A government-sponsored coup last year made Bruce Iwasaki and Neal Dudovitz the kings of Los Angeles County's federally funded legal aid community. The two men emerged atop a changed landscape that resulted from a decade of begging for a share of shrinking public dollars doled out by an unsympathetic GOP-controlled Congress. That era was capped in 1998, when the Legal Services Corp. forced 275 legal aid providers nationwide to combine into 179. To comply with the orders from their main funding source, a new species of poverty lawyer emerged - a tech-savvy and button-down breed who swapped neighborhood walkin offices for toll-free phone lines, self-help kiosks and Internet access to legal advice. While some organizations made the dramatic change look effortless, for others, it did not come easy. And few programs provide more dramatic illustrations of the promise and pitfalls of government-funded legal services than Los Angeles County's two largest providers of federally funded services - Legal Aid Foundation of Los Angeles and Pacoima-based Neighborhood Legal Services of Los Angeles County. From his offices in Koreatown, Iwasaki, a soft-spoken former O'Melveny & Myers attorney, quietly engineered a merger between a much smaller Legal Aid Society of Long Beach and his program, the Legal Aid Foundation of Los Angeles. The merger was completed peacefully within a year of the federal order. Today, the programs operate seamlessly, offering new innovations - including toll-free multilingual phone advisers, expanded hours for domestic-violence clinics, and renewed immigration and consumer aid - built on the foundations of the old program. The organization is Los Angeles' largest government-funded group, with a budget of $11 million leveraged into $40 million in legal services to the poor.

Question: "Which organization is Los Angele's largest government-funded group?"

Response: "USPS"
OPTIONS:
- no
- yes

A: no

Problem: I had drunk too much, I confess, though we all had. Somehow, Tasha and I began to argue the worth of Solevgrad jazz, as inconsequential a topic as I can imagine. She had studied it in school, so she thought herself as an expert. I once had a neighbor who played it constantly, loudly, and badly, so I thought I knew it better. Malaquez tried to mediate, but I saw him as siding with Tasha. So, I think, did she. The subject shifted from music to Tasha's obsession with fame, undoubtedly by a leap that I made. She had no choice but to follow. (I do not remember any of this well, just now, nor do I care to. Those who are truly curious may look at the last act of "Captured Moments.") I remember suggesting, with characteristic tact, that she add Emil to her small list of major accomplishments. Malaquez glanced away, embarrassed. Tasha looked at me as if to say, "I will." She said, "I feel sorry for you, Nardo. I'll see Emil home." "Yes," I said, "Do that," and did not care what she did, or why. Emil asked, "You're all right?" I muttered something he must have interpreted as assent. They both walked up to Emil's home while I watched the scarlet moonlight ripple on distant waves. Disgusted with Tasha but more disgusted with myself, I finally realized she would not return that night and went into The Sleeping Flamingo to drink myself to sleep. She had not come home when I woke in mid-morning.

Question: "Where is it assumed that Tasha spent the night?"

Answer: "At Emil's home"

OPTIONS:
- no
- yes
Answer: yes

Question:
Life for the partners of Cates, Katalinic & Lund holds little of the glamour one might expect from a career in law. Instead of lunches at Lutce, they caucus at the Palace Diner in Queens. Wooing clients means passing out fliers on street corners, not securing box seats at Madison Square Garden. To make ends meet, one partner stacks pipe and cleans the yard at a plumbing warehouse. Another handles urine samples in a hospital lab. A sign of failure, of a feeble economy, perhaps? Hardly. They are heeding the call of a growing pool of law schools, which are for the first time pointing graduates in a new direction and teaching them how to get there. Forget the lure of large firms, the security of a government post. Here is how to grapple "in the service of justice," as many of the schools put it, instead. Convinced that corporate largess and government programs barely dent the nation's legal needs, the law schools are urging graduates to buck tradition, pass up big salaries and ignore mushrooming student debt to join tiny neighborhood practices or simply start their own, all with an eye toward charging no more than their clients can afford. This is not pro bono legal work; it is "low bono," a term the schools coined to define the atypical kind of law career they are training students for. While its practitioners do charge for their services, they are also dead set on turning no one away - or at least as few as possible. "When you go into this kind of social justice law, it's really brutal and you're almost guaranteed to struggle for a couple of years before there's a light at the end of the tunnel," said Fred Rooney, director of the Community Legal Resource Network at City University of New York School of Law, from which the lawyers of the newly formed Cates, Katalinic & Lund graduated last May. "But if our graduates don't do it, the millions of people who cannot access justice in this country will continue to soar." The movement, primly called the consortium, started four years ago by CUNY, Northeastern University, the University of Maryland and St. Mary's Law School in Texas. (St. Mary's later dropped out.) Since then, it has drawn seven additional law schools to its ranks: the University of Michigan, Rutgers and Syracuse Law Schools, New York Law School, University of New Mexico School of Law, Thomas M. Cooley Law School and Touro Law School. It has elicited at least initial interest from 19 more. After reading the above, is "Madison Square Garden" the correct answer to the question "What food establishment do Cates, Katalinic & Lund frequent?"? OPTIONS:
- no
- yes

Answer:
no

Input: If you have a mass of 50 kg on Earth, what is your weight in newtons? An object with more mass is pulled by gravity with greater force. Mass and weight are closely related. However, the weight of an object can change if the force of gravity changes. On Earth, the force of gravity is the same everywhere. So how does the force of gravity change? It doesnt if you stay on Earth. What if we travel to another planet or moon in our solar system? Look at the photo of astronaut Edwin E. Aldrin Jr. taken by fellow astronaut Neil Armstrong in the Figure. They were the first humans to walk on the moon. An astronaut weighs less on the moon than he would on Earth. This is because the moons gravity is weaker than Earths. The astronauts mass, on the other hand, did not change. He still contained the same amount of matter on the moon as he did on Earth. If the astronaut weighed 175 pounds on Earth, he would have weighed only 29 pounds on the moon. If his mass on Earth was 80 kg, what would his mass have been on the moon? [Figure 3]

Does the response "Gravity level alters the weight of an object because it is a force that pulls down causing a perceived change" correctly answer the question "How does the force of gravity affect your weight?"?

OPTIONS:
- no
- yes
***
Output:
yes