Homo The Elite & I…A Puke-Filled Adventure in Gayness!
posted by on April 16 at 11:25 AM
Oh, The Elite. We’ve been through so much together. Sort of.
When I moved to Seattle, circa 1492, there were two Elites…The Elite proper, at Broadway and Roy St. next to the Jade Pagoda, and The Elite II, which used to sit on Olive way, in that block with the B & O Espresso and that unfathomable We Buy 501s! store. The Elite II closed the second I moved here, and I never set one gay toe in it. The Elite proper made me puke my guts up like a suffering sorority girl—-or cured my flu, depending on how you look at it. But that was before I actually lived here.
I was visiting Seattle from wherever it was I was foolish enough to be living that was not Seattle, staying with a friend who was at work at the time, and I was suffering from a vague malaise, some sort of low-grade flu that seemed to lack the wherewithal to shit or get off the pot. It wouldn’t get any worse, it wouldn’t’ get any better—-it just hung there like an old coat. It had been weeks.
I was wandering aimlessly on Broadway, which is what fags did in those days, and I stumbled upon The Elite (a misnomer if ever there one was). It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon. It was June. It was unseasonably hot and humid. The place was packed with chain-smoking alcoholics. I had no intention of going in the damn place, I was merely walking by, but let’s be quite frank: the smoky-crusty-alcoholic miasma of the wretched place rushed through the open door on waves of June-ish heat and punched me in the face like a fish head’s dirty diaper, and…well. That was enough for my flu. Two weeks of nausea came rushing up in a lunch-colored tsunami that painted the wall and sidewalk. I just kept walking. What else could I do? But, Loretta, I felt a hundred times better. I was so grateful. And totally disgusted.
The only time I actually went into the old Elite was the evening I met David Schmader. It was the perfect in-between point between our respective homes, and he convinced me to meet him there. It wasn’t quite so horrible as I imagined, The Elite, (and David was delightful, of course) but the place was horrible enough that I never went back. But its presence there, at the end of Broadway, was always very comforting. It was The Oldest Gay Bar on Capitol Hill, and it marked the boundaries of Gayland. It let you know exactly where you were. And I was sorry to see it go.
Like the Jade Pagoda, The Elite was forced from its home on Broadway for very stupid reasons last year-ish. Rumors said that The Elite would relocate, just pack up all that gay and plop it down somewhere else. There was even a location picked out—where the expensive antique store used to be at 1510 East Olive Way. But that space sat empty…month after month after month. It seemed as if The Elite was gone forever. So I lost interest and stopped watching that empty space for signs of life.
But in December, while I wasn’t watching, The Elite rose from its ashes. I finally got around to visiting last Saturday night. And oh, my heavens! How delightful! How charming! How new! Fresh and bright and clean—-with nary an ounce of its former smoky-crusty-alcoholic-miasma-ness. Big comfy couches and squooshey chairs, quirky and eccentric mismatched décor (check out the deco Egyptians above the door), the perkiest bartender I’ve ever seen (I didn’t get his name, he wouldn’t hold still) and a much smartened-up crowd… in its new incarnation, The Elite is immeasurably improved.
The sign over the door says, “Enter as strangers, leave as friends”, and I’m not going to argue. And indeed, I will go back. The only thing about The Elite that could make me puke now is way too much liquor—just the way God intended.
(Thanks to Bill W. for the pictures!)
Shouldn't the sign read, "Enter as strangers, leave as tricks"??
Why do I feel like The Elite is some kind of gay sports bar? Is it a gay bar or gay sports bar?
I'd rather go to R-Place. In other words, I'd rather go to hell.
Where should we go get a drink then Poe?
I lived at the Sealth Vista, across from the B&O, for the first 2 years I lived in Seattle. The Elite II was my favorite bar in the city - cheep drinx, always great pinball, and a pool table you didn't have to wait 12 hours for. Not quite as sticky as the Elite.
It's hard to picture such a bright and sunny place as the next incarnation of the Elite, but I'm glad they're back.
The staff is pretty nice too. They seem to actually care that you are there unlike some other gay clubs on Capitol Hill that charge confusing progressive cover charges.
@4
The Saint? Only went in on opening night, was crazy crowded and I was drunk, need to get a better opinion.
Either that, or...um. Um. Ummmmmmmmm. Uuuuuuuum. Moe bar. I just like my haystacks, Bobby.
Well, elites can be both self-created and de-facto - and the meaning in the grander scheme of things depends on the person commenting on their existence.
In a family, your mom and dad are probably the elite.
And even our crazy uncle in the basement, Fnarf, could be called an elite ... or at least elitest ...
@ 6
you're right---i'll never forget the first time they asked me for cover at R PLACE--i BURST out laughing in the woman's face and never went back.
@7: the drinks will probably still be expensive, but whatever I had was awesome. I just can't remember what it was.
I just hate the bright (salmon?) colored walls... doesn't seem like enough of a bar atmosphere.
@10
I don't even remember drinking anything else. I just remember us all standing, waiting for the opportunity to get drinks. Then again, there are pictures of me sitting down, so I guess that must be around the time I blacked out.
@ 12...
well, that's step one out of the way.
Someone should open up a bar called "BAR" and riddle it with pictures of every other bar in Seattle. That would be interesting, to say the least.
@ 14...brilliant.
My ideas are free. Take them.
mine aren't. not at all. but everyone takes them anyway.
@12: I don't think you had anything, but I definitely did. I remember fighting my way through to the bartender and everything. And then we went and sat down. Somehow, you did make it.
well, poe, sounds like you found you calling. just make sure you leave your dog collar at the door.
went to elite for my b-day; very quiet, cheers-y feel there, wasn't a saturday though. great place to be when you don't feel like bouncing off the druggies at R-Place or Neighbours...oops! did I say that? gosh, so sorry; I meant to say, avoiding the barf stains on the floor when waiting in impossibly long lines at R-Place and Neighbours. Silly me.
I want to open a club called Rehab.
i want to open a rehab called Club.
i want to rehab and open club
i want to rehab an open club
bar covers are for chumps.
if you want me to shell out $$$ to enter your establishment, you'd better have some live entertainment, fatherfucker*...
*(mothers have been getting fucked for too long...it's the father's turn.)
Club Rehab? isn't that noc-noc?
I used to go out. Then someone locked me up in the coat check at The Cuff for seven years, and when I got out, it had sort of lost its appeal. I mostly just drink alone at home, with the lights off now.
thx very gracious to the POZ community to!
"as God intended" - perfect sentiment that is so wonderfully ironic when Adrian uses it.
@28
god, i love it when people get me.
@10 - I agree, your drink tasted great! But everything was a bit trop cher ... might be fun to drop in during happy hour! Wish it hadn't been quite so crowded ... and smelling of paint.
Will, re the crazy uncle comment:
You're projecting your own faults onto others. Again.
So typical.
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