Quest For Fire: The Musical!

Jimmy the plumber showed up over the weekend with his assistant, Chris.  They came by to work on the gas lines and to make me laugh.  The two of them are Greene County’s own Martin & Lewis.  And like the original version, this pair is only really funny because the things they say to each other are so dumb.  “You really screwed up that elbow joint, bub,” Jimmy will tease Chris.  “No, I didn’t—you did,” Chris answers.  It goes back and forth like this with dopey putdowns and lame comebacks the entire time they’re working and—I can’t really explain why--it cracks me up.

 

I explained to Jim I wanted the stove hooked up and I wanted him to make sure the heater worked OK and that the propane lamp was operational.  The lines underneath the camper appeared to be intact but the end near the propane tank had been snapped off at some point over the years. 

 

Jim assumed his supervisor position inside the camper and called out directions to Chris.  Chris quickly spliced a nipple onto the line near the tank and then went inside to re-connect the stove I salvaged from the camper at Deb’s place.

 

Jimmy kept voicing his concern over the heater.  “I dunno about that…  I kinda hate thinking of you turning that thing on and then going to sleep.”  I assured him I’d never do that—I’d just heat up the place, turn off the gas and climb under the covers on a chilly night.  “Can’t you just get a little space heater,” he asked.  “But what if I’m in the middle of nowhere without power?”

 

“Ehhhhhh….  I just feel kinda weird about it.  And that lamp—the line for that runs up through the wall.  There could be a hairline spilt and you’d never know it ‘til you went kerblewy!  Especially if Chris has anything to do with it.  Right, Chris?”

 

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

 

I went back inside the house to straighten up the place to get ready for my friend Nadine to drop by and, after half an hour or so, went back to the camper.  “Look alive—here comes the homeowner,” Jimmy cackled.  “I am alive; you’re not…”  “Nobody’s gonna be alive if we light the stove with the smell of gas we got inside here.”

 

Yes, it turns out there were leaks in the line they hadn’t been able to see before turning on the propane tank.  Chris had discovered them by crawling under the camper.  The smell of gas was powerful indeed.  Just then Nadine turned up and I told Jimmy to go ahead and do whatever he thought needed to be done while Nadine and I went to lunch to talk about the camper for her blog.

 

When we got back to the house Jimmy gave me the prognosis and result in one fell swoop:  the line to the lamp appeared to have a leak inside the wall.  Since I told him I didn’t want to open up any of the interior he just bypassed that altogether.  So I’ve got a nice looking lamp on the wall that doesn’t work, but that also will not kill me.

 

As for the heater, Jim made an executive, and rather brilliant decision.  Since, as he pointed out, the heater was merely a flame inside the vertical contraption on the wall, if I needed heat, why not just turn on the stove for a few minutes to warm up the place?  He demonstrated this hypothesis by turning on all three burners.  Within minutes the interior of the camper was sweltering.  I was sold!

 

So now I have just one, completely new, single purpose gas line running uninterruptedly from the propane tank to the stove (and heater and light, if need be)  which should keep me from going kerblewy!

 

“Right, Chris?”

 

“No, you are.”

 

On The Air!

As if two blogs, a cross-country tour of a theatrical spectacular, historical preservation of mid-century aluminum cultural artifacts and a line of clothing wasn't enough, the "Canned Ham" empire now also encompasses a burgeoning video phenomenon. Here for your perusal is the premiere episode of "Hamming It Up!", the talk show shot on location in Canned Ham. My old friend Jeff Whitty came by for dinner and, to avoid washing the dishes, agreed to a sit-down with yours truly at the kitchen table of the camper.  Shag carpet, musical theater and Richard Milhous Nixon are just a few of the things that came up in conversation. 

Details, details.

For such a humble, low-end object The Ham has some lovely touches.  (Incidentally, I suppose I am “The Ham” in this scenario, but “The Can” seems an ignominious nickname to impose on such an innocent.  So “The Ham” it is…)  I mean, look at that spice rack:  to avoid any confusion, its labeled “spices.”  The chrome knobs on the cabinet not only reflect the light bouncing off the polyurethaned wood interior, but their concave surface offers the perfect depth when one positions one’s thumb for a secure grip.  There's something Sputnikian about the simple, semi-spherical exterior lights, and the fiberglass, gold-threaded shade on the wall sconce offers a glimpse of the swinging sixties just around the corner.  Even the faucet pump and knob have a subtle, ergonomic elegance about them.  They may not be up to the standards of Mr. Raymond Lowey, but the anonymous designer toiling away in Wakarusa, IN at the FAN factory done his/her mama proud.

 

Of course, these detail shots of the details also show a lot of spittin’ and polishin’ and scrubbin’ and waxin’ yet to be done.

 

Jimmy the Plumber is on his way over this morning to have a gander at the gas lines.  And the good folks at Economy Foam and Futon on 8^th Street (in the location of the old 8^th Street Playhouse, Luanne!) are hard at work on the cushions and throw pillows with contrasting piping.  When I’m sure there are no major messes left to be made inside the camper I’ll lay the new tile floor.  And, best of all, I have two tubs of Mother's Mag & Aluminum Polish next to me on the kitchen table just a-waiting to get out there to see if the skin will shine up like I'm hoping.

This project is just humming right along (on completely flat tires.)  

Immediate update:

It's a verified fact I was born without the gene for patience. So after posting the above, I raced out back and cracked open the Mother's. Based on the final picture in the series I'm in for a bright and shiny future! Thank God I've got a power buffer (and no, that is not a euphemism.)

The Ability to Adapt

According to the experts at Hillcrest Manor, campers nowadays have a little hatch on the outside just for things like turning on the propane fridge. Well, I’m not about to start slicing into the skin of a 50-year-old tin can, so after deciding that “genug ist genug,” I threw up my hands--holding them there a beat, for the sake of drama--and decided to just go ahead and install a nice, cheap, efficient mini-fridge from the Evil Empire (Wal-Mart.)

I found one that fits perfectly—after installing a little shelf--into the closet. I don’t imagine I’ll need to hang any full-length garments on this trip so I lost that option with impunity. As for the original icebox? I gave it the Krylon Makeover inside and out and slipped it right back into its slot. It has a shelf where one would have placed the big block of ice so it will henceforth be another little clothes closet. Like Marilyn, I shall keep my undies in the icebox.

I suppose I’ll have to toss the Beluga on the way to Death Valley, but dems da brakes.

One nice little surprise: the icebox had been lined with newspaper (for insulation, I guess) and there in the latest edition of the Catskill Mountain Star is an ad for pork loin roast for 27 cents-per-pound. Now, I ask you: where there's pork loin can Canned Ham be far behind?

Refrige... later!

A lovely, smallish cardboard box was waiting for me on the front deck when I returned from the gym yesterday.  “Refigerator,” it was labeled.  Wow, that was fast!  You see, I had found on an RV website a fridge designed specifically to replace the icebox on an older camper.  And it runs on propane and electric!  What could more perfect?  True, it cost a heck of a lot more than the camper itself, but I thought, this might be something worth spending a little money on.  What if I’m parked along some sweet stream in the middle of nowhere, or under a stovepipe cactus somewhere in the desert?  Gotta have that crème fraiche on the caviar, right?  One can take “roughing it” only so far, after all. 

 

And here it is!  

I lug it behind the house where the camper is resting, all nice and white-trash-like, debris strewn all over the place where I’ve just opened the camper door and tossed (therefore doing my bit to bring down property values on the road.)  I set it down and carefully open the box.  I had already removed the icebox in anticipation of the big day, so there was a nice gaping hole under the “Auotcrat” 3-burner stove.  I see the new fridge is slightly larger than the original icebox.  No problem there; I’ve got enough wiggle room in that spot to adjust the opening for the new unit.

 

But, um… hold on now.  Where is the on/off switch?  There’s nothing I can see anywhere on the door.  Maybe inside?  Nope, nothing on the interior of the unit.  I step back and cock my head, trying to figure out where I might turn on my new refrigerator.  I circle the beast, carefully observing and there, on the back, on the bottom of the back, on the bottom corner of the back of the refrigerator are the controls, including the propane ignition switch. 

 

Am I missing something?  This unit is screwed tight into the cabinet once it’s installed.  How the heck am I supposed to get at the controls to operate it?  And won’t the gas line be rigid and keep it in place even if it were partially moveable?

 

I’m stumped.  Totally stumped.  The only thing I can figure is that on most RVs slightly younger than half-a-century there’s some kind of hatch on the exterior where one could access the controls.  As it is…?  Well, I don’t imagine I’ll be disassembling my home every time I want to keep the olive loaf from spoiling.

 

Back to the drawing board!

 

But apart from that it’s progressing very nicely, thank you.  The stove is indeed in place and waiting to be hooked up.  I installed a couple of outlets and an additional reading light in the, um, bedroom.  All the benches have new plywood seats to hold the cushions that are on order and as soon as I hem the curtains they can go onto the new curtain rods.   And the second coat of polyurethane glossed the thing up so it looks like it’s lined in a layer of aspic.  Later today I’ll be installing the TV and the surround sound system (which makes me laugh every time I say it) and when I scrape off the old crumbly tile I can lay the new kitchen floor.

 

Yessiree Bob, it’s moving right along!

 

Look how purty the camper’s looking already!  (See the space where some as-yet-to-be-determined cooling device will go?)  And look how happy I am to be sitting in my on-the-way-to-being-a-kitchen!  (Note the 1-gallon can of polyurethane under the table.  Or, "travel-size" as I call it.)  And look how great the t-shirts will look when they exist!  (It’s just a virtual, Photohopped garment at this point.) 

 

Me likee!

(By the way, I’m open to suggestions for an appropriate magazine to pitch a 12-part series of my trip-tour-adventure.  

Travel?  Lifestyle?  Gay?  Gay lifestyle?  Gay travel?  Wig trends?  Doll collectors?)

 

Pretty... Shiny...

I’ve decided I’m going to look on my three months in the Caribbean as my own Yaddo.  My private MacDowell Colony.   My personal Landsberg Prison.  I’m going to go there with the intention of writing.  Hopefully I will produce something more akin to “Our Town” than to “Mein Kampf,” but I’ll settle for the royalties for either.  What could be more perfect than to have a three-month sojourn before taking off on a long trip around the country with the idea of performing a one-man theater piece for whoever I can get to stand still long enough to listen to it?  I shall be disciplined and focused on Saba; I will write the play I see myself performing in my mind’s eye.

 

And I really had better do so, because today I went and ordered the t-shirts for the tour.

 

Carla and Angie at the screening place were extremely helpful in getting my vision up and running.  The t-shirts will be chocolate brown with the logo on the front and this very blog address on the back.  Simple, stylish, available in the lobby.  In the photo Angie is holding the dog which they were amazed didn’t bark while I was there (until they commented on how it wasn’t barking.)

 

A little progress on the Ham itself:  I got everything cleared out that needed to go.  I replaced the kitchen table with the one from the other camper at Deb’s.  I Brillo’d the chrome knobs and cute little propane lamp to get them all clean and purty.  I bought a couple of outlets and wire for the, well, for the TV and surround system.  I placed some tiles on the floor to get an idea of what it will look like when that step is complete.

 

But most importantly, I put a coat of polyurethane on every possible wood surface.  I buy high-gloss polyurethane in huge quantities because it is—with the possible exception of silicone-based lube—the greatest substance known to man.  (I buy the lube in a 5-gallon container, too, but, alas, I’ve been going through a lot more polyurethane lately.)

 

Just look at that 50-year-old beauty glow!  Polyurethane—it’s truly a miracle.  It can give a dull old piece of wood a brilliant sheen and can cover up the smell of decades-old mouse urine.  Nothin’ like it in the whole wide world!

 

Here are some pictures for your perusal.  That last one… well, I had just gotten home from the gym and, uh, it was really warm out and, um, there was the tripod all set up and… Oh, just give me a break, will ya?  I didn’t get to this point by being coy.  (And at least I didn’t post the two subsequent frames.  Yowza!)  

Do I Smell Something Burning?

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