Diminished Capacity

Mon amours:
I'm very concerned I'm losing the capacity for ranting. I don't care about anything any more. I cannot expend the energy required to be worked up into a frenzy simply because there are way too many instances that beg it of me. It's exhausting.
For instance, what the hell is going on with the vote on gay marriage in this state? What are we waiting for? Just man up and vote already. And if they vote no (very likely) I think Mayor Bloomberg should imperially declare that same sex marriage is legal in NYC, like Mayor Ebrard did in Mexico City. Let's get all those millions of dollars from marriageable gays into our economy.

Or, who does Cardinal Dolan think he is? His opinion about this issue, as the opinion of all clergy of any faith, for or against, is immaterial. There is separation of church and state, and this is a civil rights and civil law issue, not a religious issue. It's a free country and he can express his opinion, but its worth bubkes. In fact, it is worth less than that, because anything coming from the pedophile-abetting criminal institution he represents is rather rich.
By the same token, as I'm watching him deliver his tirade on TV, they cut to some protesters for and against in Albany. One of the protesters (for, I assume) is a woman rabbi who is wearing a yarmulke, peyes (the side curls) and a talit (prayer shawl). What fresh hell is this? If she could, she would have been wearing a beard too? You want to be a woman rabbi, fine. Judaism, for all its wonders, is a highly patriarchal, male-oriented religion. It is 5000 years old and not with the times in terms of women's equality, as all religions are, curiously enough. Judaism has been tweaked by liberal Americans so it can be more inclusive and so that women can be rabbis and cantors and mohels (circumcisers). But what's with the accoutrements? You just reinterpret stuff as you see fit? This is my paradox. I hate religion, but the old fashioned one seems to me more authentic than the newfangled one.

Or the article about micheladas in NY Magazine. With a recipe including a cashew salsa. Next we're going to hear about truffled michelada with a parmesan croute. Please stop getting on my nerve. Here's the simply marvelous original, for those of you who do not need useless adornments.

I wiped out on my bike on Friday. I have noticed that there have been a couple of times in my life where I have put myself in danger precisely by trying to be cautious. Case in point: years ago, Mr. Ex-Enchilada and I (me?) were out and about on a Saturday night in Mexico City. We had a drink at a bar and then about 11 pm we wanted tacos, naturally. Mr. Ex Enchilada suggested we walk to the taquería, about 12 blocks. I, fearing for our safety, insisted upon taking a cab. That's when we were abducted.
(By the way, I finally ate at famous Taquería El Paso on E 97 st. Not as good as the hype claims).

Same with the bike. The roads were slick so I decided to get on a stretch of desolate curb for safety. That's when I wiped out. I was wearing a helmet. In fact, the only part of my body that did not scrape the asphalt was my head (though my cheek did swipe the nasty pavement). So does it pay to be reckless? Or am I just a klutz?