My old roommate's cats, Clise and Monkey, were about as different as cats could be. Clise, rescued as an emaciated kitten from a local park, grew up to be morbidly obese. His interests mainly involved eating food, begging for food, or going around the neighborhood scrounging for food. He could hear a can opener from a mile away. Monkey was a more active cat. He liked to chase the laser pointer and was the first to run to the door when someone arrived. But he could also be lazy, lounging in a sunbeam or stretched out on the couch. Both of them liked to watch TV. Soon after I moved in, I started having health issues which necessitated a lot of time lounging around myself. This was the era of reality TV, back when much of it was actually good. The cats, Monkey especially, watched with me. Monkey definitely had his preferences. His favorite shows were The Girls Next Door and Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making The Team. Notice a theme here? Playboy Playmates and professional cheerleaders. Monkey liked his T & A (tits and ass). If one of these shows was on, and I turned it to Project Runway or something, Monkey would march off. But as soon as I turned it back, and he could hear the high-pitched giggling, he'd come running back. Clise's favorite shows were Top Chef, Iron Chef, and Rachael Ray. Food porn. If there was something he especially craved, like a shrimp stir-fry, he'd assume a begging pose, right in front of the TV, as if Rachael might take pity on him and throw him a scrap or two. I moved out about a year later. A few months previous, Monkey ended up catching some wasting disease and dying, but Clise, as far as I know, is still there, begging for scraps from anyone he can in real life or televised. According to the above context, answer the following question. Who is fond of watching cooking shows?
OPTIONS:
- Clise
- Dallas Cowboys
- Monkey
- not enough information
Clise
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I've learnt a great amount throughout this studio, first and foremost I was taught: how the art world functions, how specific galleries such as Gertrude St Contemporary run and how artists earn a living. The studio also provided me with basic filmmaking skills such as how to: create a shooting schedule, write a shooting script, set up three-point lighting, conduct an interview, utilise visual storytelling and edit a short film. Throughout the shooting process with my artist I also developed my abilities regarding how to use a: Sony Zoom H2N (and other such handy recorders), a lapel mic, my own Canon EOS 60D and Adobe Premiere Pro editing software. Overall I think the studio functioned quite successfully, it was great to be in a studio with nineteen people who all were interested in the same topics as you. I felt that overall, the studios had a very happy and supportive environment, and you walked away knowing a great deal about the art world and how to make short documentaries. The project itself taught me a great deal about how to work with talent, as well as my group members. Having to work independently forced me to be completely all over every aspect of the shoot, whether that be choosing which questions to ask, deciding what to focus on, where I wanted the shoot to happen, deciding what gear to use, getting to the shoot, carrying all the gear, what I wanted to shoot, managing the audio, managing the lighting, managing the camera set-ups, managing the talent, editing the film, and finding a great soundtrack for it. I'm a pretty self-conscious person and I often doubt the decisions I make or ask someone else for their opinion (should I shoot this angle, or what do you think of this question etc.). Working independently pushed me to go with my gut instincts, to make decisions and to not seek others approval. It forced me to develop my aesthetic as a filmmaker and to own the work that I ended up producing, so ultimately I was really glad with how everything panned out. According to the above context, answer the following question. Who taught the narrator?
OPTIONS:
- A director
- A professor
- An artist
- not enough information
not enough information
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This was 20 years ago, maybe. My girlfriend (at the time) and I were planning to go on a day trip on a Saturday, and so the Friday night before, we decided to celebrate our mini vacation by having a few drinks at a local bar. It was a known hangout for bikers, and had a reputation of being a rowdy place, but I was on good terms with a few of the regulars, and felt safe enough. As the night wore on, I started getting out of control, and didn't even realize it. I loved my girlfriend deeply, and had no desire to be with anyone else, but that night I was most definitely not myself. I was told that I openly flirted with the barmaid in front of my girlfriend, bet and lost on the pool table several times, and tried to start fights with some of the patrons, as I strongly suspected that someone had slipped something into my drink. At the time, I was a seasoned drinker, and the amount of alcohol I had consumed that night was pretty minimal in comparison, so naturally I was convinced that someone was messing with me. To this day I'm still not sure if my drinks were spiked, or it was just one of those nights. I do know that I hadn't eaten prior to that, so I would tend to choose the latter culprit, even though it pained me to admit it. I woke up the next afternoon in my own bed, with no memory of the trip home, a screaming hangover headache, and no girlfriend. She eventually forgave me, and we were together off and on for a few more years before we grew apart. I haven't set foot in that bar since, so I have no idea if I'm barred, or how the people there felt about me. I hope they've moved on, but I'm still too scared to find out. It's an experience I never want to repeat, even though I didn't actually experience anything. :/ According to the above context, answer the following question. The blackout probably lasted how long?
OPTIONS:
- several hours
- not enough information
- two days
- 4 days
several hours
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