Jimbo

I had never really given it much thought before the party (and why would I), but when I was asked the question, "How do you know Jimbo," I didn't have an answer.

I racked my brain and tried to think if I could remember the exact moment I met him, and just couldn't. Though that surprsied me, since Jimbo was never one to fail to make an impression.

It was like he was just on the scene one day, this hyperactive insaneo Korean kid from Trenton who loved punk rock, and put out a zine called "Creamy Fist." He just naturally fell in with all the other people playing around at that time.

I ran into Jimbo on the subway almost a year ago. That was the first time I had seen him in probably about two years. I didn't see him again until a little over a week ago. He was having a Hell's Kitchen backyard barbecue. It was a small, sedate crowd, and actually one of the most pleasantest times I've had out in a long time. It was "chill" as the kids say (though I think the kids who used to say "chill" are all grown up now).

Jimbo was master chef. I was stunned by the spread he had out. Salsa, guacamole, cole slaw, barbecue sauce, these filo dough things with cheese in them, and chips....ALL MADE BY HIM (yes, even the chips). And it was all pretty damned good too, not to mention the burgers, and some other big hunk of meat that came straight off the cow.

Where was I going with this? I don't know. Maybe it's a paean to Jimbo. Or maybe it's a paean to maturity, and appreciating quiet afternoons in an urban backyard with good company and no pressure to be anything but yourself.

I wish I had more afternoons like that, past and to come (hopefully).