As grim as things look right now, I can look around myself and see people proving Mrs. Susan Collins wrong, and that makes me happy.

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I'm going to see the doctor on Monday. I'm really hoping that my osteopath will act like an osteopath and do OMT on my neck this time, rather than giving me more harsh drugs.

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Darkening the site for World AIDS Day? This site's always pretty dark. OK, my excuse: I didn't know. I'm a bit out of touch. My apologies. So I'll comply with the alternative suggestion: I'll tell a story.

I've never been close to anyone living with AIDS. But I know someone who has. I'll tell his story because his story is one of the greatest stories of hope I know.

I moved to a small town in 1983. We weren't particularly close to either set of next-door neighbors, but we were very close to the family across the street. They co-owned one of the most popular restaurants in town, and had three kids fairly close to my and my sister's ages. Di became very close with their daughter; I was very close to their two sons.

The kids had an uncle named Mark. Mark was, as I recall, about 22 at the time. He'd gone off to seminary but decided to come back, worked as an assistant manager at the restaurant (owned by his brother and brother-in-law), and dabbled in plants and antiques. There are a very few truly, truly nice people in this world, and Mark was one of them. At the time, Mark was probably the nicest guy I'd ever met. Seventeen years later, I still have to rank him somewhere in the top five.

He was also one of the least fortunate. That summer, his pickup was stolen and never recovered. There was a fire at the carriage house he was living in. Then, the unthinkable happened. As the saying goes, the good die young.

Mark was having problems with headaches. Finally, he went to see a doctor about it. The doctor came back with the worst possible news. Mark, you're terminal. You have cancer. There's very little we can do. You have about six months to live.

Mark, being the class act that he was, didn't tell his family right away. He didn't want to distress them. He did tell his girlfriend. She left him. Mark never blamed her; she just couldn't handle watching him die and he totally understood. Sensing that the end was near, Mark made his own funeral arrangements. He paid for everything, picked out everything, including his own coffin, and had everything taken care of. He planned to tell his family, then hand them an envelope and say, "Everything's taken care of. All that's left to do is wait."

But something happened when he picked out that coffin. Something arose inside him. A voice said, "There is no way in hell they're going to put me in that box."

Mark determined to spend the rest of his life fighting with every ounce of his considerable resources. Fight he did. He underwent aggressive chemotherapy and radiation. One of the best-known cancer treatment centers in the world was in St. Louis, about an hour away, so he took advantage of it. His hair started falling out, so he shaved his head. In this conservative small town, his shaven head brought him considerable ridicule. And in this place, which was still small enough that everybody knew of everybody (it wasn't quite small enough to know everybody personally), whenever he ventured out of his house, he got weird looks, like he was a ghost. Aren't you dead yet?, he imagined them saying.

It became too much for Mark to bear, and things were getting worse, so he moved to St. Louis to be closer to his doctors and to lose himself in a crowd. His six months was up, and he was still alive.

At some point, Mark met an American Indian who was also dying of cancer. A very old and wise man, he took Mark under his wing. "I'm very old and I've lived a full life," he told him. "I've outlived my family. I have no one left. But you... You're too young for this. These beads have been in my family for generations. There's no one for me to give them to. Take them. And live."

Mark dismissed the beads as superstition, but didn't underestimate the power of the mind. He took the beads and wore them. They reminded him that he was fighting the battle of his life.

In 1986, Mark went into remission. He credited his outstanding medical treatment, his determination to live, and his faith in God with saving his life. Grateful to his doctors, his hospital, and God that he'd lived far longer than he was supposed to, he wanted to give something back. He wanted to help others who were dying, to give them hope. There weren't many terminal cancer patients his age. But there were a number of people his age who were dying of a frightening, still little-known disease known as AIDS.

Mark wasn't afraid of AIDS or of the AIDS patients. He was patient with them, but firm. Giving up gets you nowhere. That was Mark's message.

Mark's volunteer work continued for a number of years. When I last saw him and spoke with him in 1994, he had stopped, but he knew he would go back. "I just need to spend some time in the land of the living," he told me. "I'll know when it's time to go back." Mark told me he would never live to be an old man--his body was that of a man nearly twice his age and he looked older than his 33 years--but he was still grateful. He and his doctors had traded life expectancy for ten years (at the time) he wasn't supposed to have.

Mark and I lost contact soon after that. But I'll never forget his message. I'm sure that's true of many (and there are many) of the people Mark touched.

Mark didn't overcome AIDS. And while there's still no cure, Mark's attitude will go a long way towards helping those who are living with AIDS to gain years that they, too, weren't supposed to have.

Thanks to a glitch Wednesday, I was in the Top 100 at editthispage.com. Top 100 sites generally have at least 25,000 hits to their name; this one has about 10,000 so it's not quite halfway there. I find when I concentrate too much on stats I concentrate not enough on content and everything goes downhill, but 10,000 hits in 6 weeks is pretty good. Thanks to all of you who read regularly. I really do appreciate it.

For those who aren't Mac people... Let's revisit yesterday for a minute. Yes, a 45-second boot time on a Mac is very good. Anything under a minute and a half is considered good. For comparison, I took the fastest Mac I have available that's capable of booting from a RAM disk (G3s and newer cannot), installed a lean, mean OS to it, defragged it and ran DiskWarrior (defragging doesn't make the ramdisk physically any faster but it helps the filesystem work more efficiently) and rebooted a few times. I timed it at 30 seconds.

That's a 133 MHz machine with EDO RAM, but that makes me think that you'll never get a G4 to boot in less than 30 seconds, even with a high-end SCSI card and a 15K RPM hard drive. Slow RAM is still several orders of magnitude faster than any hard disk; that 30 second boot time must be due to the limitations of HFS (Hierarchial File System).

And Di's two cents. Hey, she's my sister, and she helps out with the site, so when she wants to say something, she gets to say it. In yesterday's post, I lamented about focusing on what works right, not what's wrong. Her comment:

[That's] the whole basis for occupational therapy, osteopathy, and psychology. It's all related to the holistic approach.

Hmm. My dad was an osteopath (an osteopath is a medical doctor, but with a slightly different underlying philosophy, but a D.O. can do everything an M.D. does) as were both of his parents. I was never close to his parents so I can't speak for them, but Dad lived and breathed osteopathy. And my sister has a psychology degree and is working on an OT degree. So no wonder I agreed with him!

I've got more, but I'm out of time. I'll be back tomorrow with more--I've been writing long this week anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~

From: Ab
Subject: That virtual memory thingy.


Hi Dave
 
I've just read your article in Computer Shopper and came a bit unstuck when I got to specifying my own virtual memory settings.  I've got 64Mb ram, so, as you suggested I want to give myself a 64Mb swapfile.  I'm just wondering how exactly you enter this in the Min and Max boxes, as I'm fairly new to all this setting changing business.  I tried entering it as just '64' in both boxes, but this appears to be wrong, 'cos  my games starting complaining that my swap file was too small, so I thought I might as well try emailing you to make sure I get it right.
 
I found the rest of the article to be really informative - keep up the good work.
 
I'd be really grateful if you'd mail me back about my problem.
 
Thanx alot
 
Ab
(England)
~~~~~

I've never seen a game complain that 64 megs of physical RAM plus 64 megs virtual isn't enough, but hey, if it says it's not enough, then it's not enough. Sounds like you got it right, and for your combination of hardware and software, I'm wrong. My apologies on that.
 
Safe bet is to go 128 instead of 64--it's overkill, but in Windows 95/98 and Windows Me little too much is better than not enough. If you've got really obnoxious games, it may take 192 to appease them, but if they're really using that much virtual memory, my guess is they're not running very well.
 
I'm glad you liked the rest of the article. There'll be another in the Feburary issue, and another in March.
 
Let me know if anything else comes up. I post all the mail I get about my articles and book on my Web site so it can help other people if something I write confuses them--that's inevitable in this business.
 
Thanks!

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