Fall Classic

I'm a big fan of Halloween. It might even be my favorite holiday. But it's on the last day of October. Not much goes on during the rest of the month, especially now that Oktoberfest is increasingly inaccurately named.

However, there is at least one great thing about the first 30 days of October...postseason baseball. (Yes, this is a post about baseball. I probably just lost about 95% of my readers.) I love baseball. I'm actually typing this post while watching Game 1 of the World Series. That's one of the things I love about baseball--you can be doing two or three other things and still fully pay attention to a game on TV.

A lot of national writers and commentators aren't too thrilled with this year's WS match up, but I think the Rays and Phillies are both fun to watch, and once my team has been eliminated I enjoy seeing teams win that haven't won for a long time. So I think this will be a great series, a true Fall Classic.

I can easily trace the origins of my baseball fanhood. I got my first pack of baseball cards for my seventh birthday, a few weeks after the beginning of the 1987 season. I was instantly hooked on card collecting, and that 1987 Topps set is still far and away my favorite set of all time.

Like the station wagons of the era, the cards had fake wood paneling. There was a nice mix of action shots (like Barry Bonds) and youth soccer style poses (like Padres manager Steve Boros) on the card fronts. There were plenty of clean-cut guys, like Yankee pitcher (and Utah native) Scott Nielsen, but also lots of guys with cool mustaches: Keith Hernandez, Don Aase, Mark Clear, Carney Lansford, Dan Gladden, Steve Balboni...the list goes on and on.

I remember so much about that set. I remember that in the 792-card set, if a player's card number ended in a 5 or a 0, he was likely a good player; if it ended in 00, he was one of the best (or Dave Bergman). I remember who was on the all-star cards (Dave Parker, Teddy Higuera, Fernando, Tony Bernazard, etc.). I remember that year's record breakers (Roger Clemens' first 20-strikeout game, Dave Righetti's single season save record, Davey Lopes stealing more bases than any 40-year-old ever had, rookie Jim Deshaies striking out the first eight batters he faced in one start). I remember the "all star rookies" and "future stars" who panned out (Jose Canseco, B.J. Surhoff) and those who didn't (Andy Allanson, Tim Pyznarski). I remember the fun facts printed on the backs of the cards: "Mickey [Brantley] was a childhood chum of boxer Mike Tyson."

As my brother and I bought more and more wax packs, we built up our card "company" (all of our cards piled or stacked in a big bucket), which on a near-weekly basis I suggested we "split," just because I liked blindly pulling cards out of the middle of the pile and seeing who I ended up with. I began to learn what the statistics on the back of the card meant, and they fascinated me (although it took me a while to figure out there was no such thing as a "league leader in italics tie," but that might take me too long to explain). I saw that Yankee 1B Don Mattingly not only had the best stats, but shared my birthday, and he became my favorite player (I didn't realize at the time that the Yanks were the "evil empire" of baseball).

My brother also had a Street & Smith's magazine that recapped the memorable 1986 season that I loved looking at. For some reason, the first thing I think of when I recall that magazine is a weird quote from Royals utility infielder Greg Pryor about breakfast cereal.

I'm pretty sure that the first baseball game I ever watched was that year's all star game. I remember seeing Tim Raines hit the game-winning triple in the 13th inning to win the game for the National League, which is weird, because I was a little kid and that probably means I was up pretty late. Maybe I got some extra sugar from the cardboard gum that came in those packs of baseball cards. Coincidentally, I used a "Rock Raines" glove when I played t-ball and church softball. I believe it's the only mitt I've ever owned. (Even though I've loved baseball for a long time, I never actually played Little League.)

When the playoffs began that fall, I decided it was time to pick a favorite team. (My older brother had unfathomably become a Mariners fan. I have no idea why he chose them. They were even worse then than they are now.) Out of the four 1987 playoff teams (Cardinals, Giants, Tigers, Twins) I arbitrarily chose the Tigers. I'm not sure why, but it seems probable that my dad told me that their ace pitcher Jack Morris had attended BYU, which certainly would've swayed me towards Detroit. (My dad played baseball in high school and liked sports when I was a kid, but he hates them now for some reason.) My picking skills weren't great: the Tigers lost the ALCS to the Twins and didn't reach the postseason again until 2006, with some near-record futility in between.

Baseball evokes more nostalgia and has a much more fascinating history than any other sport, in my opinion, and now you know the history of my first year as a baseball fan. (By "you," I mean Chris James and my brother Adam, because I can't imagine anyone else would still be reading at this point. But maybe I know some closet baseball fans and don't realize it. If you're out there, let's watch Game 2 together.)

Virgin is for lovers of good deals

But not for people who try to cheat the system.

My brother called me the other day to tell me that, after reading my last post and buying his own copy, he posted Virgin Mega's Simpsons DVD bargain on slickdeals.com, a website he uses. Within hours, people were leaving comments that their orders were being cancelled, with some admitting that they had tried to buy 50 copies in hopes of selling them on eBay (I'm guessing they're the ones who ruined it for everyone else).

For a few days, the Season 11 DVD set was gone entirely from the Virgin website; now it's back, but the price is $39.99. Sorry if I'm indirectly responsible for you having to pay full price to hear Springfield University star kicker Anton Lubchenko admit that communications is a phony major. "Lubchenko learn nothing. Nothing!"

And I hope Virgin doesn't figure out that I'm the one who started this whole mess; I'd be scared to read the e-mail they'd send me about magical creatures tearing my limbs off and pecking at my soul.

Like a Virgin

I've always known Richard Branson was a little crazy, but I never expected this. Last week season 11 of The Simpsons came out on DVD (they just started season 20, so they're a little behind), and while searching for the best deal online I was stunned to find Virgin selling it for $4.99!

At the time I'm posting this, the deal is still on, so take advantage while you can! This is one of the last really good seasons, and includes my all-time favorite episode, "Behind the Laughter."

But there's an even better reason for doing it...shortly after making my first-ever purchase from virginmega.com, I received this e-mail:

"Dear Jeff Hofmann,

It started as a dream. You wanted the best in music, movies, fashion, electronics, books and games, so you went to Virginmega.com. You lovingly selected items and placed them lovingly in a shopping cart. Then you lovingly paid for the items, and now we're lovingly telling you that your order D08155963 has been received.

Oh, happy day!

And soon, as if by witchcraft, an email will appear in your inbox, confirming your order and hopefully making you feel oh so good."

They kept their word. Within hours, this e-mail appeared, although I'm not sure how much witchcraft was involved:

"Dear Jeff Hofmann,

Today might just be the best day of your life. Your order from VirginMega.com is confirmed.

Soon, what can only be described as an army of unicorns will descend on our stock and pull the items that you want. After that, a wizard will cast a boxing spell and enchant your items into a "box". Then, a falcon will carry the box to your house.

Actually, we'll ship it how you requested, but we're totally working on the falcon thing."

Then, two days later, they sent me this doozy:

"Dear Jeff Hofmann,

Today is your lucky day!

Your order from Virginmega.com is on its way to you! This just might go down as the second greatest day of your life, placing just after the day you receive your order and just before meeting the love of your life/having a kid or something/teaching your dog to get you stuff from the fridge/winning the lottery. In any case, this is a sweet day, so cherish it always."

I'd love to read the interoffice memos of a company that puts this much effort into its form letters. A heartless corporation has never made me feel so loved.

You all, everybody

Thanks to my recent injuries and illnesses, my laziness when healthy, and the full episode player on ABC.com, I have now watched all four seasons of Lost.

It's an ok show, good enough that I'll likely keep watching when new episodes resume, but I'd rank it behind 24 and Twin Peaks, which basically puts it in last place among dramas I've watched more than one season of (I'm more of a sitcom and sports kind of guy).

My opinion of the show might go up if something were to happen to Kate. She's gorgeous, but I can't stand her.

Now I need to find something else to distract me from looking for a job. I'm pretty sure I can watch old Miami Vice episodes on Hulu...

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.