A year or so ago, my kid Bob suggested I go with the Brett Favre stubble look. Not sure why he said that, and I’m not really sure why I tried it, but I did and found I sort of liked it (certainly liked using trimmers instead of a razor).

So off and on, I’ve gone with that look, including for the photo that heads this blog, and including right now, having decided near the end of a clean-cut summer that I was again tired of shaving.

Here’s a self-portrait, taken Tuesday afternoon (if I look sort of dazed and overheated, well, it was late in the day, and it’s always too hot in here):

graybeard

So on Monday I was at Timberhill Athletic Club where I play handball, and in the locker room I ran into Randy Jones, the Corvallis auto dealer.

“Hey Babe,” he said (Randy likes to call people Babe). “What’s with the Miami Vice beard? Just wanted to look at something different for a while? Gee, it’s kind of gray.”

I laughed and said, “well, yeah, I suppose it is.”

I repeated the story to a couple people, and they laughed too. One of them, sensing maybe I didn’t find it all that funny, said “I think you’re worried too much about it.”

I’m not really worried about it, but I do wonder about the wisdom of displaying gray whiskers when I don’t have to, when I don’t have any other gray hair.

Thoughts on this?