The Mike and Aric Creation Myth

This is the story of Mike and Aric and how we met and eventually married. I call this a myth because in many ways it reads that way, and of course from hindsight things are always less messy than the reality that fed the memories. That and my timeline memory is really bad, so some of these things may be out of order, but don't really affect that much. 

"How bleak was my puberty" seems the right place to start. Yes, Auntie Mame, it was indeed bleak.

 

Mike wire wrapping to the amusement of the EE's

In the mid 80's Aric and I had both settled into our respective long term relationships. I was working 100 hour weeks after creating a startup to build a state of the art laser printer controller and had recently moved in with my boyfriend Todd and a while later into the condo I bought on a lake in Orange County. Despite the hours, we still managed to socialize in Laguna Beach and go camping a lot with my folks driving up to the backside of the Sierra Nevada for weekend trips (this was several hundred miles, so it was a little bit crazy), and ski and sail enough to prevent me from going completely crazy with my work hours. I look back and wonder how this all worked timewise, but somehow it did. So I'm safely ensconced my in suburban paradise, a happy little worker bee really getting my career and life together at the ripe age of 25, and not terribly affected by the scourge that is ravishing gay ghettos across the world.

 

Aric. I kid you not, I've seen this happen unwillingly

Aric on the other hand had just turned 21 and ended up in the Castro in 1986. This was when the shit was seriously hitting the fan with the AIDS crisis. He had met his boyfriend Gary who had pretty much saved him from a really sketchy situation down the peninsula in Redwood City where he grew up, and they ended moving right on Castro street just above 19th. The house they lived in was an old Victorian but would go on to be an infamous sex club in the 90's called the Black House. The running joke was what else could it be other than a whore house after Aric lived there.

Aric worked retail at the old Emporium downtown and had a very big circle of friends where they'd all socialize and carouse at the bars right down the street in the Castro. His boyfriend was much more reclusive and pretty much resented them. The feeling was mutual with his friends. His best friend Bruce was Gary's chief detractor, but Aric wouldn't budge. Bruce was Aric's gay mentor and the two of them were inseparable having lunch, sitting drinking at the old Bear bar, and jabbering for hours on end. They were only ever friends because both of them were totally not each other's type. Since this was 80's and the Castro, the obvious happened and one by one all of his friends died. At the time Aric also found out he was positive and just like everybody else figured that he too would be dead soon. So he had no plans for the future because there was no future. In late 1993 the final straw happened: Bruce died. Bruce dying finally brought clarity and he left Gary soon after, running back down the Peninsula to live with his friend David, who is now his only surviving friend from those days.

 

Mike at the lake condo in Orange County

I on the other hand was busy doing my part of building the internet out in the burbs. But by 1993, all of those hours were taking their toll on me, and my business partner and I were constantly bickering mainly about stupid shit. I was a no-nonsense kind of person, but my business partner was really concerned about appearances which annoyed me since it seemed like a waste of time. In retrospect, I love appearances too so I'm not really sure why I had such a stick up my butt about it. Suffice it to say, our business relationship was souring. On the home front I was starting to have doubts about my relationship with Todd too. Nothing really serious, but it was just sort of meh. I wasn't working as many hours at this point since we had employees to share the burden, so maybe I was just seeing what our relationship was with something approaching a normal life, and wasn't so sure.

So as things were crumbling on both fronts, I did something completely uncharacteristic. I walked out of my office without saying anything, went home and packed up some clothes and left. I wasn't entirely sure where I was going at first, but ultimately decided to go to San Francisco as I had been reading Tales of the City.  I told nobody. I had been to San Francisco several times, but really didn't know much about it. So I stayed at a B&B I had heard about on my gay Usenet newsgroup (soc.motss) which was located at Church and 14th called the Willows which is pretty close to the Castro proper. It was magical. The entire thing. Hanging out at bars and having a good time, accidentally finding gay a cruising ground by the windmills in Golden Gate Park, everything felt just right. The city was still reeling from the AIDS epidemic, but still life went on. I decided pretty much then that I wanted to move to the City.

 

The Fabulous view of Downtown from the Center of the Universe

After a year of anguish, recrimination, and stress of figuring out how to extricate myself from my company, Todd and I moved to San Francisco. I had found our place at 606 Sanchez which is at the top of the Sanchez stairs at 19th street. I was in awe. An unobstructed 180 degree view from Twin Peaks to Berkeley and all of the Castro, Civic Center and downtown in full view. It was magic. I had made many new friends from my gay newsgroup soc.motss, so I had sort of a built in set of friends from the very beginning, as well as immediately starting to make new friends while out and about. I have always been rather social in my shy-wild kind of way, loving to cook etc, but Sanchez -- or as it became known soon after as the Center of the Universe (CotU) -- was a hub of dinner parties and merry making. All of this change had taken a toll on Todd though and we were rapidly drifting apart given our new found freedom. Since I was a founder of my company, I was bought out and living a hedonistic care free life. But it was getting more and more obvious that Todd and I were done. I was getting more and more flagrant even taking a boy to NYC that I had a crush on and saw Angels in America/Millennium Approaches on Broadway and was utterly blown away.

Angels in America really resonated with me at the time because a really good friend from soc.motss named Howard was sick and getting worse. He lived in LA where we first met, but he'd occasionally visit San Francisco because he loved it, and especially North Beach. Howard was the first person -- believe it or not -- that I knew close up seeing what having AIDS was like. I put a brave face on it when he asked me to help infuse him while he was staying in North Beach. Howard was one of the smartest people I've ever met, and I have met many many smart people in my life. He knew everything about food, wine, how the perfect Grand Marnier Soufflé that was to be had was at Cafe Jacqueline on Columbus and that such a soufflé could only be accompanied by a proper Veuve Cliquot. He would rant endlessly about the war that would be coming if the crazies took away his veal and foie gras. Howard lived greedily and lustily in the moment because that was all he had. We bought up wine at the Wine House and at Kermit Lynch in Berkeley, shopped at Rockridge Market for goodies for a dinner I cooked. His attitude was contagious.

 

Aric and Mike shortly after we met

One night in July with my growing freedom, I decided to get high on ecstasy and go down to the bars. I was of course horny because, you know, ecstasy and ended up at the Badlands which was sort of a Levi bar with stiff drinks and boys with low morals. I was there for a little while getting a little buzzed when I noticed this cute boy up in the front of the bar just standing there and sort of...snarling? Definitely not saying "I'm approachable!". An Ice Queen. He was definitely just my type though -- a total pretty boy -- so I cruised him for at least 5 minutes. He never acknowledged that I even existed let alone gave any body language. But I was high and horny so I trotted out my best pick up line and asked "Can I get you a drink?". He looked me up and down, and then smiled and said "Sure!". 

We had another cocktail or so, danced a little and then went back to the Center of the Universe. We had sex three times that night. The next day was like WOAH what the fuck was that!? I didn't find out until later that the reason he was so cold was because his ex had rejected him sex and he was pissed off. He didn't find out until later that I was high as a kite. But it was clear that there was chemistry right from the very beginning. Big time. Our first proper date I took him to a place called Abacque. I told him it was upscale Mexican which he was happy with. When we got there he found out that it wasn't your typical chips, salsa, and margarita joint. It had deconstructed enchiladas and other scary things. Aric was a picky eater. A very picky eater. This could very well be a deal breaker since I really have no patience for pickiness. He survived the date, barely, and we still kept seeing each other.

Around this time Howard was back in town. Aric had told me that he was poz, and I took it in stride. To be honest though I was a little weirded out but I really liked him so I was probably mostly thinking with my dick. His numbers were not good though as he had been on every new med there was. Serially. Leaving him resistant to each one. Howard was all enthusiastic about visiting this fabulous restaurant in Polk Gulch called La Folie. It was the first time Aric had met Howard, and Howard was going on and on about how fabulous the quail stuffed with foie gras and huckleberry reduction was. So Aric timidly ordered it, afraid to show his ignorance but was caught up in Howard's enthusiasm. He ate it and liked it, and eventually leaned in and whispered what was foie gras? Duck liver, I said. He practically turned white, but then decided he liked it so what the heck. It was truly an epiphany for him.

 

Rod, Howard, Mike and Ted at the HAF Bash

 

I threw a big party for Howard called the HAF Bash (Howard Arthur Faye). There were probably at least 50 people there and I cooked for everybody, new friends, net friends, foodies of all stripes while Howard held court. It was the first really big party that Aric had with me and probably the biggest one I had thrown since moving to the City. Aric and I were really starting to get close by then but Aric was secretly worried that it wouldn't last because it couldn't last; that I'd dump him when I came to my senses. On the back patio Aric poured his heart out to Howard boo-hooing about how he was sure I would get rid of him. Howard reassured Aric that I wasn't like that and I would do no such thing. Aric was mollified and I was clueless for litte a while that this had even happened. Howard saying I'm not like that actually steeled my own attitude that I'm not like that.

Aric and Mike in Vancouver freshly in love

Aric had been planning a trip to Vancouver, BC with a bartender friend he had the hots for. I think the bartender already had a boyfriend at the time (edit: his boyfriend had the hots for me as it turns out, but would have scratched Aric's eyes out anyway) and he eventually bagged on Aric. So he did something that I've never experienced: he asked me if I'd come with him. I've always loved Vancouver because it's so beautiful. We took a day trip up to Whistler and had dinner at a cute French Restaurant called Le Gavroche after wine shopping earlier in the day. Aric was starting to get this food thing after all. We really really clicked, and that is where we fell in love. I mean, here is this retail boy making no money at all taking me up to this beautiful city with our hotel down in the harbor looking over the bay. How could we not fall in love?

Aric, not in Paris but looking like it

 

Howard was getting sicker and had decided that he wanted to make one last trip to Barcelona where he had fallen in love with his Kevin who had died a few years earlier. He wanted his oily squid and a last trip to the Sagrada Familia where he had determined that he was just skinny enough that he could throw himself out of one of the spires. Myself and a group of several of Howard's friends, mostly from soc.motss came. Aric had never been to Europe so I took him with me. We flew into Paris and stayed on the Rive Gauche at a cute little B&B called the Hotel Bonaparte. We met up with a friend from Amsterdam, Michaeltje and touristed around the city from the Sacre Coeur to the Tuileries and the Tour Eiffel. We ate splendidly and Aric never balked, even at the Raclette place which had his mortal enemy -- pickles -- as part of the tradition (he didn't eat them). We went to a gay bar in the Marias one night and went downstairs to the somewhat seedier part of the bar as was our wont, and made our way to a bar in the back. As Aric started down some steps to get to the bar some of the guys at the bar started serenading him to Gloria Gaynor "First I was afraid, I was petrified...". Aric was mortified and charmed instantly with his gigantic grin. Welcome to the City of Light, honey.

We rented a car to drive to Barcelona. I even survived going through the Charles De Gaul Etoile on our way out of the city. It looked like it wasn't a big long drive from the maps, and I'm definitely used to long, long drives, but it was still March and the weather though sunny was cold and blustery. We were starving driving down the Rhone Valley trying to figure out a place to eat off of A6. We pulled over at some town and I started recognizing some names: Hermitage, Condrieu... Holy Shit! We had pulled over on hallowed ground! Viognier is a very floral grape that, like Chateau D'Yquem, you never ever forget. Howard had turned me onto it from one of their negociants Michel Charpoutier, and here we were. Everything was closed since it was Sunday, but a bar keep took mercy on us with our nonexistent French and empty stomachs and brought us some charcuterie and cheese and a nice draft of beer. There were several teenagers smoking and drinking who couldn't have been more than about 16. It all added to the ambiance, while the teenagers were probably saying fuck my life get me out of this boring place.

Aric at Park Guell in Barcelona with the Gaudi Lizard

We arrived in Barcelona that night in the Barri Gotic to find our hotel, The Palermo, which was on a large plaza where we all met up. Everybody but Howard. Howard was too sick at that point to travel. We went to all of the places that Howard had picked out and crossed the border back into France into Perpignan  to have lunch at a restaurant that Howard was raving about called Chapon Fin. Aric was impressed by the silver dome service and even the after dessert cheese cart didn't freak him out. The side trip to see the Dali Museum in Figueres was a lot of fun where Dali is supposedly buried in the courtyard in a car with a fountain coming out of it and raining on the inside. What a hoot!

 

Howard's Memorial

 

We finally made it to the Sagrada Familia and went up one of the spires that Howard wanted to suicide from. Since he wasn't there, Aric took his place as he was rail thin too. I watched in abject horror as he managed wiggle his way through the slot while our friend Ken was holding onto his legs to make certain he didn't go overboard. We all met afterward and called Howard telling him of our adventures. Howard died a few months later, and I was tasked with giving his eulogy, which was the hardest thing I've had to do my entire life. Howard had just missed on Protease Inhibitors, but it wasn't clear that they would have helped him.

 

Aric with Stephanie aka MsPomPom at the Motss.con

 

Aric in the mean time, though at zero T-cells, was hanging in there. The bad news was that he was so drug resistant by that time that the Protease Inhibitors didn't help him either. At that point we were living together, though he nominally still had his place on Van Ness which he practically never slept at.  We were inseparable and many more fabulous parties followed. The Pigeon Party, The Hag Ball from whence came the observation that when people are making chicken margaritas, the party is truly over. This all culminated in Motss.con X, the 10th annual get together of people from around the world with about 200 people packed into the condo and overflowing onto the cul de sac where the Dixieland Dykes were playing much to all of our neighbors surprise and happiness while helped themselves to the huge spread I had made, in the garage. 

 

A typical Melrose Monday working the kitchen

 

Aric was still working retail, and when he didn't respond to the new meds, I made a decision: he was going to stop working. Period. I had just started at Cisco and was making plenty of money so there was no reason for him to be risking his life in the face of sneezey tourists hawking Levi's for shitty wages. He became a housewife. I worked at home quite a bit and early on we started a standing dinner party to watch the ever cheesy Melrose Place. Melrose Monday's started as a few people where I was back of house and Aric was front of house. I liked back of house not least of which was because if too many people got into my kitchen, I could chase them out with my chef's knife. But the party grew. And grew. And grew. It outlasted Melrose Place, and at its height was about 20+ people. Every week. This went on for going on 10 years straight. I finally broke and we decided to end it and start playing D&D instead every week. It was pretty much the same routine, but D&D campaigns can only get so large so it was self-limiting. Not for others wanting to join in the fun though.

Aric was still t-cell'less and had had a bunch of AIDS-defining diseases by then. He was never really super sick like on the edge of dying, but some of the stuff he was getting was scary because we all knew where that led. In 2003 a new drug came out called Fuzion which was a fusion inhibitor and new class of drug. It required two injections each day into the stomach or the back of the arm. Aric usually did his stomach, and I'd do his arm in the evening. It finally started working. The regime was terrible, but his viral load was coming down and his T-cells needed more names than just Huey, Dewey and Louie. His doctor, one of the most renown AIDS doctors in the City (and hence the world) called him his Golden Guinea Pig. He was finally undetectable.  

 

 

In the evening of February 12th 2004, Gavin Newsom married Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon at San Francisco city hall. Del and Phyllis were legends starting the Daughters of Bilitis in the 50's, one of the first lesbian groups that were open and proud. Word got out and the entire City was buzzing with what had just happened. The next morning I woke Aric up and made my proposal: "you can sleep all day, or you can get your sorry ass out of bed and get married!". We quickly dressed and made our way down to City Hall where there was a line wrapped around the block with couples waiting their turn. Each time somebody got married, a huge cheer went up from inside. While we were snaking along to get to our license all of the TV networks were there covering the craziness that had just descended on the City. NBC ended up choosing us to follow around from getting the license to taking our vows on the opulent veranda of City Hall. What followed was a national story that went worldwide, where my brother's inlaws saw us quite unexpectedly in Sāo Paulo, and we were world famous. In Norway. We were stock footage for NBC every time the Homosexual Menace wanting Gay Marriage came up for years afterward.

 

The Marriage Years

The marriage, of course, was invalidated, The conversation, however, was not. In 2008, the California Supreme Court overturned the prohibition on gay marriage. On the anniversary of our first meeting that fateful night at Badlands, in July 1994 we finally got married for real at our house at the Center of the Universe with friends and family. We were so unprepared for it that we forgot things like Best Man and writing our vows. It was a long, long ride to get to being married from that which straight people could get drunk, meet somebody, and get married by an Elvis impersonator in half an hour. But here we were, married after 14 years after we met, and 26 years as of this writing, and still sero-discordent. The angsty 16 year old writing letters to himself who couldn't even say the word gay is now married. Not in my wildest imagination would that happen. But were still here. Life is good. Aric made it, and so did we.

Epilogue

Gaymerican Gothic

There are a million more stories that this omits, both trashy and tasteful, but I wanted to keep it mostly centered on us. We have truly lived a charmed life with our friends and adventures. To be told that some of the best meals in their lives were spent at the Center of the Universe is an incomparable compliment, but we were definitely a go-to place when a fete was in order. Stephanie's 30th, Aric's 30th, Derik's 30th, Joel's 40th, Ken's 70th, there are just too many landmark dates to remember.

That Howard played a such central role is remarkable because in reality the actual amount of time was fleeting and a short few years at best for many of us. So many people were touched by him, and so many people who came after were sad to not be blessed by knowing him personally, but live vicariously through those of who did. It was like Howard literally passed the baton to Aric.

We sold the Center of the Universe in 2019 to retreat to our vacation house in the Sierra which we call Morningwood Farms. Aric putters around his garden and we use its bounty for dinners and to pawn off on unwary friends visiting. I'm kind of retired now, but haven't shut the door on doing something interesting, and maybe big again. The covids have definitely put a crimp in our entertaining style, but we'll get through this. I mainly think back about what a crazy life we've had and just smile. Maybe it's fitting to end with another Auntie Mame quote:

"Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving!"

We lived, lived, lived, and I hope that anybody reading this does the same.