Ziad Ramez al Taee should lodge her in the turn
Paul Kunda
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
--
I gazed down,
emotionless while Russian soldiers raked through the
ruined troop-carrier, pulling out burned bodies and bits of
bodies. I saw a man look up, and point. Heads turned up-
wards in answer to his gestures, and I looked as well. There
was my broken body teetering across the top of a high wall.
Blood was running from the mouth and nostrils. I watched
while my body was removed from the wall and placed in
an ambulance. As the car drove off to a hospital I hovered
above and saw all. My Silver Cord was intact, I observed;
it glistened like blue morning mists in the valleys.
Russian orderlies pulled out the stretcher, not being
particularly careful. Joltingly they carried it into an oper-
ating theatre and rolled my body on to a table. Nurses cut
off my blood-stained clothes and dropped them in a refuse
bin. An X-ray unit took photographs, and I saw that I had
three broken ribs, one had perforated my left lung. My left
arm was broken in two places, and my left leg was broken
again at the knee and at the ankle. The broken end of a
soldier's bayonet had penetrated my left shoulder, narrowly
missing a vital artery. The women surgeons sighed noisily,
wondering where to start. I seemed to float over the oper-
ating table, watching, wondering if their skill would be
great enough to patch me up. A gentle tugging upon my
Silver Cord, and I found myself fl