Megan & Eric Konarske’s Blog

Well, being a bit of a tech geek, I’m feeling a bit lame for not yet having a blog. So here it is!

Just a test while I try to figure this thing out.

Wow, this technology has gotten out of control. It seems that only a very short time ago, the word “blog” would have been taken by most as something akin to an English (the Queen’s English, that is) curse word. Yet here we are. Nearly everyone has one, and I guess there are some legitimate uses. For us, perhaps, since we have family spread all across the U.S., it’s a good way for relatives to keep up with our lives. Of course, that would require that we actually write stuff in it…

So… my beautiful wife gave me the option of giving up either soda products or whipped cream on my Starbucks. No real argument from me. My advancing age, increasing appetite, and waning exercise are all adding up to unwanted pounds.

But which to give up? From a strictly nutrient-based viewpoint, soda is definitely the loser. A little 12 ounce Coke has something like 140 completely empty calories… pure sugar. Whipped cream on Starbucks is more like 100 calories of fat (only about 1 gram of carbs).

Honestly I won’t have too hard of a time giving up either. Now, if she would have given me the option of giving up Starbucks period or Coke. Well, that one is so easy, this post wouldn’t even exist.

With eyes shut tight against the powerful sun, she lies back in the sand, though is somewhat surprised at the willingness of the grains to rearrange under her body. It’s a comforting feeling; it’s a familiar feeling. She’s been here before. Sometimes in reality; sometimes in dreams.

Stretched out on her back at the edge of the world where the solid earth gently melts into liquid, she’s free to think. But she can’t. Thoughts no longer form. Physically the location is not new; spiritually it is.

Her days here as a young girl were invaluable. Then, she need only lie back, open her mind, and let the thoughts and feelings flow. A gentle offshore salt-filled breeze quickly carried away the worst moments life could produce.

Things have changed. She’s no longer a little girl. Gentle winds are now powerless to carry away the feelings of despair and emptiness she carries with her as a constant reminder that her abandoned soul is slowly dying.

A deep, dark, nameless, aching hole of dimensionless proportion has expanded inside her taking with it the hopes and dreams that used to flourish in this previously fertile garden.

She’s stuck. She’s drained. Time has raced. Time has stopped. Numbness envelops her. Her body tingles. She doesn’t trust. She doesn’t trust herself. She feels empty and powerless. She relinquished her power to someone else. Her boundaries are blurred. She can no longer feel the distinct separation between her self and the external world.

Her tightly closed eyes no longer able to hold back the welling tears, she sits up with her face in her hands, shaking. Jaw clenched tight. Ribs constricted. Her muscles brace against a consuming rage she’s powerless to understand. Her skin is etched with lines of tension and time.

She’s afraid to turn around. She’s afraid to look at the sand. She’s terrified there will be no imprint. There is an imprint. She does exist. It’s not too late. Maybe the garden will grow again. It’s up to her.

by Eric Konarske

Two years ago today, the day that started it all.
A day late in October, a day early in fall.

I started my job with no expectation,
to meet a woman and start a relation.

But this girl was different, it was easy to see.
I fell quickly for her, but not her for me.

It didn’t take long before I sensed something real.
But her I was uncertain of how she did feel.

How does she feel? How much time does she need?
Our hearts travelled together, but at much different speed.

I pushed and I pushed for our lives to entwine.
I pushed and I pushed ’til finally a sign.

She finally said yes, she proved me the winner.
She finally agreed to a movie and dinner.

Thank you sweet Megan, thanks for that date.
Was our meeting just luck or was it true fate?

Now part of my world, a big part of my life.
That mysterious woman who now is my wife.

I love you, Megan
Eric

by Eric Konarske 

In the year 2000, on the 17th of September, 24 year old Nicole Reinhart was poised to capture one of women’s cycling’s most coveted prizes. Having graced the top step of the winner’s podium in each of the first three of four races in the series, The BMC Software Grand Prix title, and the quarter million dollar prize for winning all four, looked almost certain to be hers.

Her display of dominance during the first three races left everyone convinced that the fourth was more of a technicality than a test. Reckless speculation may even leave one wondering if her name may have already been on that hefty check long before the starter’s gun put the final race into motion.

To nobody’s surprise, her dominance continued through most of final race, and with only two remaining corners standing between her and the checkered banner, victory now seemed absolutely certain. But, as the old saying often reminds us, only two things in life are certain. Victory is not one of them.

The double-edged sword of unpredictability that creates some of life’s sweetest moments also has a brutal way of reminding us that the bitter ones are never far behind. On that second to last corner, for reasons still not known today, Nicole lost control of her bike. Just off the edge of the course, a cold and unforgiving Maple stole both her chance of victory… and her life.

More recently, on the 12th of March 2003, the world of cycling was sent another reminder that even the superheroes of this extremely competitive sport are no match for the Grim Reaper. With 40 kilometers remaining in the second stage of this edition of Paris-Nice, Andrei Kivilev tangled with a couple of other riders, causing them all to go down hard.

Tragically, the injuries Andrei sustained in the crash left his wife without a husband, his children without a father, and his fans without a hero. But his death also left many looking for people to blame and places to point fingers.

During times of tragedy, individuals often lose their ability to judge with clarity the facts of a given situation, and this unfortunate instance is no exception. Long before their tears had dried and funeral arrangements had been made, spectators, teammates, friends, families, and coaches were calling for mandatory helmet usage among the pro ranks.

This issue is not new. The world’s greatest bike race—the Tour De France—was dealt a painful blow in 1995 with the loss of Fabio Casartelli on a spine-tingling mountain descent. Casartelli’s death created an emotional juggernaut that almost instantaneously brought to life a new rule in professional cycling—mandatory helmets. But the rule was put to death as hastily as it was brought to life thanks to the absolute refusal of the riders to ride until the rule was no more.

Deaths in professional cycling are extremely rare. I could bury you with facts and figures to demonstrate that with or without helmets, professional bicycle racing has a much lower mortality rate than other extreme sports that employ rapid motion as a competitive factor. However, I’d prefer to view this issue from another perspective.

Helmet usage, as I see it, is a no-brainer. Today’s helmets are extremely light and well ventilated; sometimes it’s hard to tell when you’re wearing one. For these reasons, I never leave home without one. But if ten, no, if a hundred or even a thousand professional cyclists died every year from head injuries, my belief that every pro cyclist has a right to make the decision for himself would not change.

I was raised on the premise that man’s most precious gift is his life. But that gift has value only when accompanied by the freedom to decide how that gift is to be used.

The number of people this issue of choice directly affects is very small. There are only a few hundred pros whose lives will be forcibly changed, so why should the rest of the world care? The rest of the world needs to care because the helmet issue isn’t simply a problem; it’s also a symptom. It’s a symptom of a world of people whose desire to control the lives of others is resulting in the loss of control of their own. One cannot decide the path of another man’s life without forfeiting the right to decide the path of one’s own.

The helmet issue interests me personally, but its implications and effects can be applied anywhere. For example, millions of people die every year as a result of what they put in their mouths. People drink, people smoke, people eat things from McDonalds that bear a closer resemblance to a grade school science project than to what I call food. But does my abstinence from these destructive tendencies put me in superior moral position to those who choose to partake in these vices? Should I decide what other people eat? No, of course not.

This struggle may continue forever. Some will not rest until helmet usage is unquestionably enforced. I ask: what then? Where does it stop? Are helmets the panacea their proponents would have us believe? If the deaths don’t stop with helmets, what next? Eliminate the more dangerous mountain stages? Then what? Speed limits? Training wheels? Where does it end?

When I ask these questions, I don’t get valid, rational, well thought out answers. I get well-intended emotional wishes. I get: “Andrei would still be alive today if helmets were mandatory.” But is this true? Is there any way to know for sure? No, there is not. What about Nicole Reinhart? Would she be alive today if she had been wearing a helmet? That question leaves no room for speculation. Nicole was wearing a helmet.

If you were about to lose your job, what would you do? Suppose it’s a job you really like, would you fight for it? And what if the reason you were being replaced is your boss’ perception of you as a scammer who’s always trying to get away with something when his or her back is turned? Would you do everything in your power to change that perception before they take your keys and change your passwords?

I ask this question because Sprint is losing customers by the millions… no exaggeration… millions! But that doesn’t impede their quest for market domination not by providing the best, honest service and products possible but instead by immorally, and perhaps, illegally squeezing every last dime from their best customers when they’re not looking.

I am (soon to be past-tense) one of their best customers. I’ve been a Sprint customer just shy of ten years now. I never pay my bill late. I barely use any of my minutes. In some ways I’m like a dream customer. I make good on my end of the contract and ask very little in return. Heck, I don’t even complain (out loud anyway) about all the missed and dropped calls because of poor service areas.

So why is it that they choose not to do the simple things it would take to keep me as a customer? Maybe they figure they won’t still be in business past my contract anyway, so why not try to screw me while they still can. I don’t know the answer for sure, but they’re in a perilous position, and they’re doing nothing to change it.

Not to bore with history, but a couple years ago Sprint tried so hard to pull one over on me that for the first time in my 40 years on this planet, I got the Better Business Bureau involved. Thanks to the BBB, my issue was resolved, and I got a call from a high-up at Sprint. We talked; he seemed embarrassed when I brought up Sprint’s at-the-time incredibly poor rating from J.D. Powers based on their abhorrent customer service. He seemed honest and humble in his professed desire to change the world’s view of them as the worst cell provider.

My guess is he got canned for caring too much. Fast forward a couple years to the present. I’m back to paying my bill and causing no trouble, so they figure while my back is turned, they’ll try to snatch my wallet… again.

For the last two billing cycles my bill has been five bucks more than usual. Stop there; I don’t care about five bucks. At risk of sounding cliche, I don’t care about the money. I care about integrity. I keep up my end of the contract. I ask the same from them.

But apparently it’s a one-way contract. I can’t change it, but they can. See, when I signed my contract, they gave me two separate discounts. A discount because of my employer’s preferred status and another for reasons I don’t even remember.

Before the dreaded call to Customer Service, I took a close look at my bill for the last few months. Sure enough, discount #2 no longer shows on my bill.

Ring ring… I can feel my blood pressure rising as I wait on hold to talk to the rep. I’ve slid down this gravel road before.

After finally figuring out what’s going on, the Customer Service Rep says…

Hang on here. Before I tell you, you need to let go of all you’ve learned about logic. Because what she told me made about as much sense as: The Mungle pilgriffs far awoy. Religeorge too thee worled. Sam fells on the waysock-side and somforbe on a gurled, with all her faulty bagnose!

In fact, if she had said that, I’d have at least given points for creativity.

Instead, I get this: “sir, your discount was removed because our new billing system doesn’t allow more than one discount.” At least she called me sir as she undid the button on my back pocket.

“Now wait”, I told her. “I can’t change the terms of my contract, so why can Sprint?” Apparently I didn’t do an adequate job of masking my anger, because she said: “sir, I understand you’re upset, but it’s because our new billing system doesn’t allow multiple discounts.”

And that’s it. No more explanation. So what happens when their “new billing system” starts rounding up to the nearest thousand? “Sir, I realize your plan only costs $79 dollars, but our new billing system automatically rounds up to the nearest thousand.”

How’s that for logic? It doesn’t matter. I’m done with Sprint’s brand of logic. On July 11th I’m breaking my contract. Yeah yeah, for the new iPhone. But honestly, if not for the trouble I’ve had with Sprint, I’d have stuck it out. Maybe I’d have gotten an Instinct. Who knows. But it doesn’t matter now. I’m going to pay $400 (family plan) to break my contract. And that will be the last money I will ever give Sprint.

Sorry Mr. Hesse, but keeping me as a customer wasn’t as easy as whipping up a fairly lame iPhone copy. Actually, it was MUCH easier than that. All you had to do was treat me the exact same way you want to be treated yourself and I would have stayed a customer for life.