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
Free-lance work without any legal standing was difficult
indeed. Patients subscribed to the view that; the Devil was
ill, the Devil a monk would be. The Devil was well, the
Devil was he! The stories which defaulting patients told to
explain their non-payment would fill many books, and
cause the critics to work overtime. I continued my search
for permanent work.
"Oh!" said a friend, "you can do free-lance writing,
"ghost" writing. Have you thought of that? A friend of
mine has written a number of books, I will give you an
introduction to him." Off I went to one of the great London
Museums to see the friend. Into an office I was shown, and
for a moment I thought I was in the Museum storeroom!
I was afraid to move in case I knocked something over, so
I just sat and became weary of sitting. At last "the Friend"
came in. "Books?" he said. "Free-lance writing? I'll put
you in touch with my agent. He may be able to fix you up."
He scribbled industriously, and then handed me a paper
with an address upon it. Almost before I knew what had
happened, I was outside the office. "Well," I thought, "Will
this be another wild-goose chase?"
I looked at the piece of paper in my hand. Regent Street?
Now, which end of the street would it be? I got out of the
train at Oxford Circus, and with my usual luck, found that
I was at the wrong end! Regent Street was crowded, people
seemed to be milling round the entrance of the big stores.
A Boys' Brigade or Salvation Army Band, I did not know
which, was proceedin