I woke up this morning, jumped in the car and turned on the radio.  The radio version of ‘Ambitions as a Ridah’ was on, leading me to almost kill my engine on the way to work.  And you’re right, there is no radio version of that song.  But that didn’t stop me from yelling at the top of my lungs, “My attitude is fuck it, cause motherfuckers love it!!!!”  I get in the car on the way home and the Dogg Pound’s “New York, New York” is bumping.  After nearly causing another 25 accidents, I made it home safely.

L.A. Radio was one of those little jewels I wasn’t expecting when I first came here, and now it’s a luxury it’s hard to imagine not having.  Steve Harvey cut his teeth as a morning radio host here before his show went national.  The original Strawberry Letters and Hoodie Awards were a welcome throwback, and Steve’s silliness and trash talking would remind me daily of the fools I left behind in Lawrence.  Big Boy has been doing his thing since longer than I can remember, to hear the daily interviews with singers, rappers, actors, and actresses was a culture shock and introduction to ‘Hollywood normalcy.’

Now I’ve been here long enough to take it for granted: I’ve been listening to CDs in my car for years.  But when my CD player busted I got over it pretty quickly.  I’ve heard ‘Return of the Mack’ three times in the past 48 hours, and I’m not ashamed to say I was jamming all three times.  Don’t hate.