Boogie avec le Marquis le Marquis’ Intimate Diary

SUNDAY, 31 DECEMBER, 2000, NEW ORLEANS
Hi. I have RAINBOW-Head!

And goshdurnit, wouldn’tja know, but my digital camera has one foot in the grave. It slips in and out of its comas. This week (bleached hair, Winifred in town, New Years in NOLA) it’s decided to not work.

The best visual approximation I can make to the colour of my hair at the moment is the declension of hues above.

Or — (since pets resemble their owners, or vice versa) — I might say I look like my cat now. (And just as grumpy because I seem to have come down with a rather debilitating cold. What fun.)

I’m in the process of dying my hair midnight blue, and such a specific colour would never show over my erstwhile dark burgundy auburn purple pink rat’s nest. Thus did the fair Patti and the deft Winifred spend an hour yesterday brushing peroxide onto my burning scalp (while the dulcet tones of Liz Taylor brayed from the television in “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”). I bought two bleach kits, because my hair is about 2 1/2 feet long.

That wasn’t enough. Got most everything except the back done.

Could have used about three more.

Let’s take a stroll down the grocery aisle as I pick out objects that could best describe…

We start with icy, platinum roots, blending quickly into Popcorn-yellow on the 2 inches of previously undyed roots. The old dye is more tenacious, and suddenly we go from Popcorn to Carrot, bleeding geologically through time into Pumpkin and finally landing on Beet at the split tips.

I am a garden of earthly delights, I tell ya.

It’s absolutely ridiculous. I’m going to keep it for a couple of days before I put the blue in.

Here are some things people have said to me.

  • “You look like Bill Pullman in ‘Ruthless People’. ‘I’M ROBBING YOU!’”
  • “Oh my gawd! Are you insane?”
  • “You look like a coke dealer for the music industry.”
  • “Hi, blondie.”
  • (Various shocked looks and titters into hands.)
  • “Can I see some ID please?” “Umm, Benji, it’s me, the Marquis.” “!!!!!”
  • “Is that natural?” “Yes, of course.”
I love to play. And anyway, if it turns out totally fucked up, I was gonna chop it all off soon, regardless.

Dang, wish I could have just one picture though.

Fucking technology.

Happy New Year, y’all. And Happy Hangover tomorrow. May you all emerge from your various debauches a little sadder, a little wiser, and a whole buncha funky.

Oh, and if you feel like shit tomorrow, I got two words for ya: Milk Thistle. Uh-huh.

Visit the Marquis’ Crush o’ the Week. (I could be arrested for this one.)

NEW FEATURE! “DJ, SAVE my life!” Wanna feel like a Marquis? Download the music he’s listening to. But do it quickly. This mp3 will be erased at my next diary entry because I’m stealing bandwidth. (If you missed one in the past, email me — we’ll work something out.) TODAY: The Stooges, “Now I Wanna Be Your Dog” (2.8 MB), dedicated to the boy who dances the best, and whom I haven’t seen at my nightclub in four weeks, god damn him.