Back in the February doldrums, I entertained myself with a spoof on the Sacred Scientific Method, astrology and myself. “I am conducting a scientific survey of anyone who will respond. The results of this poll will be analyzed by a sophisticated computer model devised by candidates for full professorships in Occult Visions.” I get few e-mails from Faithful Readers, so my expectation of response was low.

Well! There was a tsunami of e-mails, all but one civil. Rephrasing that less-than-cordial message: It seems I am an idiot savant (a mentally defective person with an exceptional skill or talent in a special field), and anyone reading my cattle leavings ought to be committed to eternity in a cell with someone who’s just taken up learning the banjo.

I hope he found his sun sign, because he plainly read my spoof seriously, and him with a Ph.D! (Really, some of my best friends are scientists.)

There was a professional astrologer who was very kind — or just didn’t get the irony. Her Web site is astrodynamics.blogspot.com

What follows is the original test material and the combined scientific results:

The situation is this: You are marooned in an old-fashioned Titanic-type lifeboat with no land visible. The sky is clear. Your ship is gone. You don’t know where you are. The lifeboat has four oars, two gallons of water, a 42-ounce box of Ritz crackers, one 12-foot-by-16-foot tarp, a 100-foot roll of 10-gauge wire, dull tinsnips, six flares, six blankets, a log book and pen. There is a telescope, bottle of champagne, hand mirror, metal foot-long ruler, fruitcake and bar of Hershey’s Extra Dark chocolate (jumbo size), a copy of George II’s color book, with black and white crayons. You have an axe and two empty six-ounce cups. No beer. No coffee. No toothpaste. No cologne. No cell phone or radio.

One of every sign of the Zodiac is present. You are all in your pajamas. Gender is unclear. You are strangers.

The test: Please complete every item, no matter how inane:

1. Your sign and age. If you don’t know your sign, consult the astrology column in the comics section. Result: ages 17-80:

Average age 48. Signs: 9 Libra, 8 Scorpio, 7 Sagittarius, 2 Aquarius, 3 Capricorn, 10 Virgo, 10 Gemini, 1 Cancer

2. Do you regularly consult said column? Result: Yes 32; No 3; No answer 5

3. Do you find you fit the profile for your sign? Yes 34; No, 6.

4. Your assessment of the value of astrology in everyday life? Answers ranged from “Nil” to “It’s God’s plan.”

5. What are the first three things you would do in the lifeboat scene? Result: Organize, organize, organize.

6. What are the three most useful things in the boat? Results: Top three were chocolate, tarp and oars. Everything else got at least one vote.

7. What would you get rid of? Result: 7 Keep all, 1 jerks; 1 axe, as too dangerous.

8. Who would be a natural ally? Result: 9 everyone. Favorite sign named: Pisces.

9. Of whom would you be wary? Taurus and Scorpio, by a landslide.

10. Why are you doing this? Results: 16 because you asked me; 6 work is slow/boss is out to lunch; 5 interesting

11. Commentary on methodology or a deeply philosophical observation. Results: Many pages of profound and/or muddled ideas. I have no column space for many worthy efforts, just this one. Sorry. “Of course, if all else fails, row. We have four oars and people in PJs. We could christen the boat the SS Astrology and sail off for uncharted territory.”

It seems fair to expose even further my position on astrology. I would never ask someone in a pick-up bar for their sign. I’d never invest time or money by today’s starry positions. I do fit the Aries program like Britney Spears fits in her rhinestone jeans — full to overflowing. Enough.

Peg Elliott Mayo writes from the Coast Range. She invites comment at uncommonideas@rivervoices.com and readers to her blog: www.peak.org/~pegmayo/