Life with the Chapmans

Ever wondered what an average day in the Chapman Home is like? Pictures speak a thousand words. (So here's daily life in 4,000 words...)

Oh, and here's Thanksgiving in 5,000 words:

There was lots of music.

Work in progress

I'm almost done with the first draft. One day, I'll hand a printed copy to my mom, who keeps reminding me that this MUST be written.

There's still a lot of work to do, but this ROCKIN' cover and perfect title for my little Kirby memoir, is great motivation to finish.

(The title is from the "Kirby song" we sang as an office to get us pumped every morning. "Up in my head, down in my feet, deep in my heart, I got the whole Kirby spirit!")

Quirks of evolution

The other night, as I was watching a documentary called "Clever Monkeys" (narrated by David Attenborough of course), I was introduced to one of the weirdest looking creatures on the planet today.

Really. It's really weird. Wanna see it?

Scroll down. I dare ya. 










































TA DA!!!

This is a proboscis monkey. Or the "long-nosed monkey," as its also known. And I think it might be my new favorite animal. I'm not sure, though.

It's kind of like a car crash. Part of you wants to look away, and the other part of you can't help your fixation, you know? When I showed this picture to my sister-in-law Laura, she said "I don't know whether I want to cuddle it or drop an anvil on its head."

Anyway, they're endangered, and they live in Borneo, and only the males have those weirdly large noses. Here's another picture for you.

I mean, doesn't this guy look like a muppet? Or an old man? Or a muppet of an old man? Several people noted that this guy is "The Jimmy Durante of Monkeys."

Here's another picture. This is "Zoolander Proboscis Monkey."

"What? I'm a proboscis monkey, biotch! Don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful!"


(Okay, that might have gone a little too far. But it seemed the appropriate caption to this photo.)

The thing I can't figure out is WHY they have those huge noses. What evolutionary purpose could they serve? Since only the males have them, are they some sort of...wooing display? Like, "Look at me and my large nose. I would make a good mate!" (That's as far as I'm going with that...I don't think I could continue without feeling uncomfortable.) Or are there foods in Borneo that demand a keen sense of smell to be found?

I can't think of any truly plausible reason that nature would select for this nose.

I have a hard time believing it's real. I've concluded, however, that the proboscis monkey must belong in the same genus as these guys:

Squidward, from "Spongebob Squarepants," and

the Blobfish.

(The Blobfish is a real creature, by the way. I know that picture doesn't look real, but it is. According to Wikipedia, the blobfish "is a deep sea fish of the family Psychrolutidae. Inhabiting the deep waters off the coasts of mainland Australia and Tasmania, it is rarely seen by humans. Blobfish live at depths between 600-1200 meters or 1968-3937 feet where the pressure is several dozen times higher than at sea level, which would likely make gas bladders inefficient for maintaining buoyancy. Instead, the flesh of the blobfish is primarily a gelatinous mass with a density slightly less than water; this allows the fish to float above the sea floor without expending energy on swimming. Its relative lack of muscle is not a disadvantage as it primarily swallows edible matter that floats in front of it. Blobfish eat invertebrates like crabs and sea pens." Yeah. It's "primarily a gelatinous mass.")

Oh, and proboscis monkeys tend to have large "beer-bellies" too.

"Ain't this glamorous!?"

Acting is usually billed as a glamorous profession. Red carpets, Dior gowns, cool drinks and personal assistants. And while that is part of the life for the 2% of the world’s actors who can demand six figures for every project, the majority of the time, acting is probably the LEAST glamorous job in the world.

Here’s what acting actually is:

Acting is wearing a spandex full-body suit for two hours while scales are being painted onto it. And then not moving while it dries.

It is putting on a wig-cap (which makes everyone look like a transvestite, regardless of their sexual/gender identity), then having bobby pins lodged deep into your skull for several hours.

It is wearing a gown made of three layers of upholstery fabric under 50 brightly focused lights.

It is saying the same words hundreds of times, and trying to make them sound new every time.

It is changing your clothes (and occasionally your entire identity) in less than 45 seconds, either in a darkened corner with three pairs of hands gropingly assisting you, or else while running through the restaurant below the theatre.

It is spending 20 – 30 hours per week (that’s a part-time job, people) for two months in order to receive 30 seconds of applause.

It is standing outside in the dead of winter in a light coat and being told not to shiver.

It is being told to stop what you’re doing every two minutes or less, for five to six hours a night, for one long long long week.

It is a non-lubricated condom pulled over a mic-pack worn around your waist under your costume, with a mic thread pulled through your hair and taped onto your face with medical tape.

It is having a rib popped out of place by someone falling on you, and going on with the show anyways.

It is cleaning blood out of the inside of your character shoes.

It is being told, sometimes even by those that love you, either directly or indirectly, that your contributions to the world are not worthwhile and do not matter, regardless of how life-changing your experiences in that theatre have been.

It is bruised elbows, hyper-extended knees, ripped off fingernails, dislocated toes, and pulled muscles.

It is not getting home until midnight for weeks.

It is finding Ben Nye makeup (which I’m pretty sure is a combination of pottery clay and Crisco) in your eyebrows a week after a show has closed. (And fighting the zits from that makeup for months after the show has closed.)

It is having your hair wrapped in plastic wrap, straws stuck up your nose, a garbage bag put over your shoulders, and strips of plaster laid over your face. (And again, being told to not move while it dries.)

It is singing and dancing for six hours straight, six nights a week, in 103-degree weather.

It is looking into the eyes of one person some night, and knowing that you made some difference in their life. Maybe they learned something, maybe they felt something…something in their face tells you that you did something meaningful.

I’ve been in somewhere around 30 productions now. I’ve done tech for another 10 or so. (Tech is two hours of boredom interspersed with five minutes of sheer panic.) Every one of those things I mentioned up there I’ve personally experienced. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I don’t mean for this to sound like bragging or anything, I’m just trying to share what I love.

I guess all I really have to say is that those who stick with acting DON’T do it for the glamour.

Least Festive Halloween Ever

Between designing sound for one show, and starring in it, and running sound for another show, and working 15 hours a week, and going to school full-time, there simply wasn’t time or emotional energy to get excited about Halloween this year. No costumes, no jack-o-lanterns, no candy, no parties. No nothing. Kinda lame.

But here’s the thing. Last night I was filled with gratitude to just sit at home with my husband and not have to be ANYWHERE. We’ve been basking in the free time we’ve had the last two nights. Sunday, we got into bed around 7 and stayed there until we fell asleep around midnight, with only a break or two to get dinner (Rocky Road ice cream and Great Value peanut butter cups). Jacob read a J.R.R. Tolkien story aloud and then we made out.

If that all sounds perfect, it was.

Last night, we went out to dinner, and then I shaved my legs, soaked my feet, and read “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” while eating chocolates. The whole evening was rather Holly Golightly, actually. (Except for the part when I fell on my face while weather-proofing our bedroom window. Not so Holly Golightly.)

So Happy Halloween, I guess. In the future, the Chapmans will be more festive. But this year, sitting in the living room, listening to Jacob play the guitar while I read and wrote, was the perfect Halloween.

Two Wolves

A man once told his son, "Within each of us, there are two wolves: one good and one evil. They are constantly battling, fighting to be the dominant one."

His son replied, "But, father. Which one wins?"

The man smiled at his son and answered, "That's easy. Whichever one you feed."

Jules and Seve Come to Visit, or "Baby Simon Goes on a Roadtrip"

Here's the weekend in pictures. Our good friends Jules and Seve came to visit, and they brought their newest family member, sweet Simon.

Here he is, surprised by mortality, as usual.

Simon spent the weekend: 

Being cared for by Mom and Dad. (That's a syringe in Seve's mouth. In case you couldn't tell.)

Thinking deep thoughts with Jacob.

Meeting Uncle Jerry.

Being a tiny hipster.

Looking this concerned at least 80% of the time.

And occasionally looking downright terrified. (We can't get over this picture. For any readers who may be concerned about the cause of this face, it was poop. When you've only had a working digestive system for three weeks or so, poop can be pretty alarming.)

But most of the weekend was spent cuddling.

Or being cuddled, as the case may be. 

Is it obvious that I'm excited for us to have one of our own someday?
Because I'm pretty excited to be a mom someday.

SCI 207 Homework

(UPDATE: Yeah, I totally turned this in. And got full credit. In fact, the teacher liked it so much that when he handed the assignments back, he had me read it out loud to the class. Ha ha!)

The Assignment:

Observe the rock in the Geology hallway display case. Record your observations, then come up with the rock's history based on your observations.

The Rock:

The Rock's History, according to me:

Once upon a time there was a very large and often hungry monster named Lithovore Jones. Lithovore Jones was what modern bloggers would now call a “foodie.” He loved eating more than he loved sunning his tail on rocks or singing hopscotch songs, and all monsters love these things a lot. His favorite foods were plants and seafood. The only problem was that Lithovore Jones always ate too fast.

After going out to dinner with other monsters one night, Lithovore Jones grimaced and said, “I love eating, but I always get a stomach ache afterwards!”

“Maybe if you didn’t eat so fast, Lithovore Jones,” his friends kindly hinted.

Lithovore Jones sighed. “But I just love food so much! I can’t get enough of it. Tonight’s clam-bake was delicious.”

His monster friends agreed. “The barnacle appetizers are superb at this restaurant,” one said. “Oh, and the oysters! Divine!” said another. “I’m a fan of the Unidentifiable Material Horseshoe Dessert myself,” said another. Everyone nodded their heads in agreement.

Lithovore Jones’ stomach gurgled, and he sighed again. “If only there was something I could do to aid digestion!”

Suddenly, another monster stepped out of the alley. She had a long mane of matted orange hair, and it was filled with shells and beads and bits of bone. She was carrying a small leather pouch.

“Pssst,” she said. “Hey Lithovore.”

“Me?” said Lithovore Jones.

“Yeah you, sonny. I’ve got something here to cure your ills!” The strange monster held out the leather pouch, and Lithovore Jones peered inside.

“It’s nothing but sand and pebbles!” he said.

“Eat it, and your gastrological ailments will be cured!”

The other monsters looked skeptical, but Lithovore Jones instinctively trusted the monster-witch, and he took the pouch and gulped down its contents. Readers may judge this move overhasty, but they must realize that Lithovore Jones’ stomach really hurt.

For a moment after swallowing the sand and pebbles, nothing happened. Then suddenly, Lithovore Jones felt his stomach lurching and churning. The clams and barnacles and the Unidentifiable Material Horseshoe Dessert were all being tossed around in his stomach like clothes in a dryer. Lithovore Jones felt slightly alarmed.

“Is this supposed to happen?” he asked the strange monster.

She laughed and said, “Yes! Yes! One moment more and the process will be complete!”

Lithovore Jones felt his stomach slowing down, down, down…until finally it stopped. Lithovore Jones belched once and a small stone fell from his mouth.

All the other monsters examined the stone with slightly disgusted fascination. The sand had mixed with Lithovore Jones’ stomach acids to create a sort of cement. And in the cement were all the clams and barnacles and the Unidentifiable Material Horseshoe Dessert. The pebbles churning around with the lump of digested shells had smoothed its edges, leaving it free of jagged edges.

For having just been belched forth from the innards of a large monster, it was a thing of beauty.

When the other monsters finally looked up from the stone, the strange monster-witch was gone. The monsters debated among themselves about what should be done with the shell-filled rock for a few minutes. Finally, Lithovore Jones picked up the stone and put it in his pocket.

“I know exactly what I’ll do with this,” he said, and walked away, thinking fondly of his dear friend Brother Tonks, who would be sure to find a use for the stone in his science courses at BYU-Idaho.

Brief Announcement/Thanks

Hey everyone.

Remember when I asked all of you to go vote for this guy to be a Cheapster?

Well, pat yourselves on the back, people, because he's 

TOTALLY A CHEAPSTER!!!

Thanks to YOUR votes, the man is IN! Like Flynn!
Thank you thank you thank you. All of you rock. More than you know. =)

It begins

This was yesterday. Today is more of the same. (Like, literally. More.)

I think the saddest part of this picture is the soaked and limp prayer flags. *Sigh*

To be honest, even though I spent all of yesterday blatantly denying the change of weather ("I reject your reality! What are you talking about? It's July!"), I'm actually okay. I'm choosing to be okay.

Here's my theory. Winter is hardest from January on. Because in those early autumn/winter months, there are awesome things to look forward to. My attitude about the weather tends to look like this:

September: "Yay! It's my birthday! And school starts! And it's totally still summer. I can wear sandals around campus and do my homework in the park. I love September."

October: "Meh, the weather's getting cold, but that's okay because it's HALLOWEEN! And the fall leaves ARE pretty...maybe I should just admit that this is pleasant instead of trying to be different from every other blogger ever..."

November: "Brrrr, it's getting cold. But that's okay because it's THANKSGIVING! I love pumpkin pie so much. And turkey. And family. And friends. And gratitude. And I don't mind the snow when I can stay inside for a few days, wearing my pajamas and watching movies with my family and friends and eating awesome things."

December: "Okay, now it's really cold. But that's okay because it's CHRISTMAS! And I love Christmas maybe even more than I love pumpkin pie. I love Christmas music and making gifts for people and the smell of pine needles and having like two weeks to watch movies and eat awesome things. And caroling! And celebrating the birth of the Savior. Christmas is so beautiful."

January: "Well, New Year's was fun. I'm cold."

February: "Valentine's Day? Too commercial. I celebrate love every DAY. Hallmark can't tell ME what to do. I'm cold."

March: "I'm German. Not Irish. I'm cold."

April: "I'm still cold. But I love General Conference." 

May: "I'm in Rexburg. And I'm still cold."

June: "At last! My heart leaps with sunshine!"

So I'm choosing to enjoy the weather. Instead of grumping about how fall is "the death of all living things." Because there IS something beautiful about it. I admit it, blogworld. The leaves are beautiful. The crisp air does make me feel alive. I love cuddling up inside my warm house and drinking hot chocolate.

But I won't start talking about boots and sweaters, because they may be nice to LOOK at, but as for me and my house, I prefer to be as nekkid as possible, as often as possible. (AND I'm not stupid...)

Or at least I prefer shorts and a t-shirt to boots and sweaters. Even if said boots and sweaters are adorable.

Reasons to love being an adult

#1. Driving. I mean, you get to do this as a teenager, so I guess it's not exclusively "grown up." but it still hasn't lost its thrill for me.

#2. Ice cream for dinner. If you want. Or two bowls of tortilla chips. Or a handful of Lindor milk chocolate truffles. Or cold cereal. You can even it it in the living room. On the couch, if you so choose. (I've eaten all of these for dinner. Within the last week. My body feels like CRAP.)

#3. Bedtime whenever the hell you want it to be. You want to go to bed at 9? You can. You want to go to bed at 2:30 in the morning? You can.

#4. You're always tall enough for roller coasters and public pools. (I guess I'm making a slightly discriminatory generalization here. The "average" adult is tall enough. There are exceptions. But the exceptions are still adults.)

#5. You can make out to Nirvana in the living room, and don't have to worry about your parents walking in. (Although when you have kids, you do have to worry about them.)

So maybe this list should be called "Reasons to love being a married adult without kids in college." Because as much as bills and responsibility and insurance sucks, and as "hard as marriage is," and as expensive as college feels (and is), there are definitely some pros to adulthood.

(Oh, and if you haven't done so already, go vote for Scott to be on Cheapster Hopefuls. You just have to click on this link and "like" his picture. You have until October 6th. Every time you don't click this link and could, Sarah Palin steps on a kitten.)

(image via Allie over at hyperboleandahalf. Go read her blog. Seriously. It will change your life. It changed mine. Her treatise on adulthood is way wittier than mine is.)