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Chris, I have something to tell you. Yesterday, a woman conducting a survey called the house. You know I usually don’t do those things—not unless I’m feeling especially guilty that day—but then she mentioned not having to commute. You see, this was the choice the survey offered me, as I understood it: I could continue to take a forty-seven-minute train ride (or a thirty-eight-minute ferry fide) and a twelve-minute subway ride to and from work every day while remaining your wife, or I could work from home and cease to be married to you. I have chosen the latter. You probably have a few questions, as I did. For example, will this home be our home, where you also live Given the fact that we will no longer be husband and wife, this is a complication. I asked the surveyor this question, but she had already moved on to "Would you give up manicures if it meant you didn’t have to commute" (No.) You may be confused, or perturbed. This I understand. I had my doubts, too. Not long after I said I would divorce you to work from home, I wondered if the surveyors would be providing me with some sort of alternate home or, ideally, divorce-litigation fees. On these matters, too, my surveyor was mute. And if you refuse to grant me a divorce I also queried the surveyor about whether a mere separation would be sufficient to guarantee me a commute-free existence, but by then, it seemed, I was taking up her time—her very important surveyor time—and she had to get off the phone. I am unsure if you will be allowed to remain in our house; the survey was murky on this point. Can we still speak to each other Will I still make roasted veggie-meatie for the Franks on Thursdays I know this is difficult for everyone. Will you be working from home, too With regard to that last one—c’mon, Chris, it’s important to be realistic here. Perhaps you are wondering what will happen to our children. Will they be able to remain in their childhood home, likely my new office Again, I’m still pretty unclear on this whole thing, but I’d guess no. If we have to separate physically, it’s better that they move in with you—you make the mac and cheese they like. Having the entire house to myself does bring up some annoying considerations, such as choosing which room I will work in. I suspect I’ll alternate. If you like, Chris, I will use our lovely master bedroom only for the most important of conference calls. Our daughter’s room will be for Mondays; the light will cheer me. I became a bit concerned when Todd called this morning asking why I wasn’t at the office. Apparently, the surveyors have yet to make arrangements with my employers for me to work from home, but perhaps they are waiting for the divorce papers to be signed. It does make me question the binding nature of my answer, though. Maybe we don’t have to end our marriage, simply because I answered "Yes" on a survey conducted by a company called TeamVision But of course we do. Don’t be silly, Chris. You may find comfort, in this unfortunate circumstance, in the fact that TeamVision is a popular company that provides software for remote and online meetings, and that by participating in its survey I have helped confirm the strong future of telecommuting. Darling, I really did love you. When the survey asked if I would bike to work in exchange for you, I said, "What kind of bike" And then, "Absolutely not." I’ll see you at the office. (From New Yorker; 619 words) Which is true of the surveyor
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Old 8ram videos of my older brother and me depict the same casual disregard any child has for a parent. My father, nearing 70, shot hours of footage of us with his old-fashioned video camera, his booming baritone narrating while Dan and I played air guitar or showcased our best belly flops. In my favorite vignette, I am smearing chocolate in my hair as Dad trills my nickname, Jussy, in trademark, singsong staccato. My father, Sidney Harman, is credited with many things: building one of the biggest audio-equipment companies in the world, Harman International; maintaining an impressive golf handicap into his 90s; buying Newsweek from The Washington Post in 2010, when he was 91. He was puckish; he was a poet, a philosopher, and a sports enthusiast. But more than anything, my dad was a magician. I will never forget the way his wiry eyebrows furrowed when he beguiled a stranger’s son at a restaurant, asking him to blow on a coin that would later surface in the boy’s ear. I remember willfully insisting that the quarter had never vanished and reappeared, that it had been in his pocket the whole time. That was my role: the adversary. When I was a kid, nothing my dad did—despite his curiosity, good humor, or success—particularly impressed me. In the seventh grade, I was accepted to a prestigious all-girls horseback-riding camp in Vermont. Only for the most serious equestriennes, the program demanded hours of intensive lessons and a regimented diet. Prior to my departure, I heavily campaigned for care packages, citing the irreparable side effects of withdrawal from Sour Straw candy. Halfway through camp session, I received a notice that a package was waiting for me at the canteen, but that it had been inspected for contraband. Evidently Dad had bought a board game and filled the box to the brim with candy, and then had taken it to be shrink-wrapped. Although the packaging was seamless—and, as the camp director admitted, unprecedented—my sweets were seized. As I walked away with my gutted Monopoly game, I read the note from my dad: "A game for a gamine," he had written, in trademark, blocky scrawl. That wasn’t the only time one of his tricks backfired, but he never stopped trying. When I was in the 12th grade, a teacher ordered me to rewrite an essay on Henry IV. Although I was fairly confident in my mastery of Falstaff as a foil to Prince Hal, I asked Dad for help. After an hour of brainstorming, we crafted a three-page masterpiece, which included two, single-sentence paragraphs for emphasis. We were quite pleased with our creativity, especially those two artful sentences. When I came home with an F, my dad maintained that Mrs. B. wouldn’t know iambic pentameter if it bit her in the ass. It was this refusal to ascribe to social rules that made him so magical. And although I used to cringe when he would pick me up in his convertible, Frank Sinatra blaring from the speakers, the more I listened, the more I became enchanted with O1’ Blue Eyes. My dad always said his goal was to live long enough to see my older brother graduate from high school; this would have made him 82. At my own college graduation, Dad—then 88 and lively as ever—rank warm keg beer from a plastic cup and flirted with my roommates. When we found out last March, that at 92, he had acute myeloid leukemia, no one believed my dad was really sick. He didn’t look it, and he didn’t feel it, he said; his opinions were still provocative, his jokes, terrible. But as we sat on the balcony of my parents’ oceanfront home on Venice Beach, he encouraged me to pursue my dream of writing, assured me I had a wonderful partner in my boyfriend, and told that one day, I’d be a lovely mother. The words were heavy, but the sun on my nose was warm, and I didn’t take any of it too seriously. After all, he’d always had a penchant for dramatics. A month later, in April, I saw him at the hospital for the last time. Despite the morphine coursing through his veins, he looked at me and conspiratorially suggested we "get out of here." I smiled at him, his warm body bloated with chemicals, his face shrouded in unfamiliar stubble, his dark-blue eyes weighted and cloudy. I finally understood that this was his final trick: the disappearing act. (From Newsweek; 750 words) What happened to the package that her father sent to her when it arrived at the horseback-tiding camp
Questions 7 and 8 are based on the following news. At the end of the news item, you will be given 20 seconds to answer the questions. Now listen to the news. What can be learned about Yukio Hatoyama from the passage
The United States stands for freedom and democracy. There is a large gap between the rhetoric and the reality, but the United States does export its political ideals abroad. And it does not just rely on force to do so. It relies on government-funded foundations like the National Endowment for Democracy that distribute grants to pro-democracy organizations abroad. US-based NGOs like Freedom House rank countries according to their adherence to political freedom, the implication being that other countries should conform to the ideals espoused in the US Constitution. What does China stand for That question arose at a recent dialogue between Confucian and African thinkers in South Africa funded by the Confucius Institute. Such dialogues are relatively new: They are carried out on non-Western terms and funded by non-Western organizations. Now that China has more wealth, it can afford to fund dialogues that explore political alternatives to Western values. But which values does China stand for and how can they be promoted abroad Confucianism may be China’s main political tradition, but what are the key Confucian values that have the potential to make the world a better place Like liberals and Christians, Confucians believe that their values ought to have universal reach, but China hasn’t done a good job exporting its political values beyond the East Asian region. As China becomes a global political power, such questions are likely to become more salient. Confucianism The Confucian tradition is diverse and contested, but Confucians today typically defend two key values: political meritocracy and harmony. The value of political meritocracy is not hard to explain. Everybody should have the same opportunity to be educated so as to participate in politics, but not everybody will emerge from this process with the equal ability to make morally informed decisions. Hence, an important task of the political system is to select those with above average ability. The Chinese Communist Party, whatever the Marxist rhetoric, is becoming a more meritocratic organization. Top students are encouraged to join and the overall educational level of cadres is rapidly rising. To the extent that the party has successfully carried out economic modernization over the last three decades or so, much of the credit should go to cadres selected on merit—similar to other successful East Asian countries with a Confucian heritage. So far, however, China’s attempt to export political meritocracy to developing countries has been relatively ad hoc. Hence, there is a need for a government funded organization—let’s call it the National Endowment for Meritocracy—that would fund experiments with political meritocracy in other countries. Western powers may not be interested, but there will be takers in Africa and elsewhere. Such programs could help to improve governance in recipient countries and would earn their gratitude. The value of harmony is perhaps best promoted via NGOs, because official support is likely to arouse political suspicion. Hence, one might imagine an NGO—let’s call it Harmony House—that relies on rigorous empirical methods to determine the extent of harmony in the world. Countries could be ranked according to a "Social Harmony Index" that measures rates of crime, incarceration, divorce and gaps between the rich and the poor. Countries that do well on the index could set a model for other countries. It is time for China to engage in the global dialogue about political values on its own terms. Rather than, say, wasting time and money on research reports measuring the extent of human rights violations in the United States, China can do more good by promoting the political values that inspire Chinese people and can help to make the world a better place if they are taken more seriously abroad. This is not to deny that freedom, democracy and human rights have a place in China’s future. But indigenous values such as meritocracy and harmony may have an even greater place, and China should do its best to persuade the rest of the world of their value. Of course, it also needs to set the right model at home. (From NYTimes; 668 words) Which of the following sentences best describes the main idea of Paragraph One
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