Reply by email, filling out this form and emailing it to me.
Trimming off the rest of this post is unnecessary.
I will guarantee anonymity except in cases of blatant abuse.
I will achieve anonymity by tallying the results in
uncorrelated tabulations and then deleting the emails.
(I know this loses interesting correlation data, but if
resondents want anonymity it's hard to avoid.)
I know that this anonymity promise depends on trust and that
you have no particular reason to trust me. Someday, I hope.
I will post results Saturday.
xxxxxxxx beginning of survey xxxxxxxx
yes( ) ( )no Should RoadRunner be subjected to some kind of UDP?
yes( ) ( )no ... active UDP (cancels) ?
yes( ) ( )no ... passive UDP (drop messages) ?
yes( ) ( )no ... all-groups UDP? (as opposed to specific groups)
yes( ) ( )no Are you a Usenet sysadmin? How big:_ How long:_
yes( ) ( )no Should another server be subjected to UDP? Who:_
yes( ) ( )no Should UDPs be used more often?
yes( ) ( )no Should UDPs be used less often?
yes( ) ( )no Would you have answered this survey without anonymity?
xxxxxxxx end of survey xxxxxxxx
--
for his body, more perman-
ently for his living space, meant that he could leave the
Earth with honor and with gain. This is not Kharma, my
brother, but a task which you are doing upon this, your last
life on Earth." A very hard life, too, I told myself.
In the morning I was able to cause some consternation or
surprise by announcing, "We are going to live in Ireland.
Dublin first, then outside Dublin."
I was not much help in getting things ready, I was very
sick, and almost afraid to move for fear of provoking a heart
attack. Cases were packed, tickets obtained, and at last we
set off. It was good to be in the air again, and I found that
breathing was much easier. The airline, with a "heart-case"
passenger aboard, took no risks. There was an oxygen
cylinder on the rack above my head.
The plane flew lower, and circled over a land of vivid
green, fringed by milk-white surf. Lower still, and there
was the rumble of an undercarriage being lowered, followed
shortly by the screech of the tires touching the landing
strip.
My thoughts turned to the occasion of my first entry to
England, and my treatment by the Customs official. "What
will this be like?" I mused. We taxied up to the ai
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