On Friday night, Charlie Sheen "performed" in NYC and hosted an after-party at Dragonfly, a club located in a sleepy town in NJ called Carlstadt.. Of course, being that it's only ten minutes away from my place, I attended, accompanied by my friend Rob, who was lucky to get a VIP ticket an associate of mine was unable to use. And let me tell you, I was a bit surprised by the evening.

First off, the majority of attendees were middle aged people, which threw me for a loop, for I, alongside the venue workers apparently, would've expected a younger crowd. But what do I know? Upon arriving, all attendees were forced to use Valet parking. What sucked was that no notice about Valet parking was given beforehand, but, whatever. The VIP tickets my friend and I possessed got us access to a heated party tent. You read that correctly - VIP was a party tent. Yeah! Drink selection was ehh.… We weren't able to get table service (because they ended up giving all the tables to celebs). I was a bit disappointed that my request for Belvedere was initially snubbed (they were pushing Grey Goose), but, miraculously, they found a bottle of my preferred vodka treat. We were also treated to a shot of Patron Coffee, which made a fan out of me.

Wandering around the tent, checking out the sights, I noticed a mechanical bull. I was very excited about this, especially with my fondness of riding them, but then refused the opportunity to ride due to wearing a skirt. I then noticed that the Batmobile pulled up to the side of the venue. Of course, no one was going to force the owner to Valet park that vintage relic, so he was safe. I wanted to take a photo with the car of my dreams, but, alas, I was informed by security that if I jumped the gate, I was out. So, no photos with the Batmobile for poor little me....

As time passed, more NJ-based celebs showed up representing Jersey Shore, Real Housewives of New Jersey, Cake Boss. They were piling in (and the ladies were getting a bit annoyed at having their red bottoms sinking into the grounds - again the VIP area was in a party tent). As they were arriving, we were drinking and holding our spots in front of the VIP table area reserved for the entity known as "The Warlock", who, as we heard from many sources, BOMBED at Radio City Music Hall.. Of course, the big question was "What was he doing during this show?" Sad thing is, NO ONE could give a direct answer. No one could also give a direct answer to "Why did you buy tickets to this man's show, knowing NOTHING about what he was going to do? I guess it all comes down to the things people do in blind faith that their heroes will pull through.

As I was standing around, preparing myself to getting the money shot that I needed for this article, I noticed that a lot of people in attendance (particularly men) were armed with Charlie Sheen-themed items (t-shirts, posters) with intention to getting them signed. One man, Tom, a middle-aged investment banker who drove from CT, dressed in khakis, button down shirt, tie and a t-shirt overtop with Charlie Sheen's battle cry "Duh, Winning" blazed across the chest, proclaimed Charlie Sheen as a "hero of his time.”I tried not to judge him much (I did throw him a side-eye, I admit), especially since he ended up buying me and my friend a jello shot and Belvedere-cran drinks and held our spaces while we went to use the port-o-potty. But it does makes you wonder about the mentality of those that peg a unstable, unemployed man that abuses drugs and women as a hero.

When Tom's "hero" finally arrived (and may I note, he arrived at 1:20 am, 40 minutes prior to the club closing), a big disappointment came onto him and those that waited so long to glaze their eyes onto him (and those of us that just wanted to get a good shot of him before running home to their warm beds. (Again, this all took placed in a damn party tent in 38 degree temps, next to the waterfront.) Among a wall of bouncers, that had intent of blocking the view of those that paid their money to catch a sight of the man of the hour, Charlie Sheen scurried into a VIP table tent, without giving his attendees even a hand gesture. A number of the photographers were asking each other "Did you get him?" as whining from his fans were heard loud and clear.

After realizing that I wasn't getting a better shot and that Charlie Sheen wasn't coming out anytime soon (I was told I was wrong later on, that he did come out and say a few words to the crowd, including bashing the crowd that attended the Radio City Music Hall "gig"). I decided to cut my losses and headed on over to the Valet parking in hopes of avoiding the big rush. Which ended up being a good thing, for things started getting hairy as soon as I handed my claim ticket to the valet. It turns out that when the town of Carlstadt found out about the party taking place, they tried all that they could to stop the party due to Sheen's reputation. When that didn't work, they decided to ensure that nothing bad happened. The police department, which normally has at least three cops on overnight duty, bumped it up to ten. They also involved the local towns surrounding the area and stationed cops at all major roadways, creating checkpoints. Pretty much, if you were drinking and caught behind the wheel, you were going to jail or worse. And well, if you were Charlie Sheen, you were going to be made an example for the newspapers. But then again, he's used to that, no?

Obits rolled into Cleveland on a Thursday night just in time for a late-Winter blizzard. I felt a little bad for the guys, they aren’t kids anymore after all. Kicking off your tour in Cleveland to a weather-thinned crowd after spending 8 hours in a treacherous van ride might not get a bunch of possibly jaded grown-ass men fired up to rock. I was a little worried about how things were going to pan out.

Sub Pop band Jaill played before Obits. My hipster guard was up because the singer had a mustache and pastel T-shirt with cats or some such on it. They reminded me of new-wavish “college bands” from the 80s whose members often sported Sally Jesse Raphael-style glasses. I guess the Embarrassment would be an example of this. Anyhow, it was well-executed geeky fun.

It was pretty late when Obits started setting up, maybe 11:30. The smallish conglomeration of oldsters, who no doubt held memories of the noise-rock glories of Drive Like Jehu, and younger folks, who maybe viewed Hot Snakes as a formative influence, shuffled to the stage. After shaking off the rust with an opener, the small crowd broke the ice by good-naturedly heckling the band with absurd song requests. Instead of poisoning the mood, this seemed to relax them and they improvised a set list with help from the boozy audience members.

After playing “Widow of My Dreams” from their debut I Blame You it was clear to everyone that Obits were indeed there to rock, people were looking around at each other shaking their heads and smiling as if to say, “now that’s the shit.” The atmosphere seemed to fit Obits’ garagey, no-nonsense rock aesthetic; things were loose and fun, like a house show with a really freaking good band.

The guitars of Froberg and Sohrab Habibion (of Edsel “fame”) sounded great with the clean channels cranked way up and the reverb spread on thick. Their dueling lines explored surf, blues, early rock, spy-music (is there such a genre?), and even new wave territory -- basically, everything that’s cool about rock guitars that doesn’t require Marshall stacks and loads of distortion.

Other than the guitars, Froberg’s vocals are central to Obits’ sound. The guy has a voice that cuts right through the thickest wall of guitar noise without becoming tuneless or losing inflection. Drummer Scott Gursky and bassist Scott Simpson play the cool foils to the guitars and vocals, with a restrained approach that gives everything room to breathe while authoritatively holding things down.

They played most of the tracks from I Blame You, with highlights (aside from the aforementioned “Widow of My Dreams”) being “Pine On,” a double-time version of “Fake Kinkade” they called “Fast Kinkade” and “Lillies in the Street.” They didn’t do “Two Headed Coin” for some reason, Froberg muttered something about it being an “albatross.” Too bad, it’s an excellent rock n’ roll song.

The set included several songs from Obits’ new album, Moody, Standard and Poor, which at the time of the show had yet to be released (although copies on CD and vinyl were available at the merch table). These songs seemed a bit darker and carried more tension than the largely garage-rock rave ups of the debut. “Shift Operator” was a standout from the new album with its methodical pace, distorted bass undercurrent and sinewy traded guitar lines. “You Gotta Lose” was another new track that left an impression, it starts out with an uptempo staccato riff and careens along into a chorus that begs for you to howl along.

They wrapped up a multi-song encore with the rowdy “Talking to The Dog” and I headed out to clear the snow off my car and skid home with no regrets for having braved the weather.

Halloween ... New Years Eve ... what do both of these holidays have in common with lil ol’ me???

I often celebrate them by seeing The Butthole Surfers play on stage.

(FYI, Halloween: 2009 at Stubbs in Austin, TX and 2010 at Scoots Inn in Austin, TX; NYE: 2008 at The Fillmore in San Francisco, CA and 2010 at the Williamsburg Music Hall in Brooklyn, NY.)

Little fact per Anal Obsession, a website dedicated to documenting Texas’ best band (http://www.jasonramke.com/bhs): The Butthole Surfers has done nine NYE shows to date. I've attended two, so far….

For me, NYE is a huge event. In my adult life, I've celebrated this event in a wide range of locales - from the typical stay-at-home celebration to the uber-exclusive (a penthouse overlooking Times Square) to the simply off-the-wall (a warehouse costume party). But, I have to admit, the New Years Eves I recall most fondly were the ones where I was fortunate to catch Los Buttholes.

This year was no different. After hearing unconfirmed rumors of there being a New Years Eve show in my backyard, I made plans to be available to not only see the band play, but to also play host to any one of my friends attending from out of town. In this case, my good friend and his girlfriend from the great state of Texas (birth state of The Butthole Surfers) took me up on that offer. When confirmation was given about the show (in this case two shows), tickets were purchased for the New Years Eve show for the three of us, and plans hatched for a "Girls Night Out" the date of the pre-NYE show (while the good friend attended the proceedings), and overall life was going to be peachy!

But then, a Boxing Day snowstorm hit, pummeling the NY/NJ/CT area with up to two and a half feet of snow forcing major roadways, airports and other forms of transportation to close (in some cases, hundreds of people were stranded at major hubs, or, in some NYers’ case, stuck in a subway car or worse for 7+ hours before being rescued!). At the airports this was on top of cancellations due to the snowstorms in EU, which forced the airport closures and the backlog of trans-Atlantic flights.

Frontman Gibby Haynes now resides in Brooklyn but fear of the other Surfers being unable to make their 2-day engagement due to the airport closures and catching up on flights were running rampage. On the Butthole Surfers forum, one Forumite questioned, in a thread announcing the roll call of various members attending the shows, if the band were going to be able to make the show. But, rest assured, as I noticed the concert venue empty out onto the streets later New Year’s Eve eve, from the vantage point of a quaint bar next door, I saw the smiles on the faces of the concert goers, and the answer was clear - YES, the Butthole Surfers were in town. “Yes,” I said to myself, tomorrow night is going to be EPIC!

New Years Eve came around, and I, dressed in an outfit containing so much glitter that one could follow a trail to my home, headed back to the same location I was at previous night, only this time to attend the show. Parking, of course, was a bit chaotic with the record amount of snow still covering the streets of Brooklyn. Finding parking was a test of creativity and feat. Upon arrival at the Williamsburg Music Hall, I saw one of my favorite members of the band, Mr. Paul Leary, fresh from a food run, outside the venue dressed in his winter finest. I was clearly impressed with his selection of hat and coat for one would assume that those in Austin wouldn't have to worry about even owning a winter wardrobe, but I was clearly wrong on that assumption! After a few words, he went into the venue to prepare for the evening and I lingered outside catching up with members from the infamous Butthole Surfer forum.

As I entered into the club, I was greeted by a who's who of individuals representing the various underground art, music and alt-model scenes of New York. We exchanged well-wishes for the New Year and a knowing smile that tonight's show was going to be something. NYE party favors were handed out by the venue staff, champagne was a-popping and served, and the atmosphere was full of electricity. As I looked overhead, I noticed a large net full of white balloons, assuming this was going to be part of a grand scheme of fun concocted by the band for later. :)

Around 11:15 pm, The Butthole Surfers hit the stage with the song ‘Sweat Loaf’ – guitarist Paul Leary and bassist Jeff Pinkus both high-kicking; King Coffey pounding away on his drumkit, sounding as if it was he and Teresa Taylor playing instead of just him; and Gibby Haynes ringleading: vocalizing and observing the chaos taking place in the mosh pit before him. Throughout the show, Gibby kept up a running commentary - from his observation about the crowd ("alot of good looking people") to his new life as a father ("Koala Bear Care - the changing table located at many bathrooms for parents needing to change their young ones - had Braille instructions."). During ‘Pittsburg to Lebanon’, Gibby shoved balloons up his shirt, even taking one giant balloon and placing it over his head.

Unexpectedly the key song for me was ‘Weber’ where Gibby stood back and observed the instrumental bouillabaisse being concocted between Paul Leary, King Coffey and Jeff Pinkus in extending a song (from the 1987 album Locust Abortion Technician) that is 35 seconds on vinyl to a good 2+ minutes.. The symphony these three men played during those precious minutes was something to experience, and that would change your appreciation for that particular song forever, IMHO.

Midnight came around with Gibby Haynes leading the countdown to the New Year. Balloons were dropped and people were kissing their loved ones or grabbing balloons to pop as ‘Dust Devil’ ushered in 2011. The video shenanigans playing in the band’s background displayed a variety of images from the grotesque and bloody to the outlandish (NY local legend Amanda LePore video footage was featured prominently during the hybrid performance of ‘Lady Sniff’/’Pepper’ and mixed in throughout the rest of the show). By the end of the show, all of my senses were tickled and teased. New Years Eve - a HUGE HIT thanks to The Butthole Surfers!