Nothing like a good ‘ol Friday the 13th to kick off a long weekend filled with romance and dead presidents. Since we like you guys, we’ve put together a little survival guide if you find yourself in any horror-movie scenarios. Good luck out there.
Really, this one is important.
For dudes, too.
3. SAY NO TO CAMPING.
4. DON’T SPLIT UP.
“Hey Kev, what do you say we split up and meet back at the lake?” Bad Call.
5. DON’T RUN FROM THE KILLER.
6. IF YOU TRIP, GET UP AND RUN.
7. TURN ON THE FRIGGIN’ LIGHT BEFORE YOU ENTER THE ROOM!
9. THIS ONE SHOULD GO WITHOUT SAYING, BUT STAY AWAY FROM THE DUDE IN THE MASK.
Yeah. That one.
10. DON’T ANSWER THE DAMN PHONE, ESPECIALLY IF IT’S A NON-CORDLESS ONE FROM THE 1980s.
Ah, yes. Valentine’s Day: that one holiday that has no particular significance other than if you forget to give your significant other a gift, you’ll be in deep doo-doo.
We all know that gift-giving can be a hard and strenuous task, but try not to make it harder on yourself by getting him or her a bad gift. They do exist, and unfortunately for those of us doomed to an uncreative personality, it’s not always “the thought that counts.”
To help you out, we’ve compiled a short list of the V-day present pitfalls. Avoid gifting these at all costs, and if you receive one of these, it might be time to start setting up that E-Harmony account.
Nothing says “I love you” like giving someone a creature that poops all over the house then stays with this person long after your relationship has ended, kindly serving as a constant reminder of love lost. Style points added for naming the pup then handing “Parker” or “Lucy” or whomever to the lucky recipient.
2. Gym Membership
It probably doesn’t help that you bought them a box of heart-shaped chocolates to go with it.
3. Tattoo of His or Her Name
Right next to the tattoo of
Ashley, and Mary…. And Stacey..
4. Nicolas Cage Pillow Case
“For Valentine’s Day this year, I got you nightmares.”
5. A Little Coat for a Fat Man
It’s just not going to work out.
6. Tom Brady’s Balls
Nothing like a couple of deflated balls to kill the romance.
8. Green Spandex Suit
No explanation necessary… hopefully.
Just for fun, imagine for a second that you gave this present to someone for Valentine’s Day. What would you say when they opened it?
8. Dude Wipes
These probably would not go over well.
Give “attached at the hip” an entirely new–and much more desperate–meaning.
Nothing says, “our sex life sucks” like a pair of snuggies.
11. A Puppy in a Snuggie
When we said this list was in “no particular order”, we lied. Because this is the worst and most disturbing Valentine’s Day gift, ever. Run, don’t walk away from this relationship. And don’t accept the gift.
Greetings fair ladies and fine fellows,
Christmas Day is around the corner. And with it the creeping panic that you’ve neglected to do any or all of your holiday shopping.I normally do not concern myself with sales matters, but allow me to be of assistance to you in this dark hour of yuletide forgetfulness. What follows are a few inspired gift pairings sure to get the nod of approval from your boss, your father-in-law, your brother, or yourself.
Full disclosure: these are curated from my personal collection. Alas, I can only steer you toward the fine attire, the appropriate liquid accompaniments you must attain on your lonesome. But together, they make a very fine package indeed.
Nothing says you care and in no way forgot about Christmas, like a bottle of something from the peaty, smoky, heavenly Islay region paired with a fine Organic Cotton / Cashmere V-neck from Criquet. Perfect for sitting in front of a fire and reading the first few paragraphs of War & Peace, before giving up and watching True Detective again on HBO, like a man. Get it here.
Hang on Noonan, you say — I need a gift for the red-blooded American. In that case, look no further than the luxurious elixir of Michter’s Fine AMERICAN whiskey, neatly balanced by the 100% organic, made-in-the-US of A line of Criquet pique polos. It’s classic, timeless, and if you find yourself tempted to nip a bit from the bottle yourself (patriotic duty, perhaps) then be sure to add in a classic vinyl of American music to supplement it. Get it here.
What’s a “yeoman”, you ask? The dictionary places it somewhere along the lines of a man who works his own land, or an attendant in a noble household. To be honest, I simply like the name. The yeoman is a hard worker. And there are few harder-working things in this world than a classic 100% organic cotton chambray shirt. Not to mention, a stout bottle of the workingman’s Redbreast Irish Whiskey. Get it here.
Now, for our fans in the warmer climes, I offer you the timeless n’ traditional Criquet Players Shirt. Comes in a variety of colors and wears cool, smooth and easy — much like a glass of St. George’s Terroir Gin in your hand (with a little soda water and a half lime, naturally.) Get it here.And if you insist on giving vodka instead of gin, I’m afraid I must insist that you give it with adult footed pajamas instead of Criquet fine apparel. With a few exceptions, vodka has no place in a gentleman’s repertoire — much like a fur coat. You could wear one, but why?
Finally, some fuller disclosure: perhaps I am biased, as it is Criquet who has long allowed me to share my musings on life, liberty, good drink, and the pursuit of the 19th hole. Fair enough. But I think and write what I believe, and it should come as no surprise that I believe there are few finer cloths in which to adorn yourself. Especially when Criquet is offering free expedited shipping. That’s right, I’ll say/write it again:
FREE EXPEDITED SHIPPPING ON ALL ORDERS OVER $125, SO THEY WILL BE THERE BEFORE DECEMBER 25TH.
Now don’t dally, friends. Merry Christmas to all and to all be the ball,
Yuletide greetings my friends,
If we’re to believe the chirpy music that’s been pumped into our earholes since early-October, we are currently in the midst of the most wonderful time of the year.
And nowhere is this forced merriment more apparent/forced than the annual office holiday party.
Yes, ‘tis the season where you’re forced to hang out with your co-workers on a random Friday or Saturday night, because you haven’t spent enough time with them over the past 2,080 working hours of the year (and that’s assuming a normal 40-hour week, my fellow capitalist,…which hasn’t existed since 1955.) So grab some lukewarm cocktail shrimp and a way-too-tiny plate, it’s gonna be a long evening.
Fortunately, the holiday party is the one time of year when the rusty gears of conversation that grind on between office departments can be liberally lubed with the WD-40 of booze. Let’s drink in the Christmas cheer.
Yes, we have the requisite beer and wine. But if your company really goes the extra mile maybe you’ll get any number of holiday themed cocktails. The hot-buttered rum. The hot toddy. And, of course, the punchbowl. Which is really just a silver trough of champagne, brandy, rum and regret.
Let’s not forget the cream king of wintertime. Normally, if you drink butter, eggs and heavy dairy, people look at you a bit strangely. But add the magic of bourbon and more bourbon, and suddenly you have yourself a merry little festivus in a moose-shaped glass.
Now a quick note on temperance my friends. It’s well and good to get jolly, but ‘tis not good to get fired. Watch that 4th cup of punch and mind the mistletoe. You don’t want to end up in a situation where you wake up wearing a dirty Santa suit, bits of stolen smoked salmon nestled in the matted strands of your fake beard, sitting on a bus heading to God knows where. We’ve all seen it happen.
Anyway, the days are short and this screed is going long. My best wishes to you, yours, and all your co-workers. Now let’s all go out and get in the holiday spirits. I recommend the top-shelf, as always.
Be Merry and be the Ball,
I apologize for my lack of communication. In the waning weeks of October, I shouldered my golf bag, plunked down the twilight fees and raged (often) against the dying of the light. Alas, the time change was inevitable and I find myself after-work nine holes thwarted by 5pm darkness.
No matter. Fall now hangs thick in the air. As does the mustaches that hang above the respective upper lips of my friends and coworkers. I speak, of course, of the masculine tradition of Movember. Ah, Movember. A celebration of Selleckian proportions, a Reynoldsyian regalia, a Bronsonesque bacchanal, this — okay, I could continue on this for a while.
Now, some of you may recall my fondness for the full beard, and I do not stray from my staunch position that a man’s face plumage in ultimate display is a glorious one indeed. And while I’ve long maintained that sideburns are like two sad tombstones to what might have been, the mustache is a bold foray into the arena of facial follicles. It makes a powerful statement, and that is: cancer sucks and must be defeated at all costs.
Yes, allow me to cut to the quick. Cancer sucks. And, indirectly or directly, it affects many of us. The fact that there’s a month where us gents can put aside our differences in football allegiances, single malt regions, and enforcement of USGA rules — and actually work together to raise money for men’s health issues — is nothing short of kick ass.
To whit, let’s keep the lip toupee going for another month. The first five lads to reach us on the socials at the end of December, with picture proof that they’ve kept the nostril curtains for an extra month, gets some free Criquet gear, our respect, and a $100 donation from us (in their name) to cancer research.
In closing, I’d like to point out two things.
1) Seriously. Free Criquet shirts and a $100 donation on your behalf to cancer research. Send us a pic on the socials on November 30 and another one on December 31st (or January 1st-ish — we know how it goes on New Years) with #movemberindecember. Not only is it more money going toward cancer’s demise, it’s the perfect excuse to give the womenfolk when they demand to know why you’re still going Groucho.
2) This might be the first post ever to feature a triple Elliott, a momentous feat rarely achieved by the clean-shaven set. And while it won’t break the Internet, it’s a helluva lot cooler than Kim Kardashian’s posterior. (Seriously, she’s out of ways to get attention — her next stunt will have to be something like eating her own offspring.)
Sigh. It drains my life force to have even typed the word “Kardashian.” Perhaps a head-clearing out on the course is in order. Along with a flask of Glenlivet Nádurra — it is a bit brisk out there. I’ll see you on 19.
Be the ball,
P.S. Hell with it. An extra $200 donation for the first person who goes full Connery too.
We braved the elements, the lines, and even the port-a-pottys and survived the first weekend of ACL. As thousands more pour into Austin for weekend number two, bringing their patchouli with them, we’re prepared to help you get the most out of your wristband.
Tip 1: Go see Outkast.
Right now, stop reading and just GO SEE THEM. Some of the greatest love stories of the last decade began when a man met a woman on the dance floor while shaking it like a Polaroid picture. Plus, Big Boi and Mr. 3000 don’t always get along, so check them out this weekend before they decide playing music for people in exchange for a lot of money isn’t something they want to do anymore. Fair warning: there’s about a 97% chance of a contact high, so buy munchies ahead of time.
Tip 2: Follow the hipsters.
Fool-proof system for identifying legit up and coming bands: follow the hipsters. Soon, they will stop liking this band because they’re “too mainstream,” and that’s fine, it just means there’s plenty of room for you on the bandwagon. So, if you see a mass of dudes in sock hats crowding around a stage, stop and give the band a couple of songs to win you over.
Tip 3: Don’t sneak in booze.
You’re an adult. Adults buy their drinks. Yes, these drinks are overpriced, but you know what else is overpriced? Paying 300 bucks for a wristband and getting kicked out before you hear any music because they discovered that—no—you weren’t happy to see them, that was just some whiskey in your pocket. Plus this year you can’t bring in coolers, which means you have no mixers. So instead of paying four bucks for a water to mix with your snuck-in sweet tea vodka, just pay six for a beer.
Final Tip: Definitely bring an inflatable ball, it’s a given.
Those are our tips, but there’s only one rule to enjoying ACL: get after it. See as many bands as you can and go nuts with your friends, but avoid stranger danger and their hallucinogens.
Here’s to back-to-back weekends of bands, drinks, and fun you may not remember. Giddyup.
There are a few reasons why we love the Ryder Cup so much. Not only does it mark the beginning of Fall golf season, but it is also a beacon of higher fashion and fan-dom. You’ve seen the best and worst outfits of the golfers, but have you seen what’s on the other side of that string fence? We think not.
These people may not be playing any golf, but they ARE playing the game of life, and winning. Here are some of the best-dressed Ryder Cup attendees.
What’s Miguel Jimenez doing in the stands at the 2010 Ryder Cup? Find out here: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1319177/Cigar-guy-revealed-Global-phenomenon-Rupesh-Shingadia.html
To thine own selfie be true.” – said Shakespeare, never.
In the off hours from my worthy summertime pursuits of golf, barbeque, and ice-cold gin rickeys, I began to notice a disturbing trend take shape in the Social Medias (y’know, the place we go to stalk the people we haven’t spoken to in five years). “Welcome to 2009, Noonan”, I hear you saying. And yes, granted, the selfie is not necessarily a new phenomenon, I just don’t remember them being so brazenly ever-present.
Whereas once the selfie was the occasional and understandable “Hey, here I am in Mongolia in front of the orphanage I just built!“ or “Is it normal for a unicorn horn to be growing from my forehead?”, it has now turned into “Hey! here’s me doing something that 99% of you could give a rat’s patoot about, and I’m forcing you to look at me—AND YOU SHALL LOOK AT ME, DAMMIT!” The frozen smile, the vapid searching eyes, and the expression that says “if this doesn’t get at least 10 likes my life will be meaningless.”
A few weeks ago it was announced, that Kim Kardashian is releasing a book of selfies in the spring of 2015 (mark your calendars not to get it!). It’s not so much a book, per se, as it is a collection of pictures Kim Kardashian took of herself. Which means it’s not so much a collection of pictures she took of her herself, per se, as it the marker for how far we’ve fallen as a civilization. She may hold the distinct honor of being the official signpost for when humanity went over the cliff.
Then there was the recent iCloud caper in which thousands of celebrity photos were leaked online for the leering enjoyment of America’s youth and creepy divorcées. Aside from the gross invasion of privacy, it brought to light another take on the selfie: the nude selfie. Apparently this is a thing with a lot of people. A LOT of people. This just further confirms my suspicion that most of life is like one big Eyes Wide Shut party to which yours truly was not invited.
What do we do in this new world where everyone clamors for a ‘like’, an LOL, or the comment equivalent of “Hey, I see you seeing yourself!” as a validation of one’s existence? Perhaps my own selfie will yield some sort of clarity…
Hmm. Nah. I’m heading back out to the course. I’ll see you on the 19th. Until then, as always,
Be the Ball,