After a few years of futzing around, the Ipswich-based Kimchee Records label, run by engineer Andy Hong and WMBR Pipeline host Bob Dubrow, announced itself in a big way this year with a slew of stellar new records by a few of Boston’s best, most imaginative outfits. The Pee Wee Fist, Rosa Chance Well, Helms, and the Clairvoyants are just a few of the Kimchee artists whose albums graced the CD players of music obsessives this spring (you can check out more by logging on to www.kimcheerecords.com). It certainly doesn’t hurt that the imprint is run by a couple of music freaks whose stated goal is to preserve and perpetuate those particularly thrilling listening experiences we have at " pre-adolescence " — before we’re consumed by life, adulthood, and oldies stations reliably spinning the Eagles.

Irish bars, Indian joints, bowling alleys — establishments all over town have installed karaoke for our late-night drunken wailings. But what ever happened to the authentic Japanese venues that started the trend? Karaoke is a booming business at Maluken, a small restaurant in Kenmore Square, and the professionals pack in as tight as white rice in a maki roll. After nine cups of sake, you might also feel the urge to sing in Japanese.

They say that clothes make the man, and though the illustrious Jingo can’t fit into a stitch of the sultry (admittedly all-women’s) clothing he sells at his Mass Ave store Jingo’s Playhouse, the hot pants, cat suits, and sexy accessories he stocks are definitely making clubbers remember his name. The entrepreneur gets the place groovin’ with DJs spinning live right in the store, and on Saturdays he has his own club night, " Jingo’s Basement, " at SW1.

Is it just us, or are Store 24s everywhere, and right when we need them most? With post-party revelry lasting into the wee hours and munchies that just won’t let a stomach rest, we must give props to the store that stays open so that we can get our fill of microwave burritos and Cool Ranch Doritos. At three in the morning, this stuff’s as heavenly as a filet mignon at Morton’s.

Manny Ramirez made an extraordinary first impression (and offered a harbinger of the good things to come) by belting the first pitch thrown to him in Fenway out of the park. With his well-established penchant for going yard, and what at times seems to be nothing less than an all-consuming obsession with driving in runs, Manny suddenly seems worth every penny of his $100 million–plus contract. Even with other first-name-basis guys like Nomar and Pedro battling injuries, Manny’s managed to keep Sox fans’ pennant hopes alive. Plus, you gotta love a guy who’s started a one-man fashion trend with his predilection for " extra-baggy " uniform pants.

HOT HOOP

Game ain’t all WNBA hottie Lisa Harrison’s got — this Phoenix Mercury guard was voted the WNBA’s sexiest player by the readers of Playboy.com. Part of what fueled Harrison’s victory was her promise to consider posing for the magazine if she won the online contest. Which makes us want to commit a hand violation . . .

You wanna go where everybody (or maybe nobody) knows your name, right? But not where they sell souvenir T-shirts and eight-ounce beer " mugs. " No, you wanna go where $5 will buy you two, maybe even three drafts of something frosty and cold. Where the band’s real close and loud and sweaty and the lighting’s kinda crummy and it feels like the weekend. Or at least a misspent Thursday night. If that’s what you’re jonesing for, look no further than the Abbey Lounge (3 Beacon Street, Somerville), a once, current, and future crummy dive with cheap beer, cool bands (every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night), and a truly

cruddy ambience that borders on the poetic.

The brainchild of artist and rock scenester Maura Jasper and musician and certified aerobics instructor Hilken Mancini (Fuzzy, the Count Me Outs), Punk Rock Aerobics marries music made by decidedly unhealthy folks to moves designed to build a sleeker, svelter you. The workouts are serious, but a few nifty extras like guitar kicks, Pete Townshend–style windmills, and punk pogo-ing offer a far hipper concept of sweatin’ to the oldies. Classes are seven bucks a pop, and are held at the Middle East Downstairs, Spontaneous Celebrations (Jamaica Plain), and Center of Light (Jamaica Plain).

Troy Bell, the hyper-aggressive guard from Minneapolis, is easily the biggest

local collegiate-sports star since fellow Boston College Eagle Doug Flutie was flinging footballs around the Heights in the early 1980s. Bell led the overachieving Eagles to the second round of the NCAA tournament last year,

and is expected to spur great things again this season.

It’s late and you’re getting lucky on the street in front of Bomboa — not that kind of lucky, silly; you’re scoring a seat at the swank eatery’s fabulous new terrace. It’s fun, especially as the crowd starts to heat up ’round midnight. Good late-night food, fabulous drinks, and altogether excellent table-hopping. A foodie, and booty, scene.

What do you get when you cross Joan Jett with the Ramones, with maybe a little X tossed in for good measure? Why, the revved-up punk-pop of the Decals, of course. Fronted by the eminently charismatic duo of Michelle Paulhus (vocals, bass) and Nicole Johnson (vocals, guitar) and complemented by the high-energy antics of lead guitarist Craig Adams and drummer Gino Zanetti, the Decals are making a name for themselves as purveyors of fast, loose, fun, and fierce rock and roll.

HOT ALTERNATIVE

For music junkies, one of the great things about this town is its bounty of amazing mom-and-pop vinyl shacks and cutting-edge specialty shops for those of us who want — no, demand — a little more from our record-store-hopping experience. One of the hippest new kids on the block is Other Music, located at 90 Winthrop Street, in Cambridge. In addition to carrying a bevy of taste-expanding micro-genre obscurities (with descriptive rock-crit crib notes posted above the bins), collectible seven-inch singles, and that limited-edition latest Belle & Sebastian EP on wax, Other Music also hosts intimate, in-store performances of the very artists who you’ll be paying 10 bucks to see later that night at the Middle East.

Bostonians love spicy food. Some of the best spicy food on the planet is the jerk cuisine of Jamaica. The best jerk joints in Jamaica are rustic shacks in a lovely seaside hamlet called Boston Bay, which was named after Boston, England (as was our fair city). Has anyone in Boston thought to capitalize on that coincidence by opening a Boston Bay jerk joint here in the Hub? Well, why not?

Boston fell in love with Charles Draghi when he was cooking at Marcuccio’s. Now we have two reasons to celebrate: Draghi just bought Blackstone’s in the South End (which he will reopen under the moniker Noi), and he is the executive chef at the opening-any-moment-now Limbo. Draghi plans to reside in the Blackstone’s kitchen full-time once he gets Limbo going as low as it can.

After winning over the hearts and palates of her customers at the chic South End eatery Truc, chef Amanda Lydon has signed on to run the kitchen at Metro, the big Porter Square bistro that’s slated for a September opening. While Lydon has been biding her time away from the spotlight by traveling and preparing for Metro’s opening, her star has continued to shine. And with talent like hers, why shouldn’t it?

When No. 9 Park chef Barbara Lynch deigns to make Bolognese sauce, it’ll blow you away. The entire city should queue up with tongues hanging out. Everything else on the menu is perfection too, (especially anything involving duck), but the Bolognese with homemade fettuccine is addicting.

We admit, with but a smattering of shame, that our summertime guilty indulgence is the lobster roll at Legal Sea Foods. It’s a classic — simply the best there is. There’s no comparison between Legal’s way with a lobster and that of a lesser establishment. It’s pricier by far than the McDonald’s version (is there actually any lobster at all in those rolls?), but perfect. Smooth and toothsome, with a hint of spice and a full dose of ocean air. Have the onion strings, too. Go for broke and let them butter the roll.

You don’t expect Japanese finesse from a French bistro chef, but Pigalle’s Mark Orfaly is deft and delicate in all the culinary venues. His phyllo tuna rolls are a revelation — light and bright, piquant and crunchy. As long as you are there for the appetizer, stay on for the crispy duck. It’s amazing that this little spot can turn out such good food and still not be overwhelmed by its own expertise.

The best (even if it’s not the prettiest) Indian food in the area can be found at the unassuming Rangoli. Everything is a good choice, but the dosas — rolled, crêpe-like creations stuffed with potato and a broad selection of Indian fillings — are a meal in themselves. It’s the Indian version of a submarine sandwich.

Okay, it’s a hike. The Back Eddy in Westport is a strong hour from the city, and it is busy once you get there. But it’s summer, and if you’re going to take one food-oriented pilgrimage, make it this one. It’s fun — even the wait is a kick. And the food makes the journey seem like a bargain. Seafood is the basic specialty, particularly Chris Schlesinger’s New Bedford scallops (with fries and a homemade cole slaw that will slay you), but the whiff of barbecued chicken and pulled pork could push you over the edge.

Every neighborhood can use another fabulous bakery and café. At Flour, Joanne Chang’s sandwiches are magnificent mountains — satisfying and soul-filling, a little unusual but not working too hard to be imaginative. The soups and salads have a freshness that makes you wonder about a greenhouse in the back. But don’t leave this South End stalwart without a treat. This is a baker who still takes the time to make every cookie count.

It seems you can’t swing a Haymarket-fattened dead rat around here without hitting a bar that makes its own infused liquors. Be it the dangerously smooth pineapple vodka at Sonsie, the mouth-searing habañero-infused " Hell Vodka " at the East Coast Grill, the potent pineapple-, coconut-, and vanilla-bean-infused tequila at the Blue Room, or any number of creative infusions created at places like Tremont 647, Fire & Ice, Brew Moon, or the Place, it seems we’re seeing those telltale jars of marinating madness perched above every happenin’ bar in town. @