Kurt Vonnegut, writer and famous speech giver at US university graduation ceremonies, made this point to one group of soon-to-be-non-students: If this isn't nice, I don't know what is. It is the end of a story about his grandpa who, on a summer's afternoon, would find the shade of a tree under which he could rest with a glass of homemade lemonade. The family didn't have a lot of cash, the grandpa worked hard every day of his life, but no matter how relentless the day-to-day was, he would always repeat this phrase as a reminder to those around him that, at the end of the day, this is all still amazing to be part of. This kind of optimism, as you might call it, can often disappear in a flash in the busy-ness of business or school. Things become impossible, hardgoing, relentless(ly difficult). And the reasons we give for that busyness nearly always involve someone or something else - the system, the job, the weather... For many years, people would ask the salutary "how are you?" and my answer was a stock one: "I'm tired." It was my wife who pointed it out to me, presumably because everyone else was too polite to express their boredom with my reply. The fact is, most people feel tired most of the time, until they make a switch in their life. That switch is deciding that the only person who can turn that frown upside down, who can make crazy stuff happen (or attempt to, and enjoy the process), is you. And in Vonnegut's case, that switch came from saying out loud the one phrase that brings us back to the good elements in what we or our team or our family is doing at any given moment: If this isn't nice, I don't know what is. According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: Who does the author believe is responsible for changing his attitude? Options: A. not enough information B. himself C. Kurt D. his wife
B

(Question)
Alona's persistent knocking at the door of room 412 went unanswered for three minutes as she nervously shuffled her feet. Her book bag was super-saturated with textbooks, notebooks, schedules, rough drafts, and various other forms of academic paraphernalia. It was getting heavier. She continued to knock, even though there had as yet been no answer, because the note card tacked to the right of the door indicated that these indeed were Prof. Turgy K. Sigger's office hours. She could see the light under the door and thought she had heard a groan. Just before she decided to give up, slow feet approached from the opposite side, then silence; with a dramatic turn of the knob, the door swung open. "Was this trip really necessary?" asked Prof. Sigger, blinking and brushing his oily, graying hair back into place. "These are your office hours," Alona replied. She nervously smiled, feeling the corners of her mouth twitch. Somewhere in the darkened hall, a janitor coughed. "All right," conceded Prof. Sigger. "Come in." The carpet was smothered by leaning towers of textbooks. Papers lined the left side of the desk, above which was a small note card which read "To Be Graded." On the right side, the oak finish gleamed of the mid-morning light piercing the Venetian blinds. "You've come about your final project," Prof. Sigger stated. "It's only mid-term," Alona reminded him. "Oh yes, yes," continued Prof. Sigger, without conscious embarrassment. "Mid-term grade. I think I have it here. Somewhere." His hands disappeared into the left side of his desk. "You told the class that we would get a C if we maintained that Coca-Cola isn't a crypto-fascist conspiracy." "Oh yes," said Prof. Sigger. "We were discussing social issues, as I remember. I was quoting Marx and some little idiot brought up Rush Limbaugh." "That was me," Alona muttered. According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: After the end of this story, how does Alona probably feel? Options: A. belittled B. nervous C. not enough information D. hopeful
(Answer)
A

Went straight from a facility that deals with homeless children (492 1st Ave, Manhattan, New York) to the extreme outskirts of Queens near Kennedy Airport about 20 miles away. It was winter and I had no coat. I had my book bag and my sole Trader Joe's bag of clothing and was loaded into a van with three social workers. During the long drive in traffic, I fell asleep, so waking up at my new home, I couldn't make out any street signs and the numbering on the houses did not indicate whether I was in a home in the Bronx or Eastern Queens (which share the same street numbering in certain instances). My foster parents showed me my room and left a plate of food on the table. They barricaded themselves in their bedroom quite like how pilots barricade themselves behind the fortified cockpit door. However, my room didn't have a lock, and neither did the bathroom. There were bars on my windows with a view of a church parking lot. I took great care to avoid waking a significantly older teen (I was 14, so he must have been 1920) sleeping on the other bed. I heard two other kids (my foster siblings) in the other room playing music and giggling loudly at 3 in the morning. At 4 in the morning, my foster father started reading the Quran pretty loudly, and then he goes back to bed. In the morning, my foster parents are gone. My foster siblings are all sleeping. I got up at 7, but I don't know how far I am from my high school, what buses/train will take me there, and still don't know anything about anything about my new home. I don't even know the names of those I'm relegated to living with. The unnerving strangeness and disorientation hat comes with knowing that your life has changed and the culture shock that comes with that is so scary and desensitizes you on that first day. According to the above context, choose the correct option to answer the following question. Question: What is probably true about the new foster family? Options: A. they are Jewish B. they are atheists C. not enough information D. they are religious
D