I made soup stock yesterday. On the one hand, I felt très Martha Stewart (and I don’t care what they say, I still love you, Martha!), but on the other, the stock was made from leftover stir-fry and the dubious jar of red peppers a previous tenant had left in the fridge. We’ll see if it kills me.
Also yesterday, a trip to the used bookstore resulting in From Front Porch to Back Seat, a history of American courtship from the turn of the century to the mid-1960s. A good read, though it suffered a little on the insight-to-obviousness ratio, and the source for today’s Favoritest Vintage Slang Ever: queek. A queek is someone you do not want to get stuck dating, circa 1948. How queeks differ from spooks, gooks, and semigoons, I have no idea, but there you have it.