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 -- we stumbled to our feet, "another experience, another journey has ended. What next?" A science at which we Tibetans excelled was healing by herbs. Always, until now, Tibet has been shut off from foreigners, and our fauna and flora have never been ex- plored by the foreigners. On the high plateaus grow strange plants. Curare, and the "recently discovered" mescalin, for instance, were known in Tibet centuries ago. We could cure many of the afflictions of the Western world, but first the people of the Western world would have to have a little more faith. But most of the Westerners are mad any- way, so why bother? Every year parties of us, those who had done best at 38 their studies went on herb-gathering expeditions. Plants and pollens, roots and seeds, were carefully gathered, treated, and stored in yak-hide sacks. I loved the work and studied well. Now I find that the herbs I knew so well cannot be obtained here. Eventually I was considered fit to take the Ceremony of the Little Death, which I wrote about in The Third Eye. By special rituals I was placed in a state of cataleptic death, far beneath the Potala, and I journeyed into the past, along the Akashic Record. I journeyed, too, to the lands of the Earth. But let me write it as it felt to me then. The corridor in the living rock hundreds of feet beneath the frozen earth was dank, dank and dark with the dark- ness of the tomb itself. I moved along its length drifting like smoke in the blackness, and with increasing familiarity with that blackness I perceived at first indistinctly the greenish ph