Beard-growing is still going strong, and I’m finally edging away from the “like, zoinks, Scoob” phase of Shaggy-style scruffy stubble, on towards actual beardedness. Excellent, albeit itchy, progress.

I decided yesterday morning that now might be a good time to grow a beard. Struck by curiosity (and, frankly, laziness) I decided to skip shaving, and did so again today. By now, I’ve accumulated just enough stubble to look vaguely haggard, and to determine that my beard becomes redder with each passing year (a genetic gift from an apparently red-bearded great-grandfather). The plan is to keep it up until (as happened the last time I attempted this exercise, on approximately the fifth day) most of the women I know tell me to drop everything, head to the bathroom, and shave immediately.

Fossil and Palm team up to put the venerable Casio calculator watch to shame.

Thanks, but I’m sticking to my standard James Bond.

One note regarding the otherwise excellent previously mentioned 92nd St. concert: men’s concert dress for the group is a blue suit (with white shirt and colored tie). In my rush to change between quintet rehearsal and the concert, I managed to somehow put on the pants from a pin-striped suit with the jacket from a solid suit. Though (hopefully) not apparent from the audience perspective, the combination certainly drew a fair number of comments from the rest of the brass section.

Today’s wardrobe: pinstripe suit, striped shirt, rep (diagonally striped) tie. That’s right, triple stripage.

I’ve been doing this intermittently, venturing into the dangerous three-pattern mixing zone. According to Lisa Cunningham, board member of the Association of Image Consultants International, “it takes talent, great skill, and confidence to pull this off. But it makes a very strong, very fashion-forward statement.”

And, amazingly, I’m pretty sure my three stripe approach is actually working. I’ve pulled a few compliments and have yet to hear anyone snickering loudly as I pass. Next time, I’ll be kicking it up a notch by wearing striped boxers as well.

Bought a new blazer – three button, double vented, super 120. Horn buttons rather than “ahoy there, I’m a sea cap’n!” gold. The most recent step in my grand wardrobe overhaul. If I’m going to be a young tech/media mogul, I’d damn better dress the part.

I had kickboxing this morning and, per usual, brought work clothes along in a bag. Also as per usual, I forgot my shoes. Actually, it isn’t always shoes – more often, I’ve left out a tie or belt, or I’m one sock short. The root of the problem, essentially, is that I pack my work clothes earlier the same morning, and I have about five minutes from the buzzer to dress, pack and make it out the door. Sure, I could load up the bag the evening before, or even set my alarm clock five minutes earlier for a more leisurely pace. But the night before each training session, I’m convinced there’s no need; this will be the one where I finally remember everything.

None the less, I therefore was forced to wear sneakers to work. Nike cross-trainers, largely used indoors, and still fairly new. In short, fluorescent. There are few things that look worse than a guy in a suit wearing sneakers, except, perhaps, a guy in a suit wearing brilliantly white sneakers. And, of course, I had picked this very morning to schedule a number of important meetings and a business lunch. Helpful tip: Wearing sneakers with your suit into pricey Japanese restaurants is a surefire way to get hidden away in a back room at the really bad tables.

The venerable Wall St. Journal reports on men wearing pantyhose (not cross-dressers, just guys who appreciate the warmth or support that stockings provide) prompting several readers to comment on the Journal’s sinking story standards. Of course, the Journal’s story standards have been sinking for a while – about two years ago, I was the first person to be quoted on their pages using the phrase “wet their pants.” My mother was so proud.

A man’s appearance speaks volumes – his hair particularly so (observe Brad Pitt’s transition from crazy pansy in 12 Monkeys to crazy badass in Fight Club). Thus the importance of Howard Spent’s Interactive Semiotics of Hair. What is your hair saying?