Part 2 of 3
Part 1: Outgrowing the Closet
Part 2: The Closet Didn’t Get Smaller
Part 3: How Jenny McCarthy Saved My Life
Krackle was the third roommate. He was tall, more than six feet, black, and slender. Like a cast-iron coat rack you’d find behind a doctor’s office door. He had short curly angelic publes for hair and was very soft spoken. As soon as he and Mace exchanged compliments on each other’s baggy pants and XXL tees, which hung below their knees, they were soulmates. They got along because Krackle was black, and though Mace was white, he wanted to be black. They acted tough wanting to appear thick skinned, and in a matter of weeks they were the kings of “Hedrick 4-North.” All the white dwarfish wannabe frat boys who played basketball and watched it on TV like it was a badge of their coolness, used to talk about girls like they were mouth watering pieces of brisket, and yet they could never actually talk to girls—those were my roommates’ friends. Other lone awkward straight guys who needed leaders to follow around because they couldn’t think for themselves. Mace was rather suave with the ladies in a shy gorilla sort of way. He appeared well kept, muscular, and handsome. That was enough to seal the deal, because freshman girls weren’t at all particular. Krackle was too innocent and awkward looking with his scrawny pool-cue-legs sprouting out from within his oversized brand new vintage Michael Jordan’s that were never tied. He talked the ghetto fabulous talk, but walked the suburban saunter. He made it seem like he was from really rough neighborhoods when he was probably the only black kid enrolled in his high school, and whiter than I was.
To all my friends at the time, who were mostly girls, Mace and Krackle were known as “The Homies.”
The Homies liked to hang out in our cramped-for-three room like a school of sardines. The campus residential office called it a triple and I called it a cement closet with very little room for hanging clothes, aka hell. Some nights I returned to our quarters to find a group of them standing in every corner, and sitting in every chair like rats who appear when a flood comes. To conserve space, the rooms were equipped with a set of bunk beds and a loft bed on the opposite wall. At the back was my desk on one side and Mace’s opposite at the loft-bed’s foot where he chose to sleep. Thank god he did too, because I wouldn’t have been able to hop onto it from standing on a chair as easily as he did. Krackle’s computer and desk were tucked under the loft bed. Things were tight but it was livible with the three of us. Unfortunately it was never just the three of us.
The Homies were always around. Sometimes they’d even hang out on my bed because it was the lower bunk I guess and in their minds it resembled a couch. That and both Mace and Krackle told their laky friends they weren’t allowed on any other beds in the room.
“And if you get on my bed without my permission, I’ll fuck your mom and give you a charlie-horse so big you wont shit for a week!” It’s a simple process of elimination really.
That’s why my bed was sometimes filled with burrito rice and beans they ordered from Puzzles in the student union late at night. You could always make a burrito and get a smoothie and it was a great place to go and hang out if escaping your roommates, or your life, was your goal. I was there at least once a day, and sometimes twice. In the early afternoon and again in the evening. I just never thought the burritos would make their way back to my duvet!
The Homies sometimes used my computer and for fun they would change some of my settings and passwords, which meant I sometimes spent hours trying to hack into my own computer to access documents for class, or just the Internet to check my email. They thought it was hilarious. I imagine they assumed they could push me around, because I was the silly-cartooned-voice-Jew with all the girlfriends. I reminded them of Jerry Lewis, but they only knew him as the cartoon cat that chases the mouse, so even comedy was a stretch when trying to find excuses for why I was ok with being the victim.
Homemade Fresh Strawberry Sorbet
- 3-4 cups of ripe fresh strawberries (bruised or white shoulders removed)
- 1 cup granulated sugar
- ½ cup water
- 2 tblsp of fresh lemon juice
- 2 tblsp Chambord liquor or similar (raspberry or any “berry” liquor will work too)
- 1 packet of Knox unflavored gelatin
In a small saucepot over medium heat dissolve the sugar in the water. Once the water is clear you have a simple syrup. Turn the heat off but leave it on the burner while you move on to the next step.
Combine the strawberries, lemon juice and Chambord (raspberry liquor) in a food processor (or blender if it can handle this kind of thing) and puree until all the strawberry chunks are gone.
Add the gelatin to the simple syrup while it’s still hot and stir it in quickly just until it dissolves and add that to the strawberry puree. Process the mixture for 10-15 seconds.
Pour the mixture through a fine mesh sieve and into a mixing bowl to remove the seeds, or at least most of the seeds.
Let the mixture cool completely in the fridge for at least an hour before pouring it into your ice cream machine.
And after about 20 mins…..it will start to thicken.
Once it has reached the consistency of soft serve you’ll need to freeze it for at least two hours. It will freeze evenly and quickly if you use a container that is shallow, which is why I used this thin rectangular Tupperware.