Steve Coy is xxxtreme to tha maxxx!



Green bean salad with soy-Banyuls vinaigrette
Bring a large pot of salted water (it should taste like the ocean) to a rolling boil. Add green beans and cook until bright green and tender, 2-3 minutes depending on size. Plunge into ice water to stop their cooking. Once cool, remove from water and place on a towel-lined try to drain. If the green beans are large and thick, you can split them down the middle to make them more dainty.
Using a mandoline or knife, slice the celery, onion and radishes as thin as possible lengthwise. Place the sliced vegetables in the ice water for 20-30 minutes, then drain on the tray with the green beans.
Once all the vegetables are dry, mix them gently in a bowl with the remaining ingredients. Serve chilled.
That’s 6 degrees Celsius. So I made lentil soup. And I’ve decided that every time I cook something, I’m going to publish it to my little corner of the Web.
In a 6 quart or larger pot, heat the butter until foamy. Add onion, carrots, celery, mushrooms, garlic and thyme, season with salt, cover, and cook over medium heat until onions are translucent (around 10 minutes).
Add both kinds of lentils, the tomato, and the chicken stock or water. Season with salt and bring to a simmer. Cook over low heat until the beluga/De Puy lentils are cooked through, around 45 minutes. The red lentils will dissolve, thickening the soup.
Just before serving, give the soup a final seasoning, and add the spinach and a squeeze of lemon to taste. Give the soup a quick stir to wilt the spinach, then serve.
Yield: About 3 quarts.
Normally, I think attempts to inject sports with any kind of greater meaning are absurd. Sports are a fantasy realm where we go to deeply, madly care about things that don’t really matter. Off the playing field, most athletes don’t have anything more compelling to say or contribute than anyone else. In fact, their non-athletic contributions to society are inconsequential, if not detrimental. And ESPN’s “Outside the Lines” pieces are usually pretty hackneyed, flailing desperately to lend a humanistic quality to an industry based on superhuman genetic gifts (Dwight Howard’s leaping ability, Sidney Crosby’s vision) and rigorous, robotic commitment to excellence (Tiger Woods’ incessant swing tinkering, Peyton Manning’s relentless film study).
But as it turns out, sports icons can be people, too. And a good writer can overcome the intrinsic handicap of the “sports story with heart.” The fact that the core of this particular story is “Man cheats on wife, has a kid with mistress, doesn’t see kid for 27 years” makes the achievement all the more significant.
I almost cried. Even though Dr. J has almost as many kids by almost as many baby mamas as Shawn Kemp or Calvin “The Pocket Rocket” Murphy. But hey, it was the NBA in the 70s. How could he NOT knock up a white bitch?
I just upgraded to Wordpress version 2.7 for this site. It’s almost like a real CMS! Here’s what I think:
The company that I work for Monday through Friday (let’s call it “Lazydouche”) had its holiday party this last weekend. Given that Lazydouche runs a $25M per year racket and is headquartered in Long Beach, CA, there was only one logical place to have the party.
That’s right, a motherfucking Chinese restaurant in Alhambra! read on »
I’m out in Los Feliz (!?!?) last week with Karen waiting for this guy to get back to us about picking up a free TV, and we go to the Hollywood Gelato Company on Hillhurst. The gelato is good, and reasonably priced. The service? Friendly and prompt. The cupcakes. Were. Another. Story.
*DISCLAIMER*
This is not a joke. I know cupcakes are riding a wave of pop-culture relevance right now–”Lazy Sunday” started it and now there’s lines out the door at Sprinkles in Beverly Hills–but what you’re about to see is almost unfathomable. This picture is not Photoshopped.
That’s right. The mini cupcake you see–the one that’s about the size of a quarter–is $2.95. You can get a dozen donuts at the place down the street from my office for $2.95, or you can get two bites of cupcake. You can get two In-N-Out hamburgers for $2.95, or you can get a tablespoon of frosting on an ounce of cake. (On a side note, has anyone successfully discovered what red velvet is supposed to taste like? I really think the popularity of red velvet cupcakes is completely due to their name. If they were called “generic sweetness that maybe has chocolate or is it cherry,” I doubt they’d be experiencing a renaissance.)
The friendly scoopstress at Hollywood Gelato felt so embarrassed by the Zimbabwe-level inflation on the cupcakes that she gave me one for free. And it was terrible! Stale, dry and flavorless. This could only happen in a neighborhood like Los Feliz, where people will pay triple for anything that reminds them of wherever they lived before moving to LA. You know what, citizens of Los Feliz, Silver Lake, Echo Park and any of those other gentrified shitholes? If you like New York so much, STAY THERE! Don’t come out here, bitch about how LA isn’t as hip as Williamsburg and try to recreate your enclave of cultural elitism. We know Santa Monica doesn’t have the grit and quirkiness of the Village. We know that only tourists go to Hollywood and Highland. So what? At least we’re conscious of our altenate universe. You’re the insincere ones for wanting your lifestyle and our weather. And you know what else? Magnolia Bakery isn’t that good.
But at least they don’t charge $2.95 for a mini cupcake.
I went to Motley Crüe last Friday (thanks Hobey for the ticket hook-up), where I learned a few things:
It was a very interesting crowd at the Hollywood Palladium: Guys in their 40s dressing like they did in their 20s; guys in their 20s dressing like that ironically; guys in their 20s dressing like that, but with a straight face; guys in their 40s wearing striped shirts and Diesel jeans; surgery- and sun-ravaged old chicks; drunk Mexicans who were stealing bottles from the Palladium bar; and lots and lots of jailbait, including the girl next to me with whom I shared the following exchange:
“Were you even alive when these guys were cool?”
“No. That’s why I’m awesome!!! OMG LOL BFF <3″
(Note: IM speak added for effect)
I scarcely need to mention that there was LOTS of Ed Hardy there. Once again, douchebags of the world, thanks for making it so easy to identify you.
Those of you who’ve seen my car know that I’m the founding member of the Apple Racing Team. The Apple logo stickers I stuck on my Prius’ rear windows give it an increase of 7 mental horsepower (boosting its total HP to, uh, like, 79) and 13 snobbery points. Well, imagine my surprise when I found a kindred spirit–and, as an added bonus, they also drive a car in the “mini fridge on wheels” class! Unfortunately, this Honda Fit owner put the sticker on backwards and crooked. That’s actually worth -2 snobbery points. Or maybe it’s *ironically* backwards and crooked. In that case, +32.
Once upon a time, like 2 weeks ago, I showed up on the first page of Google search results for “Steve Coy.” Now? Page 4. I’m losing major ground to the erstwhile new wave star and the South Dakota realtor Steve Coys. Granted, they were Steve Coy before I was, but look at them, for fuck’s sake:
What’s going on here? Shouldn’t I at least be in control of my own name’s Web presence? Watching your site tumble down the Google rankings, you truly feel helpless. My post-Obama optimism is officially gone.
On the plus side, I’m the #1 result for “stevealicious.”
Yeah yeah yeah, so has everyone. But I saw them live and in person. You know what else I saw? Her muffin top. And her surgically-ravaged face. Gross. I remember whacking it to her in the early 2000’s, before she got her falsies and decided she didn’t want to be Asian. And now? All those happy memories are ruined. Thanks a freakin’ lot, Tera. Those aren’t “boobies”–the diminutive suffix “ies” simply doesn’t work for such freakish sweater puppets. Nay, I declare them to be “boobstrosities.”
The reason I saw Tera Patrick’s boobstrosities is that I went to Steel Panther Formerly Known As Metal Skool last night for the first time. The singer noticed her in the crowd and invited her up on stage to dance around during one of the songs. Could you ask for a better set-up than a porn star dancing to 80s glam rock? I say no. And yet, it was remarkable how someone who fucks for a living can be the unsexiest dancer ever.
But Steel Panther is very, very good. They skipped the “You got the peaches, I got the cream” part from “Pour Some Sugar On Me,” but everything else was on point. The phallic guitar gestures, the overtures to coke, strippers and beer, the fake “Behind The Music” that they played before going on. And let’s not forget the one original song they played, “Asian Hookers.” “Sucky sucky,” went the lyrics, but “ass-kicky ass-kicky” went the maxxximum tuneage. Enough has been written about Steel Panther elsewhere, but if you haven’t seen them, do yourself a favor and head on over to Key Club one of these Monday nights. You might even get to see some boobstrosities.