Cabin Fever

Driving up University Avenue I pass the Kingdom Carwash. If you have ever driven past the Kingdom Carwash you will notice that their symbol is a fish. Not just any fish, but a Jesus Fish. FYI: a Jesus Fish is a small doodle of a single line somewhat resembling a fish that Darwinist like to put little feet on and stick to the back of their cars. The Jesus Fish has not evolved to the feet stage yet, but then again, what fish has? The reason these fish are called Jesus Fish is because early Christians thought it would someday look cool when carved into bricks and used to build a Catholic high school in Dubuque. All this begs the question, however, of what Jesus and Fish have to do with shiny cars? Did the second coming of Christ happen and nobody noticed because his heavenly Kingdom was built in the guise of a corner-lot, self-serve carwash? This being the case, when I get my car washed at his Kingdom will it be doused in Holy Water and scrubbed by a team of suds-covered angels resembling the heavenly creatures found on the pages of Victoria’s Secret? The Lord moves in mysterious ways my friends. Crazy, crazy ways…

I pick up the paper and see a large color photo of a soldier crouching behind a car and armed with a very big gun. I think he is a soldier because he is dressed in camouflage, combat boots and a bulletproof helmet. But when I read the caption I discover I have been fooled. He isn’t a soldier after all – he’s a Dubuque Police Officer. This makes me think, “What is the function of a camouflage uniform in the situation depicted in the photograph?” If I recall correctly, the purpose of camouflage is to blend in with your surroundings and not be seen. Yet here is a large, front-page photo of a man in dark green camouflage hiding in a winter wonderland of bright, white snow. In the background carloads of spectators are watching the camouflaged-police-officer-pretending-to-be-a-soldier trying not to be seen. You’re it. Ollie Ollie Oxen Free. Crazy I tell you…

Trying to figure out how to file one’s taxes is absolutely maddening. I have a box full of receipts and no clue what to do. I try using a computer-based program but it asks me big, complicated math based questions and I quickly become frustrated. Instead I just grab my box of soon-to-be-pleas to the IRS and head for the hills. On my way I pass a man dressed up as a lady, Lady Liberty to be exact, waving to me from the corner of Asbury and J.F.K. Anyone standing out in freezing temperatures dressed like that cannot be completely sane, so I expect to see Mr. Lady Liberty wearing a sandwich board stating “The End of the World is Nye”. Imagine my pleasant surprise when I find that he, or she, is in fact offering to do my taxes. What luck! The symbol that for generations has stood as a beacon to the American Dream is now a cross-dressing tax advisor willing to either help take my money from the government or help the government take money from me (it’s really only a matter of perspective). Call me crazy, but God bless the U.S.A…

Downtown, I pull my car up to the curb and put it in park. When I attempt to open the door I discover it will not budge. Peering out the frost-coated window, I see a ten-foot snow bank that the city plows have so thoughtfully filled all the parking spaces with blocks me. Instead I crawl across the front seat, become temporarily impotent thanks to the obtrusively protruding shift stick, and roll out onto the street via the passenger side door. I then manage to shuffle up and over the mountain of snow, only to sink up to my knees in it. All of this in order to reach the parking meter that I am required to feed with quarters in exchange for the use of a snow filled parking space. My shoes and pants’ legs are soaking wet and I am quickly turning blue. This gets me thinking, “Why I am paying to use a spot filled with frozen water?” Shouldn’t the city be paying me for opting to stay here as opposed to taking my spending money and moving to where the water is still warm, like Miami, or Mexico, or Belgium, or something…

To borrow a favorite quote of a friend by the name of Jen, “This is crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy.” …This is cabin fever.