other lesson you've all likely learned from reading this, one I already know: I need to get out of my apartment more.

Take heed, 'cause I'm a lyrical poet

I'm a big fan of parody in general, of song parodies in particular. I've written dozens of my own over the years; the earliest one I can remember was a collaboration with Leslie Allard and others during my junior year of high school (we changed the words to "Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm" for a class project on Walden).

My parodies usually have a two-part genesis: an initial idea ("I could change "Under the Sea" to "In the Brittany" and make it about my rundown apartment complex") and an upcoming venue to perform it in, like a ward talent show. After that, they kind of take on a life of their own as I write them, like when I turned Alice Cooper's "Feed My Frankenstein" into "Be My Valentine." I expected a sweet, romantic song, but ended up with something that would get me a restraining order if I sang it to a girl.

Last December at our ward's Christmas auction, my friend Corina purchased my item: a personalized song parody. After a few months, the only input I could get from her was that it should be a medley of Beatles songs. I struggled to get started on the project; I thought being able to use whatever parts I wanted from a large song library would be liberating, but it proved to be the opposite. Working within the constraints of a single song is much easier.

So for months I did nothing. But I knew that Corina was moving to London (she actually left over the weekend) and I needed to get it done, so I finally cranked it out over the last few weeks, and performed it at Corina's going-away party last Friday.

The good: it was my first ever epic parody (I used parts of over 30 songs); the story the song told was pretty good; and most of all, turning "Helter Skelter" into a love song. The bad: it was 12 minutes long--not a lot of filler, but 12 minutes is just too much; my corny use of "Yellow Submarine;" and my performance (a bad combination of fighting a cold, not having much room to move around, and unfamiliarity with the lyrics (I only completed the final draft the day before)). I think Corina was pleased and people were generally impressed, but I won't be doing many medleys in the future.

This blog is basically a venue for me to show off, so that's what I'm going to do. While packing to move to New York, I found the lyrics to perhaps my best parody ever (it's main competition is probably my Mormon pop culture version of "We Didn't Start the Fire"). I have a folder with hard copies of most of my songs, and many of them are saved on my computer as well. This song, though, I thought was lost forever. But now I'm displaying it here, in part to preserve a record of it, but more so to, like I said, show off. I don't think I've ever done as good a job at preserving a song's original mid- and end-line rhymes, and that's why I think this might be my best work. Feel free to play the video and sing along to my version of "Complicated" (I don't deliberately make my blog exclusively Mormon, but I don't know of any non-Mormons who read it. If anyone has any questions about some of the terms used in the lyrics, let me know).

Uh huh, life's like this
Uh huh, uh huh, that's the way it is
'Cause life's like this
Uh huh, uh huh, that's the way it is

I've been on bad dates before
But I keep coming back for more
Hoping one date will end up with me
On bended knee

Even wishing on a star
Hasn't helped me out so far
It doesn't matter what I have done
I've found no one

Everyone yells get married or else
I think that I'll crack, if they don't relax
At church and at school, it all seems so cruel to me
Tell me

Why do I strike out with every girl I ever dated
When all I've ever wanted is to get myself celestial mated
Life's like this you
When I call 'cause I've fallen in love
And I take you out but you don't really like me
Honestly the process we go through has really left me jaded
No no no

[Here is my favorite part. By the way, this song is only semi-autobiographical. While I'm not a particularly successful dater, I'm not bitter about it.]

I come over to your house
You wish I was someone else
But you want to eat dinner for free
So you agree

I even bought you a rose
But you don't care and it shows
We know we aren't fooling anyone
This date's no fun

I just want to yell: Why can't girls tell
Us no when we ask, if we have no chance
Oh is there a jewel in the dating pool for me?
Tell me

Why do I strike out with every girl I ever dated
When all I've ever wanted is to get myself celestial mated
Life's like this you
When I call 'cause I've fallen in love
And I take you out but you don't really like me
I used to like to go on dates but now I really hate it
No no no

So it's Friday night once more
And I'm walking out the door
Off to take a girl out to see
A movie

Can't help myself, I'll try someone else
I'll stay on the attack, I'll take one more crack
I'll try someone new 'til I find the one who'll love me
Tell me

Why do I strike out with every girl I ever dated
When all I've ever wanted is to get myself celestial mated
Life's like this you
When I call 'cause I've fallen in love
And I take you out but you don't really like me
Honestly the process we go through is just so overrated

Why do I strike out with every girl I ever dated
When all I've ever wanted is to get myself celestial mated
Life's like this you
When I call 'cause I've fallen in love
And I take you out but you don't really like me
I used to like to go on dates but now I really hate it
No no no

Thanks for letting me show off. By the way, the patriarch of parody, Weird Al, has a less culturally-specific version of this song that's worth checking out. Alas, it does not feature Donny Osmond.

I got Jon Voight's LeBaron

They're filming part of a Law & Order episode on my street today. Not the good Law & Order, one of the spinoffs. Criminal Victim by Jury or something. I think it's the one starring the guy who wears the Edgar suit.

I didn't go down to watch, in part because it's not the original L&O, but mainly because, as a pseudo-celebrity myself, I don't get starstruck that easily. Plus, there's someone much more famous than me or anyone on that show who lives close by.

I was doing laundry a couple of weeks ago, and one of the laundromat employees loaded the dryer next to mine for someone who was using the drop-off service (I'm way too cheap to ever do that, I think). The name on the slip she taped to the dryer door was "Herb Hoover." I laughed, thinking that someone had used a pseudonym at the laundromat, wondering what kind of lifestyle required that level of secrecy.

But a few days later, I was checking the mail for the first time since moving in (we have just one mail key and my roommate usually keeps it), and noticed the name on the box next to ours was "Herbert Hoover." That's right, the 31st President of the United States lives directly below me. Which is pretty cool, considering everything I've read about him indicates he died over 40 years ago.

It seems like I've known other people in the past who shared names with famous people, but the only one I can think of right now is Jeff Beck--not the guitar legend, but a guy I did a few improv shows with at BYU a couple of years ago. If you know anyone with a famous name, leave a comment about it.

Also...I knew without checking that Hoover was the 31st President. Why? Because I remembered he came right after Calvin Coolidge, and when I was a kid there was a weird ad campaign in the Salt Lake area--tons of green billboards that said "Calvin Coolidge was the 30th President." Apparently it's been done in other areas too. As shown so often on The Simpsons, outdoor advertising can be very effective, I guess. If you remember the Coolidge billboards, leave a comment about that too.

Jagged metal Krusty O's

I have staples in my stomach and am not wearing underwear, but for the last few weeks I haven't looked or felt much like a centerfold.

After a big meal at ESPNZone (where I had watched BYU's season-opening win) two Saturdays ago, I developed some pretty intense heartburn-ish stomach pain that prevented me from sleeping. By Monday night, the pain morphed into a sharp, stabbing sensation in my upper right abdomen. At 5:30 Tuesday morning, I woke up my roommate, got him to help me to the hospital, and a few hours later I had my gall bladder removed.

I'm not going to write much about it, because I like to write about lighter, funnier things on here. My recovery is going well; I ended up requiring the more intensive of the two types of gall bladder surgery (hence the staples sealing up my 12-inch-plus stomach incision), and was in the hospital for six days, but I'm home now and generally comfortable (Tylenol with codeine isn't as good as Percocet, but it's getting the job done).

The gall bladder caused my problems, but most of the post-surgery discomfort I've experienced has been slightly lower on my body. I've endured rectal thermometers, anal suppositories, a quickie prostate exam, and worst of all, multiple catheters, including one that's been in since Thursday afternoon and will be in until at least Friday morning. I'm basically wearing a pee holster, that has to be emptied every three hours or so. It's not pleasant. Keep your fingers crossed that I'll be able to tinkle on my own when I go back to the doctor.

I hope I'm not coming across as a complainer; I think I'm generally quite the opposite, in fact. I've had tons of support from my friends here in the city, and have really enjoyed and appreciated all of the visits, calls, food, fans, and everything else that they've done to serve me. My mom also says thank you to everyone who has been taking care of me.

So, to recap: I was in a lot of pain, surgery took care of it, I'm well on my way to recovery, I no longer take the ability to urinate for granted, and hopefully I won't have to write about this stuff again.