DJ CRAZYCHAN

I know I’m really really late posting this but school always gets in the way, so here’s part one of my very first short story ever written. I will do my best to update it every week. Enjoy!

Have you ever had a thought, a secret, an emotion? Has it ever been so strong that you live in the fiery moment of a dream, where time stands still and you realize that this is why. This is why people wake up the next day. This is why we hold on to things tightly, without ever letting go. This is why the stars shine at night. This is why the world goes around the four seasons. This is why we look for wisdom. This is why we reject wisdom. This is why we drink. This is why we are a drug addicted America. This is why we watch baseball. This is why I scream at night. This is why we fight. This is why we can’t fight. This is why we lose our sight. This is why our search for the meaning of life is full of strife. This is why we dance all night and rant all night and cry all night and just can’t all night. This is why, this is why, this is why….. we live.

If you haven’t already figured it out, I speak of the universal truth, love. Maybe not love exactly but intense happiness. When I searched for the definition of happiness this is what came up.
hap·py (hp)
adj. hap·pi·er, hap·pi·est
1. Characterized by good luck; fortunate.
2. Enjoying, showing, or marked by pleasure, satisfaction, or joy.
3. Being especially well-adapted; felicitous: a happy turn of phrase.
4. Cheerful; willing: happy to help.
5.
a. Characterized by a spontaneous or obsessive inclination to use something. Often used in combination: trigger-happy.
b. Enthusiastic about or involved with to a disproportionate degree. Often used in combination: money-happy; clothes-happy.

Does this really define happiness? Maybe to a certain degree if you’re a fucking word nerd. You can’t define happiness in a dictionary. Even though I’m trying to right now, you can’t define happiness with words. It is impossible to translate chemical reactions associated with you emotions into strange symbols scribbled on paper. May my valiant attempt be not in vain.

As I stand there, I close my eyes, I feel the grains in between my toes, the sun on my face, the wind blowing past my ears, and the gentle crashing of water as if it were you mother singing. “hush little baby don’t you cry…” I open my eyes and a second orgy of stimulation envelopes my senses….snowy plovers leaving tiny footprints as they peck swiftly at the waves, dogs chasing balls, children laughing, playing. And beyond that the golden, glistening sun shines upon a rainbow of blue, almost heavenly like. A jewel of blue so fantastic, it’s color cannot be fathomed, even by human imagination. And I feel humbled. I feel humbled that there is something bigger than me. An orgasm of sensation surges through me, a tingling, almost incapacitating and paralyzing. Then I ask myself “Is this love?”

WAIT! Wait, wait. We have to rewind this a little and at least start with the question of who the hell am I?

“The sun shines upon me as it does my neighbor” This was a line I stole from a tv show. It’s supposedly a Buddhist teaching that describes how we are all the same and we’re all interconnected. So if you think about the world, war, famine, destruction, injustice, suffering. That just means the world is shit. Does that mean I’m shit too? That’s certainly not what my mother told me. She said I was “special” Whatever the fuck that means. If wishful thinking got you what you wanted then all prayers would be answered. The terrorist’s prayers would wipe away the western world, the western world’s prayers would wipe away the terrorist. I would be king of the world, hero to all and defender of justice….psss….whatever…..I am James, a depressed, lonely alcholic. My only friends are Jack, Johnny and Jose, and after a night with them I wake up more depressed and lonley than before. So is the cycle of substance abuse. So if the world is shit, then you can see it in me. I’m like a fucked up country song born from the ghetto.

After reading a rough draft of my short story, my friend told me “you’re such an amazing writer. Every time you spew out something poetic, it blows me away. Not because I don’t think that it’s in you, it’s just that you rarely show it”
After reading that I thought to myself “Me? really? No?” I’m not poetic. I’m not romantic. I’m not emo. I’m not creative. I’m just CrazyChan, a man with something to say, a product of emotional distress and nowhere to let it out except on paper.
One morning not long ago, in the state of half conscientiousness a dreamt about a gnome that crawled up next to my head and whispered in my ear. “Boom!!! let it out Eric or you’re gonna blow up….. Rest your soul.”
I don’t consider my writing art, but if you think about art, you have to think about where it comes from. All art comes from emotions, be it from your conscience for social wrongs, love, death, and just all around distress. All the greatest art in the world came from people with some serious problems, like you need fucking therapy problems. And I don’t wish that upon anybody. So me? CrazyChan? A product of emotional distress, am not a poet or artist. Ignorance is truly bliss, too bad I can’t find it.

The third of four buddhist nobel truths, the cessation of suffering or freedom from craving….. Before I go on I must say that this was originally going to be a rant about girls. But in the interest of not damaging someone’s feeling and psyche I have to make it clear that I’m not singling anyone out……. I can’t sleep, I’m 2 hours away from having been up for 24 hours, I spent 3 hours chasing the dog, I rode around 30 miles partying at critical mass, and I just spent 4 hours standing, playing crappy top 40 music. So my logic may be a little twisted right now….. If I were to relate this buddhist tenant to myself right now, the cessation of suffering would be the freedom from craving girls. Now let’s make something clear. I’m not a lady hater. I have just lost all faith in women. This makes me think about one of the three buddhist poisons, “delusion”. Is this revelation a delusion or a higher state of consciousness from exhaustion. Is all the decisions I’ve made in life, such as giving up everything I ever believed in to join the peace core, a delusion or a form of escapism to give my brain a sense of control? Maybe I shouldn’t join the peace core. I’m already one step closer to being a monk.

I just came back from New York and I must say it is a fucking awesome city. But that’s not why I’m here today. In NYC I was hanging with the Wong sisters and during a discussion over beer the topic of lifestyle came up. Apparently we both wish for some part of the others life….. Well… it’s more her than me. She see’s me as having a very carefree life. I’m a student, I choose my own schedule, I cycle, skydive, rock climb, I’m a DJ so I get to say I go to parties for work, I basically do whatever is fun and will enrich my life. My friend works an office and says she’s miserable. Now you have to really think about my life, I live pay check to pay check. I have no retirement plan, no ambitions for a family or a permanent home. That is definitely not the American dream. How do I live my life like this? One day I asked myself “Do you really want to live forever?” I thought to myself “NO” trying to live forever means that you limit the experiences you have in life. Another topic I asked myself is what is the so called American Dream anyway?
To me there is no absolute answer, but our culture says it’s fame, fortune and the accumulation of wealth. When I say wealth here I mean material things. Now let’s redefine that. The accumulation of wealth to me is friends, family and community. Just ask yourself this “Have you ever thought about all the cool people you’re never gonna meet? Doesn’t that make you sad? How about we build a wealth of friends and family, and live everyday like it’s the greatest day ever.”
On that note I want to mention a terrible trend in America, in America we treat animals better than people. Think about that for a second, in the richest country in the world, animals are more likely to find a home than a person. If you ever hear their stories it’s usually a series of unfortunate events. But as a society we dismiss them as second class citizens and think that they did that to themselves…. To end this I want to tell you something I notice about people. People are usually only nice to you when you’re nice to them first. Now let’s think about that, if nobody was ever nice to anybody the world would be a terrible place. So the next time you see someone down on their luck, have some compassion. You don’t have to give them charity, but recognize them as a human being and treat them with respect. Just thankfully decline or do what I do. Have a conversation with them, they just might teach you a life lesson.

I guess I’m having some male PMS or something, cuz everything is making me agro or fucking depressed. I haven’t been driving lately as you all should know, but I got into my car to buy a new bike and got stuck in traffic, then took out my frustration on poor Gisela. Sorry gurl. Next, to all the girls I’ve dated, fuck you all, you only hold me back. You cancel dates and make dumb excuses for not calling me back. HELLO, I can’t wait for you. I got school and a hundred mile bike race to train for. So don’t get all pissy when I don’t answer my phone. Don’t get all emotional when I can’t come out. There are more fucked up things in the world than your emotional problems. I feel like I should be happy cuz I just finished finals and I got an A for sure, but I’m not. And it’s because of that class, Socialogy 1. Basically it’s all the fucked up things in the world rolled into one class. Globalization, Global Warming, The World Trade Organization, The International Monetary Fund, The World Bank, Gentrification, Rent Control, World Hunger, Water Shortages, you get what I mean. I was already sad before this class when I heard about the plight of the native Hawaiians, of how they are getting kick out of their homes and are living on tents on the beach because rent is too high. WTF! Sometime I wonder about life and humanity. How far have we come? Does helping people make a difference? Is life even worth it?
I just had to get this out of me. Thanx for reading.

Okay guys next summer there may not be any mountaineering. I just convinced Matty to do the ultimate bike race. The tour de france has nothing on this one. We have one year to prepare which is plenty of time. Here’s the description:

The Great Divide Race is a self-supported, solo competition following the 2,490-mile Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. Traversing Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, and New Mexico, the route demands over 200,000 feet of climbing along it’s length. Competitors carry all equipment necessary to negotiate the backcountry, restocking on food and other supplies from the small towns along the route.

So basically you start in Canada and ride to Mexico. The winner this year finished in 15 days, 1 hour, 27 minutes. The female winner finished 7th overall and did in a fucking single speed. Lemme repeat that she finished in 22 days in a FUCKING SINGLE SPEED. The web site has more info

WHO’S WITH ME!

http://greatdividerace.com/

-CrazyChan (the next greatest cyclist ever!)

“Morrie had aging in a better perspective”
“All this emphasis on youth - I don’t buy it” he said. “Listen I know what a misery being young can be, so don’t tell me it’s so great. All these kids who came to me with their struggles, their strife, their feelings of inadequacy, their sense that life was miserable, so bad that the wanted to kill themselves….”
“And in addition to all their miseries, the young are not wise. They have very little understanding about life who want’s to live everyday when you don’t know what’s going on? When people are manipulating you, telling you to buy this perfume and you’ll be beautiful or this pair of jeans and you’ll be sexy - and you belive them! It’s such nonsense”
-excerpt from “tusedays with Morrie: an old man, a young man, life’s greatest lesson” by Mitch Albom

Outside Magazine, May 2008

The Big Idea
My Body Is Not a Temple
Perfect health is a worthy goal, but not at the expense of your sanity

By Gabriel Sherman

Fitness Fanaticism in America
Marathon madness (Photodisc)

NOT LONG AGO, I abandoned my faith. Spiritually, I’m still a mildly observant Jew, but my commitment to perfect health is over.

It wasn’t an easy break. I’ve been an aggressive athlete for years, skiing and mountain-biking competitively in college and running six marathons since 1999. But when I moved to New York several years ago, I suffered a health crisis. Training to run a sub-three-hour marathon, I grew obsessed with my fitness and nutrition. I voraciously consumed books and magazines offering get-faster secrets. I scrutinized my diet, going so far as to weigh my food, à la Lance Armstrong. Constantly worried about hydration, my Nalgene became an appendage. My older brother found this habit weird. Eventually, I realized I was weird.

Yes, I’d achieved my goal—2 hours 56 minutes in the New York City Marathon—but I’d become a miserable tightwad and forgotten why I loved running in the first place. That is, I’d contracted the same rabid fitness-mania that’s currently ruining so many athletes. Recent years have seen a profusion of regimens, menus, and treatments for the country’s rapidly growing number of endurance junkies. But in our quest for perfection, we’ve become a mass of anxious obsessives, soaking up each new trend, sports study, and diet to fix such normal human ailments as tight hamstrings and the occasional loose stool.

Last year, Americans purchased 30 million fitness books. Meanwhile, the personal-training industry has grown 31 percent since 2000. When I signed up at the enormously popular Equinox fitness chain (which in seven years has expanded from ten to 42 locations), my membership included a free training session. My barrel-chested trainer threw me on a treadmill for a quick “test” of my VO2 max. Then he used the fuzzy results to tell me that everything I knew about running was wrong. I left confused. Later, when I learned that there’s no national certification exam for trainers, and that at least six competing organizations offer licenses, I got pissed off.

Nutrition presents an equally troubling minefield of curious information. Men’s Health recently published an ominous “20 Worst Foods” list filled with such horrifying items as an 1,145-calorie turkey burger—the kind of meal I used to love after a long run.

And then there’s the wheat-allergy fad. In 2006, the National Institutes of Health launched the Celiac Disease Awareness Campaign to alert the public to the dangers of wheat. For the few diagnosed with celiac, the condition requires a strict gluten-free diet. But according to the N.I.H., the condition affects only 1 percent of the population. You wouldn’t know this, given the arms race of wheat-free cookbook and gluten substitutes now under way. Whole Foods runs a gluten-free bakery in North Carolina that churns out celiac-approved items for the upscale supermarket chain’s outlets nation­wide. As The New York Times reported in 2006, one woman was so convinced she suffered from a host of food allergies that she purged her diet of all citrus fruits—only to get diagnosed with scurvy.

In the frenzied bid for 100 percent perfect health—via perfect diets and workouts—we’ve certainly become more fit, but we’ve lost our reason. Which is why I’ve decided to stop at 98 percent. It’s that last 2 percent that’s driving us crazy.

Did you ever wonder where all of your gas dollars are going to?
Maybe a better question is who it’s not going to?

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