The year was 1991, and Vince McMahon's World Wrestling Federation had successfully pulled off one of the biggest talent acquisitions of all time, signing seven-time National Wrestling Alliance/World Championship Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion "Nature Boy" Ric Flair to a two-year deal. At the time, Flair was considered to be the greatest technical wrestler in the world, and the Yin to WWF mainstay Hulk Hogan's Yang. It was only natural that, after a brief feud with semi-retired "Rowdy" Roddy Piper to introduce him to the WWF audience, Flair would set his sights on WWF Champion Hogan.

Unfortunately, Hogan was wrapped up in a struggle with the hottest newcomer in some time, the dark and mysterious Undertaker, and had to defend his title against the Dead Man at the 1991 Survivor Series. It was a match that made history, as Flair inserted himself into the drama at the late stages and, with the help of a steel chair Tombstone Piledriver, changed the shape of the WWF forever.

Some thoughts on the match:

• It's incredible to watch the evolution of the character of the Undertaker over the years. Here, still a relatively raw talent, the wrestler was more just chokes and slow, plodding offense (with an occasional spectacular flash of athleticism such as the flying clothesline and landing on his feet after tumbling over the top rope). Years later, Taker would incorporate greater humanity, MMA-themed offense, and more into a complete character that routinely put on some of the great matches of his time.
• As part of Taker's character, it was brilliant to pair him with Bill Moody, himself an actual mortician in real life. Moody's bizarre Paul Bearer only added to the mystery, and marked a major improvement over the character's original manager, Brother Love.
• The crowd is mostly silent for the match, but not due to boredom or the slow pace of the bout. Rather, at the time, fans remained in awe of the enigmatic Taker, whose size, look and gimmick were so revolutionary as to be shocking.
• Say what you want about the man and his quest to remain relevant decades later, but there's something just right about hearing Hulk Hogan march to the ring with "Real American" blaring and wearing the winged-eagle WWF Championship belt.
• Although an admitted Ric Flair Fanboy, I take great amusement in his very businesslike approach to interfering in the match. Flair casually walks to the ring, takes a punch from Hogan (note that Hulk initiated the altercation and received his just desserts), holds the steel chair for the Tombstone, and finally just casually walks back to the locker room. His deed was done, and now there was only one man who could claim to be the "real world champ."
• I really miss Gorilla Monsoon and Bobby Heenan on commentary. Monsoon represented the true voice of the fan, a babyface who took no guff and called it like he saw it. In Bobby "the Brain," he also had a perfect foil, a humorous heel ("my monitor went out") who could also sell the drama when necessary and, like Monsoon, focus on the match. Perhaps that's what's most different from today's WWE: Monsoon and Heenan focus exclusively on what is unfolding before them, and don't incessantly reference unrelated angles, lame and forced jokes, or what's trending on Twitter. Instead, the story and wrestlers on screen are allowed to shine.
• Perhaps its my age at the time (I was 15), but its interesting how much more memorable wrestling was back in the day. I remember everything about this match and the over-arching storyline (hence this article) as if it was yesterday. Other than Brock Lesnar bloodying John Cena with a shoot fist to the jaw, I can't recall what even happened two weeks ago on Monday Night Raw nowadays. Every story is disposable and interchangeable, much like the performers therein.

There is little doubt this Wednesday-evening Pay Per View event sent shockwaves through the world of professional wrestling at the time. But the excitement had yet to reach a crescendo. There were houseshows to take place that Thanksgiving Weekend, including one at New York's famous Madison Square Garden. Our storyline will continue...

I was spending my time in the doldrums
I was caught in the cauldron of hate
I felt persecuted and paralyzed
I thought that everything else would just wait
While you are wasting your time on your enemies
Engulfed in a fever of spite
Beyond your tunnel vision reality fades
Like shadows into the night

To martyr yourself to caution
Is not going to help at all
Because there'll be no safety in numbers
When the Right One walks out of the door

Can you see your days blighted by darkness?
Is it true you beat your fists on the floor?
Stuck in a world of isolation
While the ivy grows over the door

So I open my door to my enemies
And I ask could we wipe the slate clean
But they tell me to please go fuck myself
You know you just can't win

Yet, my friends, it did not have to all turn out this way. In fact, much of the malaise that permeates our soulless corporate infrastructure these days is the direct fault of the ignoramuses in charge of these entities. Allow me a moment to highlight two recent examples of utter business stupidity.

Back in the day, I used to subscribe to a number of magazines, including masculine staples GQ and Esquire. The content of these periodicals often proved thought-provoking, and in a worst-case scenario each month at least the "Answer Fella" would trot out a pithy and informative response to a ridiculous inquiry I had never previously considered. Sadly, though, as my bills mounted and my finances dwindled, I was forced to end my years-long relationship with both publications, and discarded the annual renewal cars that usually began appearing two months into a 12-month subscription.

This doesn't mean that the fine folks at Conde Nast and Hearst Magazines accepted my termination of our affiliation, of course. It began with the hard sell, the warning letters, the grave admonitions that my connection to their rich content was in danger of going by the wayside. Then came the (unsolicited) attempts at forcing an automatic renewal, through attempts to debit my various checking and credit accounts; unfortunately for them, money is usually not to be found in those areas, so each request was rebuffed by my financial institutions. Finally, what did they do? Someone of rich genius and rare psychological instinct at each company determined that I really meant to keep my subscriptions going, and that I wanted merely to be billed later. So, both magazines continue to arrive in my mailbox each and every month, without my consent or desire. Considering that I have never once sent them any indication that I wanted to renew -- including never even checking some small box for automatic billing or renewal anywhere -- do they honestly now expect me to pay for all of these issues? I'm not even interested in the content any longer; each new issue winds up immediately in my recycle pile. Good luck cashing in on what you "think" I owe you, gentlemen. I will die before I ever hand you another red cent.

Speaking of collections, I will admit to an occasional call from a bank or other credit institution regarding the delinquency of certain accounts. Here is the thing, though: the banks and collections teams all must employ the same robo-caller mechanism. You know the type: it pre-calls a number on its list of so-called deadbeats, and then once the line is picked up on the other end, transfers you to a human who can then proceed to berate and threaten you in a polite sing-songy manner. Unfortunately, what these systems have not yet figured out is that the transfer process upon answering the phone takes perhaps 15 seconds or more before you wind up connected to a live operator. If I hear that indicative silence on the other end, why in the world do you expect me to stick around and wait for your representative? I say hello, I hear nothing in return, I hang up. The process repeats itself each and every day. Your inefficient system will never reach me, folks. Maybe it's time you ditched that vaunted robo-caller and allowed your staff to dial digits. At least then you would force me to be rude and hang up on an honest-to-goodness person.

So yeah, to reiterate, I have no great love for the huddled, dirty masses occupying a park nobody had ever even heard of in Lower Manhattan beforehand. But those corporations? Man, they are dumb and deserve some mockery for their stupidity as well.

What a shot it was, too. Held at the Mall of America in Minneapolis, Nitro was everything the traditionally Southern, second-place wrestling promotion usually was not: filled with sleek graphics, an incredibly hot crowd, and enough surprises in each segment to allow the viewer no room to change the channel. At long last, Eric Bischoff's vision for a first-class federation -- where money was no longer an issue -- began to take shape.

Kicking off with an incredibly energetic match between Flyin' Brian and Jushin "Thunder" Liger, Nitro also featured Sting and Ric Flair in Match #1,456 of their epic unending series of decent bouts spanning two decades and a very rare WCW World Championship defense by Hulk Hogan. New additions to the WCW roster, including Lex Luger, Sabu, Michael Wallstreet, and Scott "Flash" Norton also made appearances either at ringside or via promo clip.

WCW Monday Nitro would not be an immediate sensation, as early episodes were filled with garbage such as Hulk Hogan's "Pastamania" restaurants and the execrable Alliance to End Hulkamania between the Four Horsemen and the Dungeon of Doom. It wouldn't be until the Memorial Day weekend in 2006, when Scott Hall made his way down to ringside kicking off the historic nWo angle, until WCW would go on to best WWF Monday Night Raw in the ratings for 84 consecutive weeks. Still, the pieces were slowly being put into place.

The scatological material has long been a puzzle for Mozart scholarship, and there have been two main responses. In one view, the scatology was the result of a condition from which Mozart is claimed to have suffered, particularly Tourette syndrome. The other view deals with the scatology by seeking an understanding of the role of scatological humor in Mozart's family, his society, and his times.

Yes, long before 2 Live Crew were "poppin' the coochie" or the Doors wondered if "girl we can't get much higher," Mozart was humoring himself with lyrics such as "lick me in the ass (quickly, quickly)" and this lovely ditty (courtesy of a letter from his mother, Anna Maria, to his father, Leopold:

Addio, ben mio. Keep well, my love.
Into your mouth your arse you'll shove.
I wish you good night, my dear,
But first shit in your bed and make it burst.

Truly, the family and artist for all times.

"Superman where are you now? When everything's gone wrong somehow?"
-- Genesis, Land of Confusion 

They got me.

This week, for the first time in several years, I ventured into a comics shop and walked out new book in hand. The issue in question is Justice League #1, the flagship title in a total reboot of the DC Comics Universe into a brand-new, younger, and sleeker line. Three separate labels -- DC, Vertigo, and Wildstorm -- have merged into one cohesive universe, and even Action Comics and Detective Comics -- the longest-running and consistently numbered titles of the past 70+ years -- have received new #1 issues. Some slightly modified costumes might abound, in addition.

From a logical and/or marketing standpoint, the time was right. As the oldest player in the superhero business, there's little question that DC has developed a very lengthy and convoluted history that might be more than slightly burdensome for a new reader inspired by The Dark Knight or Green Lantern movie franchises to check out the source material. To combat this, an all-encompassing Crisis or two, reinventing the line and introducing a new jumping-on point, is not an unprecedented or unwarranted maneuver. In this particular instance, it is the events of the Flashpoint mini-series that have (permanently?) rewritten the DC timeline.

As a result, the company will launch 52 new titles, all starting with issue #1, released over the course of the next month. Kicking off with Justice League, we see Batman chasing after a cybernetic alien life form, and gaining an unwelcome helping hand from space cop Green Lantern Hal Jordan. A little expository dialogue later, the thrust-together heroes decide to visit the only other alien they know of on the planet -- a guy operating out of Metropolis calling himself "Superman" -- and the resultant confrontation proves less than stellar, as Jordan flies in fists first and gets decked for his hubris.

As a standalone piece, Justice League is filled with over-the-top superhero action rendered in the traditionally spectacular pencils of superstar industry artist Jim Lee. The nighttime and underground settings help to establish the dark and moody tone of our new earth. Author Geoff Johns is tasked with the unenviable challenge of setting everything up in one fell swoop while conversely writing an extended piece for the trade paperback market, and does a decent job. The issue feels full, or at least full enough of events and story to justify the $3.99 price tag, while also toeing the line of not trying too hard to bombard the reader with superfluous backstory and a rush towards conclusion.

So is it a worthwhile start? Time will tell, but the chess pieces are clearly and carefully arranged on the board at the outset, a promising indicator.

Here's the thing, though: in its own way, DC always worked because of how strongly it stood apart from its competition. The heroes of DC are iconic, larger-than-life figures -- Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman -- with rich, storied histories. Unlike the grim and gritty Marvel Universe, the ordinary citizens of DC revere and admire their heroes. The heroes are just that: heroes, doing the right thing no matter the odds and standing for truth, justice, and "all that stuff." These characters are grizzled veterans, and part of a dynamic and colorful family, and their interactions have always carried the weight of that shared experience.

With Justice League, though, one cannot but feel as if teleported from DC into the strange, darker reality of its competition...or, at least, into a dystopian Frank Miller dreamworld. It is odd, even shocking, to see Batman being chased down and shot at by the Gotham Police or to listen in on the first-ever interaction between the Green Lantern and the Dark Knight. It just feels wrong. "Rob Liefeld/Heroes Reborn" wrong. This is not your father's DC Universe.

Then again, isn't that exactly the point?

In a representative democracy, the call to serve should be held up as the nobelest and most humble of endeavors, a chance to stand up for your peers and participate in the grandest democratic experiment in human history.

If you live in Queens, though, you might as well forget it: the two parties want nothing to do with you and your pitiful little quest for higher office. Take the example of one Justin Wax Jacobs, a recent college graduate from my alma mater SUNY Albany.

In just under one week, Jacobs and about 10 of his volunteers had collected more than 1,600 signatures. After being told by the Queens Democrats that there wasn’t time to interview him to determine whether he could be a viable candidate for the party as they instead chose Michael Simanowitz, a former aide to Mayersohn, Jacobs was ecstatic that he might still be able to make a bid for the seat that represents the neighborhood where he has lived nearly his entire life.

Then, however, the city Board of Elections ruled last week that Jacobs’ signatures were invalid because he had not written the number of the Assembly district on top of each page of signatures.

“I followed the New York laws and rules regarding the Independence nomination, and I did everything that the petition form from the Board of Elections said to do,” Jacobs said. “Nowhere on the sample form did it say I had to have the Assembly district number on top of every single page. It’s upsetting.”

New York's election laws have been carefully crafted over the years to disincentivize running for office unless you are the hand-picked chosen candidate of the political bosses, a rich tradition dating back to the days of Boss Tweed and Tamany Hall. In addition, draconian and obscure regulations guarantee the employ a legion of lawyers throughout the five boroughs. It's a perfect symbiotic system that ensures those in power remain right where they are, and that those who benefit from the arrangement continue to do so.

Oh, and what of the Republican candidate in the special election slated for September 13, a mere month away? Dude's Web site is devoid of any information -- even the "press" button is just an e-mail link, and his Twitter and Facebook pages have exactly zero posts between them. 

And you wonder why our state is close behind the nation in impending financial doom.

300+ Foursquare check-in points

10 US Interstate Highways

8 hours today driving home

3 US States

2 casinos

2 boats

2 iPhones (don't ask)

1 epic journey across one of the most picturesque states in the Union

1 trip across the border into our fair neighbor to the north

All in all, one of the greatest and most memorable vacations of my life. Glad to have been a part of it, revisiting old memories and making new ones. Lots more commentary to come, but what really makes for a successful journey cramped in a motor vehicle is, of course, the music. Judging by the set list below, I think my travel mates and I did a pretty steller job of keeping the action lively over a fairly substantial time in such quarters.

RoadTrip 2011 Official Playlist

O, Yeah! Ultimate Aerosmith Hits, Disc 2 -- Aerosmith
Jar of Flies -- Alice in Chains
One Day Remains -- Alter Bridge
Born in the USA -- Bruce Springsteen
7even Year Itch: Collective Soul's Greatest Hits 1994-2001 -- Collective Soul
The Sickness -- Disturbed
The Very Best of the Eagles, Disc 2 -- Eagles
The Colour and the Shape -- Foo Fighters
Greatest Hits -- Guns N' Roses
The Greatest Hits -- INXS
The Best of John Hiatt -- John Hiatt
Remasters, Disc 1 -- Led Zeppelin
Throwing Copper -- Live
Rearviewmirror, Disc 1 -- Pearl Jam
Hit, Disc 1 -- Peter Gabriel
Hits -- Phil Collins
Meddle -- Pink Floyd
The Dark Side of the Moon -- Pink Floyd
Every Breath You Take: The Classics -- Police
Songs for the Deaf -- Queens of the Stone Age
OK Computer -- Radiohead
Californication -- Red Hot Chili Peppers
Greatest Hits -- Richard Marx
Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, Disc 1 -- The Smashing Pumpkins
Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, Disc 2 -- The Smashing Pumpkins
Superunknown -- Soundgarden
Purple -- Stone Temple Pilots
The Joshua Tree -- U2
Weezer (Blue Album) -- Weezer

Obamacare and the Law of Unintended Consequences

As with most government actions, it started with the noblest of intentions: to provide safe, affordable healthcare to every citizen of the United States, leaving no person untreated or left to suffer.

Unfortunately, the early returns for a law that has not even yet fully gone into effect seem to indicate a nasty consequence: area businesses are fraught with uncertainty over just what exactly is contained in the law, and are not hiring new workers as a result, according to an article in the New York Post.

Continue reading on Examiner.com Obamacare and the Law of Unintended Consequences - New York Political Buzz | Examiner.com http://www.examiner.com/political-buzz-in-new-york/obamacare-and-the-law-of-unintended-consequences#ixzz1RH3OO9J5

Will Governor Cuomo Become President Cuomo One Day?

As he slowly but steadily builds a record of accomplishment in the state capitol, rumors are already starting to swirl that New York Governor Andrew Cuomo might--already--be setting himself up as the front-runner for the Democratic nomination for President.

In 2016, that is, since current President Barack Obama will likely be a shoo-in for his party's nomination for re-election in 2012.

Continue reading on Examiner.com Will Governor Cuomo become President Cuomo one day? - New York Political Buzz | Examiner.com http://www.examiner.com/political-buzz-in-new-york/will-governor-cuomo-become-president-cuomo-one-day#ixzz1RH3iPf1C

Here is the ad, and if you know me you might understand why it resonates in such a foul manner in my viscera.

Of course, comments and voting have been disabled on YouTube, so here is an expanded version of what I attempted to express on their site:

Should the governor only fill his cabinet with the destitute? Does being a "millionaire" disqualify you from having empathy or of being worthy to engage in political and government discourse? Does it prevent you from being a hard-working and dedicated public servant? I find it extremely unlikely that the Powers That Be on the Democratic side of the ledger are all paupers themselves. In fact, one would think being surrounded by successful people might instill a little creativity and can-do spirit in the ranks of the bureaucracy.

This is absolutely disgraceful class warfare at it's most shameful. The offerings favored by the left and the New Media Firm will only serve to further enslave the masses and keep them beholden to their chosen leaders. And I bet those leaders will be millionaires, too.