While I’ve immensely enjoyed it thus far, the ongoing facial hair experiment is quickly hurtling towards a serious decision point. Specifically, in about three weeks, I head off to Hawaii for a brief vacation (life is hard, I know), and unless I de-beard preemptively, I’m likely to return to New York with an inverted beard tan. I’d then be forced to skip shaving until the darkest depths of winter, by which time the entirety of my face would presumably return to the faintly fluorescent pale green skin tone that all trapped-indoors-by-office-work New Yorkers seem to possess.

So, there it is: whip out the Gillette today, or stay bearded for the next six months? I’m at such a complete loss that I’m bucking self-aggrandizement tradition and giving you, fair reader, a chance to comment away with your invaluable guidance. Help, help, help!

Dear vast number of guys who always seem to have razor burn on their necks-

As you surely have already noted, shaving with the grain prevents razor burn – hence shaving down rather than up while shaving your face. But run your finger along your neck and you’ll notice the direction of hair growth changes part way down. That’s right, it changes direction. Your beard hair grows pointing down only above the top of your Adam’s apple; below that, the hair grows upward. Which is why you always have razor burn at that point or lower – all these years, you’ve been shaving your neck against the grain.

So, basically, stop doing that, because those little red bumps make you look like a jackass.

Yours in the Internet,

joshua

Purchase velvet smoking jacket. Wear regularly.

Judging by the competence of those employed, “Jean Louis David” appears to be French for “Supercuts”.

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.