Michael Pollard

The Montecito is a beautiful historic Hollywood apartment building on my street. Michael Pollard used to live there in the 1950’s. Last time I saw him we went to an AA meeting together, a beautiful experience which helped me along with my history of addictions and even more addicted friends.
We protested the never-ending war together last spring.
I’m going to try to call Michael this morning and get him to come rock out at a great show. I want to be sure its ok to write about him too. Always felt how his life would make such a great book. A google book, that is.
Dylan is a friend.
Rauchenberg did a portrait.
Ringo's new album filled the airwaves as I hung out with Pollard, pouring over his art books. Chaim Soutine is a new artist to me. Love him.
Michael walks everywhere like a true New Yorker, and takes the bus out to Malibu, where he gets hemp jewelry and delicious baked goodies.
His house has beautiful ashtrays, maybe twenty or so in the main room.
Perfume is his obsession. His discard perfumes pile up in shopping bags . . . .
Editions of the New York Times and
New York Magazine surround a beautiful green
Couch, which I had the pleasure of stitching up one day.
Bookshelves got knocked off-kilter in an earthquake and have stayed that way.
Dust from
fires in the eighties layer the grandiose cactus. My first thought was, Hey this is like that apartment like I destroyed back in 2002, or ummm . . . . Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
Michael presides over the
11th or 12th floor
After the AA meeting, we sought out
mural of Frank Sinatra
with a
photographer
friend.
We took a scenic tour through Musso and Frank, where everyone knows Michael.
The recognition is fun. People smile and nod.
He showed me the flower shop where he’d get orders for the girls who were mad at him . . .
girlfriends
At Redblatt’s over roast beef, Michael told me of staying at the Chateau Marmont and seeing the scary horror actor, was it Bela Lagosi?
At the park by The Grove
We were sort of
Followed by admiring gents
And at the La Brea Bakery, the staff lovingly lavished attention on Michael, because let’s face it,
He’s about the cutest thing on earth!!!!
One day the fashion.net’s founder graciously took us to the lobby of USC music hall where all of Frank’s awards reside. Michael was so happy. Sinatra was his friend.

I asked Michael did you know Mia Farrow?
He said he dated her, before or after Frank, I forgot.
I asked about Edie Sedgewick.
She
slept on his couch.
He showed me a book of Linda McCartney’s photography with a pic of him in London trying on a coat in a from the Beatles boutique.
I got to go to work now.
Michael would go to my old work and call in “Mary, Mary . . .” and get peeved that I wasn’t there.
I want him to know that I think he’s super amazing.
He even died his hair manicpanic blue at my suggestion.
And he loves Stella McCartney’s design.
I feel super lucky to be his friend.
I saw him the day after the election.
He was walking up La Brea on the way to catch the bus to Malibu.
The euphoric atmosphere was intoxicating.
I asked Michael if he ever gets depressed.
He said, “No. I don’t have time. I’m too busy.”