Questões de Vestibular Sobre inglês
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We’ve modified our behavior so we can text and walk
Texting – or checking social media or reading/responding to mail or reading the news or checking the weather or watching a video – while walking is a pretty common phenomenon. It’s so common that most people who own a mobile device have become texting walkers.
Research suggests that these texters adopt protective measures to minimize the risk of accidents when walking. They’re less likely to trip because they shorten their step length, reduce step frequency, lengthen the time during which both feet are in contact with the ground, and increase obstacle clearance height. Taken together this creates an exaggerated image of walking, but it apparently slows the walker enough so that he registers some of what is happening around him and can compensate for it.
(Adaptado de http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/anthropology-in-practice/we-ve-modified-our-behavior-so-we-can-text-and-walk/.)
We’ve modified our behavior so we can text and walk
Texting – or checking social media or reading/responding to mail or reading the news or checking the weather or watching a video – while walking is a pretty common phenomenon. It’s so common that most people who own a mobile device have become texting walkers.
Research suggests that these texters adopt protective measures to minimize the risk of accidents when walking. They’re less likely to trip because they shorten their step length, reduce step frequency, lengthen the time during which both feet are in contact with the ground, and increase obstacle clearance height. Taken together this creates an exaggerated image of walking, but it apparently slows the walker enough so that he registers some of what is happening around him and can compensate for it.
(Adaptado de http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/anthropology-in-practice/we-ve-modified-our-behavior-so-we-can-text-and-walk/.)
If apes go extinct, so could entire forests
Bonobos eat a lot of fruit, and fruit contains seeds. Those seeds travel through a bonobo’s digestive system while bonobo itself travels around the forest. A few hours later, the seeds end up being deposited far from where the fruits were plucked. And that is where the new trees come from.
According to a paper recently published, if the bonobos disappeared, the plants would also likely go extinct, for many trees and plants species in Congo rely almost exclusively on bonobos for seed dispersal.
The bonobo has two major functions here. First of all, many seeds will not germinate well unless they have been “handled” by another species. Stomach acids and intestinal processes make the seed more able to absorb water and later sprout.
Secondly, many seeds will not succeed if they remain too close to their parental trees. The seeds that fell to the ground near their parents did not survive because they were choked off by the nearby plants. The bonobos eat about 3,5 hours every day and travel a mean of 1.2 kilometers from meal sites before defecating.
(Adaptado de http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/extinction-countdown /if-apes-go-extinct-so-could-entire-forests/.)
Qual é a explicação para o título?
Advice for new students from those who know (old students)
The first day of college I was a ball of nerves. I remember walking into my first class and running to the first seat I found, thinking everyone would be staring at me. But nobody seemed to notice and then it hit me: The fact that nobody knew me meant nobody would judge, which, upon reflection, was what I was scared of the most. I told myself to let go. All along the year, I forced myself into situations that were uncomfortable for me – for example, auditioning for a dance piece. Believe it or not, that performance was a highlight of my freshman year. My advice: challenge yourself to try something new, something you couldn’t have done in high school. – Ria Jagasia, Vanderbilt University, ’18.
(Adaptado de http://www.nytimes.com/2015/08/02/ education/edlife/ advice-for-new-students-from-those-who-know-old-students.html?ref= edlife.)
Advice for new students from those who know (old students)
The first day of college I was a ball of nerves. I remember walking into my first class and running to the first seat I found, thinking everyone would be staring at me. But nobody seemed to notice and then it hit me: The fact that nobody knew me meant nobody would judge, which, upon reflection, was what I was scared of the most. I told myself to let go. All along the year, I forced myself into situations that were uncomfortable for me – for example, auditioning for a dance piece. Believe it or not, that performance was a highlight of my freshman year. My advice: challenge yourself to try something new, something you couldn’t have done in high school. – Ria Jagasia, Vanderbilt University, ’18.
(Adaptado de http://www.nytimes.com/2015/08/02/ education/edlife/ advice-for-new-students-from-those-who-know-old-students.html?ref= edlife.)
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"If you believe in freedom of speech, you believe in freedom of speech for views you don’t like. Goebbels was in favor of freedom of speech for views he liked. So was Stalin. If you’re in favor of freedom of speech, that means you’re in favor of freedom of speech precisely for views you despise."
(NoamChomsky)
(Fonte: http://noam-chomsky.tumblr.com/post/7223808896/if-youbelieve-in-freedom-of-speech-you-believe.)
O autor do texto
Oliver Burkeman
“Why is it so hard to take your own advice?” the psychology writer Melissa Dahl asked in a New York magazine essay some months ago, and the question’s been bugging me ever since. I have the arrogance to imagine that if you followed some of the suggestions made each week in this column, you might be a little happier or more productive, with a little less relationship drama, a little more inner calm. (From my email inbox, I know this happens at least occasionally.) But were you to infer from this that I follow such advice flawlessly myself, you’d be mistaken. When friends mention their difficulties with partners or bosses, Dahl wrote, she always tells them to talk to the person involved. Just say something! “And probably, this is good advice,” she mused. “I wouldn’t know, as it’s something I rarely do myself.” I can understand. I suspect most of us can. As the old wisecrack has it: “Take my advice – I’m not using it.”
The cynical take on this is that we ignore our own advice because it’s rubbish: we give it to seem wise, when in fact it’s nonsense. (All advice to “try harder” or “snap out of it” or “look on the bright side” fall into this category: if the recipient could do so, he or she already would have, without your so-called help.)
But a more interesting notion is that the advice is often good – yet something prevents us applying it to ourselves. One such obstacle is simply too much information: inside our own heads, we have access to all manner of details, making us believe that this relationship problem, this job dilemma, is special, so the advice doesn’t apply. Dahl cites work by the psychologist Dan Ariely, showing that when a friend gets a serious medical diagnosis, most people would urge them to get a second opinion. But were it to happen to themselves, they’d be more likely not to do so, for fear of offending their doctor. The fear of offence is something you’d think of only in your own case – and it’s totally unhelpful.
But there’s another big reason I don’t follow my own advice: the huge gulf between grasping something intellectually and really feeling it in your bones. For example, it was years ago that I first encountered the insight that anxiety and insecurity aren’t reduced by trying to exert more control over the world; in fact, that usually makes them worse. I know this. But apparently I have to keep learning it, over and over. Its correctness isn’t sufficient for it to get into my brain once and for all; that takes repeated experience. As a result, I continue to “suddenly realise” things I already wrote an entire book about.
If nothing else, this should be a caution against getting too frustrated with that one friend of yours who keeps getting into the same kind of pickle, time and again, deaf to the obviously good advice that everyone keeps offering. You know the type. We’ve all got a friend like that. The scary thought is that, for some of your friends, it’s probably you.
Adapted from http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/sep/11/ taking-your-own-advice-oliver-burkeman. Accessed on: 22 out. 2015.
Glossary
Oliver Burkeman
“Why is it so hard to take your own advice?” the psychology writer Melissa Dahl asked in a New York magazine essay some months ago, and the question’s been bugging me ever since. I have the arrogance to imagine that if you followed some of the suggestions made each week in this column, you might be a little happier or more productive, with a little less relationship drama, a little more inner calm. (From my email inbox, I know this happens at least occasionally.) But were you to infer from this that I follow such advice flawlessly myself, you’d be mistaken. When friends mention their difficulties with partners or bosses, Dahl wrote, she always tells them to talk to the person involved. Just say something! “And probably, this is good advice,” she mused. “I wouldn’t know, as it’s something I rarely do myself.” I can understand. I suspect most of us can. As the old wisecrack has it: “Take my advice – I’m not using it.”
The cynical take on this is that we ignore our own advice because it’s rubbish: we give it to seem wise, when in fact it’s nonsense. (All advice to “try harder” or “snap out of it” or “look on the bright side” fall into this category: if the recipient could do so, he or she already would have, without your so-called help.)
But a more interesting notion is that the advice is often good – yet something prevents us applying it to ourselves. One such obstacle is simply too much information: inside our own heads, we have access to all manner of details, making us believe that this relationship problem, this job dilemma, is special, so the advice doesn’t apply. Dahl cites work by the psychologist Dan Ariely, showing that when a friend gets a serious medical diagnosis, most people would urge them to get a second opinion. But were it to happen to themselves, they’d be more likely not to do so, for fear of offending their doctor. The fear of offence is something you’d think of only in your own case – and it’s totally unhelpful.
But there’s another big reason I don’t follow my own advice: the huge gulf between grasping something intellectually and really feeling it in your bones. For example, it was years ago that I first encountered the insight that anxiety and insecurity aren’t reduced by trying to exert more control over the world; in fact, that usually makes them worse. I know this. But apparently I have to keep learning it, over and over. Its correctness isn’t sufficient for it to get into my brain once and for all; that takes repeated experience. As a result, I continue to “suddenly realise” things I already wrote an entire book about.
If nothing else, this should be a caution against getting too frustrated with that one friend of yours who keeps getting into the same kind of pickle, time and again, deaf to the obviously good advice that everyone keeps offering. You know the type. We’ve all got a friend like that. The scary thought is that, for some of your friends, it’s probably you.
Adapted from http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/sep/11/ taking-your-own-advice-oliver-burkeman. Accessed on: 22 out. 2015.
Glossary
Oliver Burkeman
“Why is it so hard to take your own advice?” the psychology writer Melissa Dahl asked in a New York magazine essay some months ago, and the question’s been bugging me ever since. I have the arrogance to imagine that if you followed some of the suggestions made each week in this column, you might be a little happier or more productive, with a little less relationship drama, a little more inner calm. (From my email inbox, I know this happens at least occasionally.) But were you to infer from this that I follow such advice flawlessly myself, you’d be mistaken. When friends mention their difficulties with partners or bosses, Dahl wrote, she always tells them to talk to the person involved. Just say something! “And probably, this is good advice,” she mused. “I wouldn’t know, as it’s something I rarely do myself.” I can understand. I suspect most of us can. As the old wisecrack has it: “Take my advice – I’m not using it.”
The cynical take on this is that we ignore our own advice because it’s rubbish: we give it to seem wise, when in fact it’s nonsense. (All advice to “try harder” or “snap out of it” or “look on the bright side” fall into this category: if the recipient could do so, he or she already would have, without your so-called help.)
But a more interesting notion is that the advice is often good – yet something prevents us applying it to ourselves. One such obstacle is simply too much information: inside our own heads, we have access to all manner of details, making us believe that this relationship problem, this job dilemma, is special, so the advice doesn’t apply. Dahl cites work by the psychologist Dan Ariely, showing that when a friend gets a serious medical diagnosis, most people would urge them to get a second opinion. But were it to happen to themselves, they’d be more likely not to do so, for fear of offending their doctor. The fear of offence is something you’d think of only in your own case – and it’s totally unhelpful.
But there’s another big reason I don’t follow my own advice: the huge gulf between grasping something intellectually and really feeling it in your bones. For example, it was years ago that I first encountered the insight that anxiety and insecurity aren’t reduced by trying to exert more control over the world; in fact, that usually makes them worse. I know this. But apparently I have to keep learning it, over and over. Its correctness isn’t sufficient for it to get into my brain once and for all; that takes repeated experience. As a result, I continue to “suddenly realise” things I already wrote an entire book about.
If nothing else, this should be a caution against getting too frustrated with that one friend of yours who keeps getting into the same kind of pickle, time and again, deaf to the obviously good advice that everyone keeps offering. You know the type. We’ve all got a friend like that. The scary thought is that, for some of your friends, it’s probably you.
Adapted from http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/sep/11/ taking-your-own-advice-oliver-burkeman. Accessed on: 22 out. 2015.
Glossary
Oliver Burkeman
“Why is it so hard to take your own advice?” the psychology writer Melissa Dahl asked in a New York magazine essay some months ago, and the question’s been bugging me ever since. I have the arrogance to imagine that if you followed some of the suggestions made each week in this column, you might be a little happier or more productive, with a little less relationship drama, a little more inner calm. (From my email inbox, I know this happens at least occasionally.) But were you to infer from this that I follow such advice flawlessly myself, you’d be mistaken. When friends mention their difficulties with partners or bosses, Dahl wrote, she always tells them to talk to the person involved. Just say something! “And probably, this is good advice,” she mused. “I wouldn’t know, as it’s something I rarely do myself.” I can understand. I suspect most of us can. As the old wisecrack has it: “Take my advice – I’m not using it.”
The cynical take on this is that we ignore our own advice because it’s rubbish: we give it to seem wise, when in fact it’s nonsense. (All advice to “try harder” or “snap out of it” or “look on the bright side” fall into this category: if the recipient could do so, he or she already would have, without your so-called help.)
But a more interesting notion is that the advice is often good – yet something prevents us applying it to ourselves. One such obstacle is simply too much information: inside our own heads, we have access to all manner of details, making us believe that this relationship problem, this job dilemma, is special, so the advice doesn’t apply. Dahl cites work by the psychologist Dan Ariely, showing that when a friend gets a serious medical diagnosis, most people would urge them to get a second opinion. But were it to happen to themselves, they’d be more likely not to do so, for fear of offending their doctor. The fear of offence is something you’d think of only in your own case – and it’s totally unhelpful.
But there’s another big reason I don’t follow my own advice: the huge gulf between grasping something intellectually and really feeling it in your bones. For example, it was years ago that I first encountered the insight that anxiety and insecurity aren’t reduced by trying to exert more control over the world; in fact, that usually makes them worse. I know this. But apparently I have to keep learning it, over and over. Its correctness isn’t sufficient for it to get into my brain once and for all; that takes repeated experience. As a result, I continue to “suddenly realise” things I already wrote an entire book about.
If nothing else, this should be a caution against getting too frustrated with that one friend of yours who keeps getting into the same kind of pickle, time and again, deaf to the obviously good advice that everyone keeps offering. You know the type. We’ve all got a friend like that. The scary thought is that, for some of your friends, it’s probably you.
Adapted from http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/sep/11/ taking-your-own-advice-oliver-burkeman. Accessed on: 22 out. 2015.
Glossary
Oliver Burkeman
“Why is it so hard to take your own advice?” the psychology writer Melissa Dahl asked in a New York magazine essay some months ago, and the question’s been bugging me ever since. I have the arrogance to imagine that if you followed some of the suggestions made each week in this column, you might be a little happier or more productive, with a little less relationship drama, a little more inner calm. (From my email inbox, I know this happens at least occasionally.) But were you to infer from this that I follow such advice flawlessly myself, you’d be mistaken. When friends mention their difficulties with partners or bosses, Dahl wrote, she always tells them to talk to the person involved. Just say something! “And probably, this is good advice,” she mused. “I wouldn’t know, as it’s something I rarely do myself.” I can understand. I suspect most of us can. As the old wisecrack has it: “Take my advice – I’m not using it.”
The cynical take on this is that we ignore our own advice because it’s rubbish: we give it to seem wise, when in fact it’s nonsense. (All advice to “try harder” or “snap out of it” or “look on the bright side” fall into this category: if the recipient could do so, he or she already would have, without your so-called help.)
But a more interesting notion is that the advice is often good – yet something prevents us applying it to ourselves. One such obstacle is simply too much information: inside our own heads, we have access to all manner of details, making us believe that this relationship problem, this job dilemma, is special, so the advice doesn’t apply. Dahl cites work by the psychologist Dan Ariely, showing that when a friend gets a serious medical diagnosis, most people would urge them to get a second opinion. But were it to happen to themselves, they’d be more likely not to do so, for fear of offending their doctor. The fear of offence is something you’d think of only in your own case – and it’s totally unhelpful.
But there’s another big reason I don’t follow my own advice: the huge gulf between grasping something intellectually and really feeling it in your bones. For example, it was years ago that I first encountered the insight that anxiety and insecurity aren’t reduced by trying to exert more control over the world; in fact, that usually makes them worse. I know this. But apparently I have to keep learning it, over and over. Its correctness isn’t sufficient for it to get into my brain once and for all; that takes repeated experience. As a result, I continue to “suddenly realise” things I already wrote an entire book about.
If nothing else, this should be a caution against getting too frustrated with that one friend of yours who keeps getting into the same kind of pickle, time and again, deaf to the obviously good advice that everyone keeps offering. You know the type. We’ve all got a friend like that. The scary thought is that, for some of your friends, it’s probably you.
Adapted from http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/sep/11/ taking-your-own-advice-oliver-burkeman. Accessed on: 22 out. 2015.
Glossary
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