*Question*
Eating less food at night time is sensible advice for someone trying to lose weight. The reason often given is that if eat you too much food at night, the body will store all those excess kilojoules as fat because we're inactive until the next day. The reason sounds plausible, but if it was one hundred percent true then world hunger could be solved by just feeding people one meal at night time. What really matters is how much is eaten over days and weeks for weight gain or weight loss, not so much when it is eaten. There is merit though in advice to eat less at night time as it can help a person to cut back on the total quantity of food eaten. Eating lots of food in the evening can also be a marker for unhealthy dietary habits, especially if much of that extra food is going to fuel couch surfing exploits. So even though advice to eat less at night time seems logical, it hasn't actually been well tested by science to see how effective it can be for losing weight. Filling this gap, a short-term study involving 29 healthy men looked at how 2 weeks of restricted night time eating fared against 2 weeks of 'normal' evening eating. Advice on restricting night eating was very clear: avoid any food or drink containing kilojoules between the hours of 7 pm and 6 am the next morning. No other changes to the participants' diet or lifestyle was required so each person was free to eat whatever they wished during the day time hours until early evening. Twenty seven of the twenty nine people complied with following this advice for 2 weeks as well as the 2 week control period. Eating at night a waistline hazard So did people eat less when restricting night time eating? Yes, equal to 1000 kilojoules (about 250 Calories) per day less than during their normal eating pattern. This small energy difference was enough to see the men lose 0.4 kg over the 2 week restriction period, and gain 0.6 kg over the 2 week control period. What kind of foods were participants eating a night? Pick the correct answer from the following options: A. popcorn B. nuts C. fruit D. not enough information
**Answer**
D

*Question*
"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?" "Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing." "Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?" "No, Sir." "Well... " "I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool." "You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips. "Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic." "Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up." "I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar." "I'll talk to her." "Great! I already have a guitar and--" "--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says." "Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door. Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square. But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going. How long has Greg probably played guitar? Pick the correct answer from the following options: A. not enough information B. For many years. C. For a few days. D. He just learned today.
**Answer**
B

*Question*
November always dragged around the station, but today was one dead Sunday. Not one car pulled off the interstate all morning. Nothing hit the drive but a thin steady rain, puddling slow rainbows in the oil. Me and Harnie just tilted back our chairs against the cigarette rack, watched the monster movie, and waited for the game to start. The big flying turtle was about set to barbeque downtown Tokyo when the drive bell rang, and up sluiced a car so damn gorgeous it hurt to look at it. A '37 Buick Roadmaster it was, painted a red so rich it was nearly black, that straight eight engine whispering like a lover while teardrops of rain rolled down the chrome grill. Out climbed this tall fellow, dressed like God's grandpa done up for a wedding or a funeral. His skin was brown as a buckwheat cake, with creases deep as drainage ditches. Took a mighty long stretch of sweat and toil, love and birth and dying, to carve a face like that. He flexed his shoulders, then rolled his neck till it cracked. He pulled a pack of Camel straights from inside his vest and flipped one out. "Got a light?" His voice was deep and warm, half gravel, half honey. I tossed him a pack of matches through the open door; he caught it left-handed, then flipped it open, folded over a match, and struck it with his thumb. "This the town with the dead fiddler?" he said after a long drag on the smoke. "You might say so," I said, ignoring the look Harnie gave me. Nobody talked about her; I wondered how this fellow had even heard about her. "Ain't a fiddle, though. It's a cello, like in the symphony." The stranger shrugged. "Close enough." "She ain't d-dead, neither," Harnie said. "M-more sleeping, like." He puffed out a wreath of smoke. Then another. "Let's go wake her up," he said. "You best not try, mister," I said. "She been sleeping for thirty some year." How did Harnie and the author meet? Pick the correct answer from the following options: A. Girlfriend B. Class C. not enough information D. Family
**Answer**
C