GOOD-BYE TO ALL THAT GLORIOUS MESS

I come not to praise the old Elite, but to bury it. Well, actually, I come to praise it a little AND I come to bury it, and isn't that just what the old Elite was about, anyway? Coming? Twice, sometimes? On certain levels, yes. On other levels, mostly yes. But it was also about drinking, which was nice. And sometimes manhookers in the parking lot. And making me PUKE ALL OVER THE SIDEWALK just by walking by it on a hot summer day that one time because EWW: effluvium. (I will never get over that.) And let's not forget the most important thing that the Elite was about: being the oldest gay bar on Capitol Hill! Because that's what it was. (If you take into account its original location on Broadway—which is where the puking and hookers mostly happened—and so you do.) And SO THEN! We mourn her, for she is gone, gone, gone to fagbar hell, and for everything she was, we adored her. A crass and heartless note taped to her now-dark door tells us that she was done in by that fatal disease that has felled so many gay bars, and that's TAXES. (DAMN IT, OBAMA! WHEN WILL YOUR REIGN OF TAX TERROR END?! Kidding! Kidding.) There is another note taped there, too, a hopeful message, claiming that it will "Re-Open Soon!" but it reeks of denial. Let us gather now and raise a glass to the durty old girl, but we'll have to do it across the street at the Crescent or something because, duh, the Elite is closed (that's what I've been TRYING to say!), but plug your nose because, baby, that Crescent place STANKS. Good-bye, Elite! You were the most inaptly named gay bar ever, probably. Amen. 1933ish–2012, RIP.

RENTING MONSOON

SIXTRILLIONTWENTYSIXMILLIONANDFORTYTHREE MINUTES or whatever! Whatever. Rent kind of annoys me—and not just the exorbitant wallet-raping kind I endure for the sake of living on the Hill. Rent, the Broadway flippin' musical, too, damn it! But there's one irresistible reason why you must see this production—and why I wouldn't miss it. His name is Jerick Hoffer, aka Jinkx Monsoon. He plays "Angel" in this 5th Ave. reboot, of course, and I mean—how long could we possibly have to enjoy him before fate and fame whisk him off to New York City, where he belongs? Really? 5th Avenue Theater, 2 and 8 pm, $39–$119, all ages.