Questões - IME 2014 | Gabarito e resoluções

(IME- 2014/2015 - 2 FASE) Texto 1 O MENINO QUE TINHA MEDO DE POESIA (Pedro Gabriel Maro de 2014) ─ Me, acho que tem um poema debaixo da minha cama! Quando menino, a poesia me assustava. Parecia ter dentes afiados, pernas desajeitadas, mos opressoras. E nem as mos da professora mais dcil conseguiam me acalmar. No compreendia uma palavra, uma metfora, uma rima pobre, rica ou rara. No entendia nada. Tentava adivinhar o que o poeta queria dizer com aquela frase entupida de imagens e sentidos subjetivos. Achava-me incapaz de pertencer quilo. No conseguia mergulhar naquele mundo. Eu, sem saber nadar em versos, afogava-me na incompreenso de um soneto; ela a to sagrada poesia no me afagava e me deixava morrer na praia, entre um alexandrino e um heptasslabo. Toda vez que eu era obrigado a decorar poesia, sentia vontade de sumir, de virar um mvel e ficar imvel at tudo se acabar. Por dentro, sentia azia, taquicardia, asma espontnea, tremelique e gagueira repentina. Por fora, fingia que estava tudo bem. Eu sempre escolhia o poema mais curto da lista que a escola sugeria. Naquele dia, sobrou Pneumotrax, de Manuel Bandeira, e eu queria ser aquele paciente para no precisar declam-lo. Eu queria tossir, repetir sem parar: trinta e trs Trinta e trs Ter uma doena pequena, uma desculpa qualquer, um atestado mdico assinado pelo meu av que me deixasse em casa no a semana toda, mas s o tempo da aula. Depois, para a prova de francs, no tive escolha: fui obrigado a decorar Le dormeur du Val, de Rimbaud. Eu lembro que, antes de ficar em p de frente para o meu professor, eu queria que algum me desse dois tiros no peito. Queria ser esse soldado e dormir, tranquilo, na paz celestial daquele vale at que a turma toda esquecesse a minha existncia. Ou que a guerra fosse declarada finda. Ou que eu fosse declamado culpado. A Primeira Guerra Mundial parecia durar menos do que aqueles 15 minutos de exame. Minha boca est seca at hoje. Minhas mos esto molhadas at agora. S eu sei o que suei por voc, querida Poesia. Aos 17, a poesia ainda me apavorava. Podia ser o verso mais delicado do mundo, eu tinha medo. Podia ser o poeta mais simptico da face da Terra, eu desconfiava. Desconversava, lia outra coisa. Ou no lia nada. Talvez por no querer entend-la. Talvez por achar no merecla. E assim ficava merc da minha rebeldia. No queria aprender a contar slabas, queria ser verso livre. Tolo! At a liberdade exige teoria! Se hoje eu pudesse falar com aquele menino, diria-lhe que a poesia no nenhum decasslabo de sete cabeas. Que se ela o assusta porque ela o deseja. Que se ele sentemedo porque ele precisa dela. No h mais monstro debaixo da sua cama. O monstro agora est em voc. ─Filho, acho que tem um poema por dentro de quem voc ama Disponvel em: . (texto adaptado) Acesso em: 29 Abr 2014 Texto 2 A MULHER QUE NO SENTE MEDO DE ABSOLUTAMENTE NADA (Jeanna Bryner Dezembro de 2010) Voc gostaria de no sentir medo? Pelo menos uma pessoa no mundo no tem medo de nada: uma mulher de 44 anos, que at ajudou pesquisadores a identificarem o local em que vive o fator medo no crebro humano. Os pesquisadores tentaram inmeras vezes assustar a mulher: casas mal-assombradas, onde monstros tentaram evocar uma reao de rejeio, aranhas e cobras, e uma srie de filme de terror apenas entreteram a paciente. A mulher tem uma doena rara chamada sndrome de Urbach-Wiethe que destruiu sua amgdala. A amgdala uma estrutura em forma de amndoa situada no fundo do crebro. Nos ltimos 50 anos, estudos mostraram que ela tem um papel central na gerao de respostas de medo em diferentes animais. Agora, o estudo envolvendo essa paciente o primeiro a confirmar que essa regio do crebro responsvel pelo medo nos seres humanos. A descoberta pode levar a tratamentos para transtorno de estresse ps-traumtico (TEPT). Tratamentos de psicoterapia que seletivamente amorteam a hiperatividade na amgdala podem curar pacientes com TEPT. Estudos anteriores com a mesma paciente revelaram que ela no conseguia reconhecer expresses faciais de medo, mas no se sabia se ela tinha a capacidade de sentir medo. Para descobrir, os pesquisadores deram vrios questionrios padronizados paciente, que sondaram os diferentes aspectos do medo, desde o medo da morte at o medo de falar em pblico. Alm disso, durante trs meses ela carregou um dirio que informatizava sua emoo, e que, aleatoriamente, pedia-lhe para classificar o seu nvel de medo ao longo do dia. O dirio tambm indicava emoes que ela estava sentindo em uma lista de 50 itens. Sua pontuao mdia de medo foi de 0%, enquanto para outras emoes ela mostrou funcionamento normal. Em todos os cenrios, ela no mostrou nenhum medo. Baseado no seu passado, os pesquisadores encontraram muitas razes para ela reagir com medo. Ela prpria contou que no gosta de cobras, mas quando entrou em contato com duas, no sentiu medo. Alm disso, j lhe apontaram facas e armas, ela foi fisicamente abordada por uma mulher duas vezes seu tamanho, quase morreu em um ato de violncia domstica, e em mais de uma ocasio foi explicitamente ameaada de morte. O que mais se sobressai que, em muitas destas situaes a vida da paciente estava em perigo, mas seu comportamento foi desprovido de qualquer senso de desespero ou urgncia. E quando ela foi convidada a lembrar como se sentiu durante as situaes, respondeu que no sentiu medo, mas que se sentia chateada e irritada com o que aconteceu. Segundo os pesquisadores, sem medo, pode-se dizer que o sofrimento dela no tem a intensidade profunda e real suportada por outros sobreviventes de traumas. Essencialmente, devido aos danos na amgdala, a mulher est imune aos efeitos devastadores do transtorno de estresse ps-traumtico. Mas h uma desvantagem: ela tem uma incapacidade de detectar e evitar situaes ameaadoras, o que provavelmente contribuiu para a frequncia com que ela enfrentou riscos. Os pesquisadores dizem que esse tipo de paciente muito raro, mas para entender melhor o fenmeno, seria timo estudar mais pessoas com a condio. Disponvel em:http://hypescience.com (texto adaptado de http://www.livescience.com). Acesso em: 29 Abr 2014 Texto 3 CONSOADA (Manuel Bandeira) Quando a Indesejada das gentes chegar (No sei se dura ou carovel), Talvez eu tenha medo. Talvez sorria, ou diga: Al, iniludvel! O meu dia foi bom, pode a noite descer. (A noite com os seus sortilgios.) Encontrar lavrado o campo, a casa limpa, A mesa posta, Com cada coisa em seu lugar. Disponvel em: http://www.poesiaspoemaseversos.com.br Acesso em: 29 Abr 2014. Texto 4 AUTOSSABOTAGEM: O MEDO DE SER FELIZ (Raphaela de Campos Mello Outubro de 2012) A cada passo dado voc sente que a felicidade se afasta alguns metros? Talvez esteja, inconscientemente, queimando chances de se realizar. Repense as prprias atitudes para interromper esse ciclo destrutivo. Por medo dos riscos e das responsabilidades da vida, podemos acabar inconscientemente com as nossas realizaes. Isso se chama autossabotagem. So atitudes forjadas por uma parte de ns que no nos v como merecedoras do sucesso ou que subestima nossa capacidade de lidar com a vitria. Pode ser aquela espinha que apareceu no nariz no dia daquele encontro especial ou da gripe que a pegou na vspera daquela importante reunio. Muitos desses comportamentos destrutivos esto quase fora do domnio da conscincia, afirma o psiclogo americano Stanley Rosner, coautor do livro O Ciclo da AutoSabotagem - Por Que Repetimos Atitudes que Destroem Nossos Relacionamentos e Nos Fazem Sofrer (ed. BestSeller). A autonomia, a independncia e o sucesso so apavorantes para algumas pessoas porque indicam que elas no podero mais argumentar que suas necessidades precisam ser protegidas, diz o autor. O filsofo e psicanalista paulista Arthur Meucci, coautor de A Vida Que Vale a Pena Ser Vivida (ed. Vozes) comenta sobre os ganhos secundrios. H jovens que saem de casa para tentar a vida, enquanto outros permanecem na zona de conforto, porque continuam recebendo ateno dos pais e se eximem de enfrentar as dificuldades da fase adulta, afirma. O problema que, ao fazermos isso, no nos desenvolvemos plenamente. Todo mundo busca a felicidade, a questo ter coragem de viver, o que significa correr riscos e assumir responsabilidades, diz ele. Disponvel em: http://exame.abril.com.br/estilo-de-vida/noticias/autossabotagem-o-medo-deser-feliz. (Texto adaptado). Acesso em 29 Abr 2014 Texto 5 O QUASE (Sarah Westphal Batista da Silva) Ainda pior que a convico do no, e a incerteza do talvez, a desiluso de um quase. o quase que me incomoda, que me entristece, que me mata trazendo tudo que poderia ter sido e no foi. Quem quase passou ainda estuda, quem quase morreu ainda est vivo, quem quase amou no amou. Basta pensar nas oportunidades que escaparam pelos dedos, nas chances que se perdem por medo, nas idias que nunca sairo do papel por essa maldita mania de viver no outono. Pergunto-me, s vezes, o que nos leva a escolher uma vida morna; ou melhor, no me pergunto, contesto. A resposta eu sei de cor, est estampada na distncia e frieza dos sorrisos na frouxido dos abraos, na indiferena dos Bom Dia quase que sussurrados. Sobra covardia e falta coragem at para ser feliz. A paixo queima, o amor enlouquece, o desejo trai.Talvez esses fossem bons motivos para decidir entre a alegria e a dor, mas no so. Se a virtude estivesse mesmo no meio termo, o mar no teria ondas, os dias seriam nublados e o arco-ris em tons de cinza. O nada no ilumina, no inspira, no aflige nem acalma, apenas amplia o vazio que cada um traz dentro de si. No que f mova montanhas, nem que todas as estrelas estejam ao alcance, para as coisas que no podem ser mudadas resta-nos somente pacincia, porm, preferir a derrota prvia dvida da vitria desperdiar a oportunidade de merecer. Pros erros h perdo; pros fracassos, chance; pros amores impossveis, tempo. De nada adianta cercar um corao vazio ou economizar alma. Um romance cujo fim instantneo ou indolor no romance. No deixe que a saudade sufoque, que a rotina acomode, que o medo impea de tentar. Desconfie do destino e acredite em voc. Gaste mais horas realizando que sonhando, fazendo que planejando, vivendo que esperando porque, embora quem quase morre esteja vivo, quem quase vive j morreu. Disp. em: . Acesso em: 29 Abr 2014. Assinale a opo em que a funo sinttica do termo em destaque diferente daquela exercida pelos demais.

(IME - 2014/2015 - 2FASE) Text 1 Luis Surez joins anti-racism calls after Dani Alves banana incident The Barcelona defender Dani Alves has sparked a social media campaign against racism in football as support flooded in from fellow professionals for his decision to eat a banana thrown at him by an opposition fan. Luis Surez, Neymar, Hulk, Mario Balotelli and Sergio Agero were among those who posted pictures of themselves taking bites out of bananas in tribute to Alves actions in his sides La Liga match at Villarreal on Sunday. The Fifa president Joseph Blatter has branded the abuse directed at Alves an outrage and promised zero tolerance towards discrimination at the World Cup, while Villarreal took swift action by identifying the culprit and handing him a lifetime stadium ban. Alves response to the banana being thrown on to the pitch in front of him as he prepared to take a corner was to nonchalantly pick it up, peel it and take a bite before continuing with the game. The 30-yearold, who has been the victim of racist abuse before during his time in La Liga, said: You need to take these situations with a dose of humour. Players across Europe paid homage on Twitter and Instagram, including Surez, who served an eight-match ban for racially abusing Patrice Evra. Alvess Bara and Brazil team-mate Neymar led the way after posting a picture on Instagram of himself holding a banana, while writing We are all monkeys. Balotelli, Milans former Manchester City striker, posted a picture of himself in a similar pose. Surez posted a picture on Twitter of himself and Liverpool team-mate Philippe Coutinho taking bites out of bananas, along with the words: #SayNoToRacism #WeAreAllMonkeys. (...) Bara gave their player their complete support and solidarity and thanked Villarreal for their immediate condemnation of the incident. Villarreal later revealed they had, with the help of fans, found out who the culprit was, had withdrawn his season ticket and banned him from the El Madrigal stadium for life. Disponvel em: http://www.theguardian.com/football/2014/apr/29/luis-suarez-anti-racism-dani-alvesbanana. Acesso em 29 abr.2014 (texto adaptado) Text 2 Whats in a name? Henry Louis Gates Jr. (1989) The question of color takes up much space in these pages, but the question of color, especially in this country, operates to hide the graver questions of the self. - James Baldwin, 1961 blood, darky, Tar baby, Kaffir, shine moor, blackamoor, Jim Crow, spook quadroon, meriney, red bone, high yellow Mammy, porch monkey, home, homeboy, George spearchucker, Leroy, Smokeymouli, buck, Ethiopian, brother, sistah - Trey Ellis, 1989 I had forgotten the incident completely, until I read Trey Ellis essay, Remember My Name, in a recent issue of the Village Voice (June 13, 1989). But there, in the middle of an extended italicized list of the bynames of the race (the race or our people being the terms my parents used in polite or reverential discourse, jigaboo or nigger more commonly used in anger, jest, or pure disgust), it was: George. Now the events of that very brief exchange return to my mind so vividly that I wonder why I had forgotten it. My father and I were walking home at dusk from his second job. He moonlighted as a janitor in the evenings for the telephone company. Every day, but Saturday, he would come home at 3:30 from his regular job at the paper Mill, wash up, eat supper, then at 4:30 head downtown to his second job. He used to make jokes frequently about a union official who moonlighted. I never got the joke, but he and his friends thought it was hilarious. All I knew was that my family always ate well, that my brother and I had new clothes to wear, and that all of the white people in Piedmont, West Virginia, treated my parents with an odd mixture of resentment and respect that even we understood at the time had something directly to do with a small but certain measure of financial security. He had left a little early that evening because I was with him and I had to be in bed early. I could not have been more than five or six, and we had stopped off at the Cut-Rate Drug Store (where no black person in town but my father could sit down to eat, and eat off real plates with real silverware) so that I could buy some caramel ice cream, two scoops in a wafer cone, please, which I was busy licking when Mr. Wilson walked by. Mr. Wilson was a very quiet man, whose stony, brooding, silent manner seemed designed to scare off any overtures of friendship, even from white people. He was Irish as was one-third of our village (another third being Italian), the more affluent among whom sent their children to Catholic School across the bridge in Maryland. He had white straight hair, like my Uncle Joe, whom he uncannily resembled, and he carried a black worn metal lunch pail, the kind that Riley carried on the television show. My father always spoke to him, and for reasons that we never did understand, he always spoke to my father. Hello, Mr. Wilson, I heard my father say. Hello, George. I stopped licking my ice cream cone, and asked my Dad in a loud voice why Mr. Wilson had called him George. Doesnt he know your name, Daddy? Why dont you tell him your name? Your name isnt George. For a moment I tried to think of who Mr. Wilson was mixing Pop up with. But we didnt have any Georges among the colored people in Piedmont; nor were there colored Georges living in the neighboring towns and working at the Mill. Tell him your name, Daddy. He knows my name, boy, my father said after a long pause. He calls all colored people George. A long silence ensued. It was one of those things, as my Mom would put it. Even then, that early, I knew when I was in the presence of one of those things, one of those things that provided a glimpse, through a rent curtain, at another world that we could not affect but that affected us. There would be a painful moment of silence, and you would wait for it to give way to a discussion of a black superstar such as Sugar Ray or Jackie Robinson. Nobody hits better in a clutch than Jackie Robinson. Thats right. Nobody. I never again looked Mr. Wilson in the eye. Texts 1 and 2 deal with the same theme: racism. From text 1, we can infer that

(IME - 2014/2015 - 2FASE) Text 1 Luis Surez joins anti-racism calls after Dani Alves banana incident The Barcelona defender Dani Alves has sparked a social media campaign against racism in football as support flooded in from fellow professionals for his decision to eat a banana thrown at him by an opposition fan. Luis Surez, Neymar, Hulk, Mario Balotelli and Sergio Agero were among those who posted pictures of themselves taking bites out of bananas in tribute to Alves actions in his sides La Liga match at Villarreal on Sunday. The Fifa president Joseph Blatter has branded the abuse directed at Alves an outrage and promised zero tolerance towards discrimination at the World Cup, while Villarreal took swift action by identifying the culprit and handing him a lifetime stadium ban. Alves response to the banana being thrown on to the pitch in front of him as he prepared to take a corner was to nonchalantly pick it up, peel it and take a bite before continuing with the game. The 30-yearold, who has been the victim of racist abuse before during his time in La Liga, said: You need to take these situations with a dose of humour. Players across Europe paid homage on Twitter and Instagram, including Surez, who served an eight-match ban for racially abusing Patrice Evra. Alvess Bara and Brazil team-mate Neymar led the way after posting a picture on Instagram of himself holding a banana, while writing We are all monkeys. Balotelli, Milans former Manchester City striker, posted a picture of himself in a similar pose. Surez posted a picture on Twitter of himself and Liverpool team-mate Philippe Coutinho taking bites out of bananas, along with the words: #SayNoToRacism #WeAreAllMonkeys. (...) Bara gave their player their complete support and solidarity and thanked Villarreal for their immediate condemnation of the incident. Villarreal later revealed they had, with the help of fans, found out who the culprit was, had withdrawn his season ticket and banned him from the El Madrigal stadium for life. Disponvel em: http://www.theguardian.com/football/2014/apr/29/luis-suarez-anti-racism-dani-alvesbanana. Acesso em 29 abr.2014 (texto adaptado) It is implied in text 1 that

(IME - 2014/2015 - 2FASE) Text 1 Luis Surez joins anti-racism calls after Dani Alves banana incident The Barcelona defender Dani Alves has sparked a social media campaign against racism in football as support flooded in from fellow professionals for his decision to eat a banana thrown at him by an opposition fan. Luis Surez, Neymar, Hulk, Mario Balotelli and Sergio Agero were among those who posted pictures of themselves taking bites out of bananas in tribute to Alves actions in his sides La Liga match at Villarreal on Sunday. The Fifa president Joseph Blatter has branded the abuse directed at Alves an outrage and promised zero tolerance towards discrimination at the World Cup, while Villarreal took swift action by identifying the culprit and handing him a lifetime stadium ban. Alves response to the banana being thrown on to the pitch in front of him as he prepared to take a corner was to nonchalantly pick it up, peel it and take a bite before continuing with the game. The 30-yearold, who has been the victim of racist abuse before during his time in La Liga, said: You need to take these situations with a dose of humour. Players across Europe paid homage on Twitter and Instagram, including Surez, who served an eight-match ban for racially abusing Patrice Evra. Alvess Bara and Brazil team-mate Neymar led the way after posting a picture on Instagram of himself holding a banana, while writing We are all monkeys. Balotelli, Milans former Manchester City striker, posted a picture of himself in a similar pose. Surez posted a picture on Twitter of himself and Liverpool team-mate Philippe Coutinho taking bites out of bananas, along with the words: #SayNoToRacism #WeAreAllMonkeys. (...) Bara gave their player their complete support and solidarity and thanked Villarreal for their immediate condemnation of the incident. Villarreal later revealed they had, with the help of fans, found out who the culprit was, had withdrawn his season ticket and banned him from the El Madrigal stadium for life. Disponvel em: http://www.theguardian.com/football/2014/apr/29/luis-suarez-anti-racism-dani-alvesbanana. Acesso em 29 abr.2014 (texto adaptado) In the sentence Alves response to the banana being thrown on to the pitch in front of him as he prepared to take a corner was to nonchalantly pick it up, peel it and take a bite before continuing with the game., the word in bold could be replaced by (text 1):

[IME - 2014/2015 - 1a fase] Uma chapa rgida e homognea encontra-se em equilbrio. Com base nas dimenses apresentadas na figura, o valor da razo /

[IME - 2014/2015 - 1a fase] A figura acima mostra um circuito eltrico composto por resistncias e fontes de tenso. Diante do exposto, a potncia dissipada, em W, no resistor de 10 Ω do circuito

(IME - 2014/2015 - 2FASE) Text 1 Luis Surez joins anti-racism calls after Dani Alves banana incident The Barcelona defender Dani Alves has sparked a social media campaign against racism in football as support flooded in from fellow professionals for his decision to eat a banana thrown at him by an opposition fan. Luis Surez, Neymar, Hulk, Mario Balotelli and Sergio Agero were among those who posted pictures of themselves taking bites out of bananas in tribute to Alves actions in his sides La Liga match at Villarreal on Sunday. The Fifa president Joseph Blatter has branded the abuse directed at Alves an outrage and promised zero tolerance towards discrimination at the World Cup, while Villarreal took swift action by identifying the culprit and handing him a lifetime stadium ban. Alves response to the banana being thrown on to the pitch in front of him as he prepared to take a corner was to nonchalantly pick it up, peel it and take a bite before continuing with the game. The 30-yearold, who has been the victim of racist abuse before during his time in La Liga, said: You need to take these situations with a dose of humour. Players across Europe paid homage on Twitter and Instagram, including Surez, who served an eight-match ban for racially abusing Patrice Evra. Alvess Bara and Brazil team-mate Neymar led the way after posting a picture on Instagram of himself holding a banana, while writing We are all monkeys. Balotelli, Milans former Manchester City striker, posted a picture of himself in a similar pose. Surez posted a picture on Twitter of himself and Liverpool team-mate Philippe Coutinho taking bites out of bananas, along with the words: #SayNoToRacism #WeAreAllMonkeys. (...) Bara gave their player their complete support and solidarity and thanked Villarreal for their immediate condemnation of the incident. Villarreal later revealed they had, with the help of fans, found out who the culprit was, had withdrawn his season ticket and banned him from the El Madrigal stadium for life. Disponvel em: http://www.theguardian.com/football/2014/apr/29/luis-suarez-anti-racism-dani-alvesbanana. Acesso em 29 abr.2014 (texto adaptado) According to text 1, which of the following is true about Dani Alves racism episode?

[IME - 2014/2015 - 1a fase] A figura acima apresenta um pndulo simples constitudo por um corpo de massa 4g e carga +50 Ce um fio inextensvel de 1m. Esse sistema se encontra sob a ao de um campo eltrico E de 128 kN/C, indicado na figura. Considerando que o pndulo oscile com amplitude pequena e que o campo gravitacional seja desprezvel, o perodo de oscilao, em segundos,

(IME - 2014/2015 - 2FASE) Text 2 Whats in a name? Henry Louis Gates Jr. (1989) The question of color takes up much space in these pages, but the question of color, especially in this country, operates to hide the graver questions of the self. - James Baldwin, 1961 blood, darky, Tar baby, Kaffir, shine moor, blackamoor, Jim Crow, spook quadroon, meriney, red bone, high yellow Mammy, porch monkey, home, homeboy, George spearchucker, Leroy, Smokeymouli, buck, Ethiopian, brother, sistah - Trey Ellis, 1989 I had forgotten the incident completely, until I read Trey Ellis essay, Remember My Name, in a recent issue of the Village Voice (June 13, 1989). But there, in the middle of an extended italicized list of the bynames of the race (the race or our people being the terms my parents used in polite or reverential discourse, jigaboo or nigger more commonly used in anger, jest, or pure disgust), it was: George. Now the events of that very brief exchange return to my mind so vividly that I wonder why I had forgotten it. My father and I were walking home at dusk from his second job. He moonlighted as a janitor in the evenings for the telephone company. Every day, but Saturday, he would come home at 3:30 from his regular job at the paper Mill, wash up, eat supper, then at 4:30 head downtown to his second job. He used to make jokes frequently about a union official who moonlighted. I never got the joke, but he and his friends thought it was hilarious. All I knew was that my family always ate well, that my brother and I had new clothes to wear, and that all of the white people in Piedmont, West Virginia, treated my parents with an odd mixture of resentment and respect that even we understood at the time had something directly to do with a small but certain measure of financial security. He had left a little early that evening because I was with him and I had to be in bed early. I could not have been more than five or six, and we had stopped off at the Cut-Rate Drug Store (where no black person in town but my father could sit down to eat, and eat off real plates with real silverware) so that I could buy some caramel ice cream, two scoops in a wafer cone, please, which I was busy licking when Mr. Wilson walked by. Mr. Wilson was a very quiet man, whose stony, brooding, silent manner seemed designed to scare off any overtures of friendship, even from white people. He was Irish as was one-third of our village (another third being Italian), the more affluent among whom sent their children to Catholic School across the bridge in Maryland. He had white straight hair, like my Uncle Joe, whom he uncannily resembled, and he carried a black worn metal lunch pail, the kind that Riley carried on the television show. My father always spoke to him, and for reasons that we never did understand, he always spoke to my father. Hello, Mr. Wilson, I heard my father say. Hello, George. I stopped licking my ice cream cone, and asked my Dad in a loud voice why Mr. Wilson had called him George. Doesnt he know your name, Daddy? Why dont you tell him your name? Your name isnt George. For a moment I tried to think of who Mr. Wilson was mixing Pop up with. But we didnt have any Georges among the colored people in Piedmont; nor were there colored Georges living in the neighboring towns and working at the Mill. Tell him your name, Daddy. He knows my name, boy, my father said after a long pause. He calls all colored people George. In text 2, Whats in a name?, we can infer that the narrator is

(IME - 2014/2015 - 2FASE) The expression He moonlighted in the sentence He moonlighted as a janitor in the evenings for the telephone company. is closest in meaning to which of the following?

[IME - 2014/2015 - 1a fase] Uma partcula eletricamente carregada est presa a um carrinho que se movecom velocidade de mdulo constante por uma trajetria no plano XY definida pela parbola Sabe-se que, em XY, um campo magntico uniforme paralelo ao vetor (3B, B) provoca forasobre a partcula. O ponto onde a partcula submetida ao maior mdulo de fora magntica

(IME - 2014/2015 - 2FASE) Text 2 Whats in a name? Henry Louis Gates Jr. (1989) The question of color takes up much space in these pages, but the question of color, especially in this country, operates to hide the graver questions of the self. - James Baldwin, 1961 blood, darky, Tar baby, Kaffir, shine moor, blackamoor, Jim Crow, spook quadroon, meriney, red bone, high yellow Mammy, porch monkey, home, homeboy, George spearchucker, Leroy, Smokeymouli, buck, Ethiopian, brother, sistah - Trey Ellis, 1989 I had forgotten the incident completely, until I read Trey Ellis essay, Remember My Name, in a recent issue of the Village Voice (June 13, 1989). But there, in the middle of an extended italicized list of the bynames of the race (the race or our people being the terms my parents used in polite or reverential discourse, jigaboo or nigger more commonly used in anger, jest, or pure disgust), it was: George. Now the events of that very brief exchange return to my mind so vividly that I wonder why I had forgotten it. My father and I were walking home at dusk from his second job. He moonlighted as a janitor in the evenings for the telephone company. Every day, but Saturday, he would come home at 3:30 from his regular job at the paper Mill, wash up, eat supper, then at 4:30 head downtown to his second job. He used to make jokes frequently about a union official who moonlighted. I never got the joke, but he and his friends thought it was hilarious. All I knew was that my family always ate well, that my brother and I had new clothes to wear, and that all of the white people in Piedmont, West Virginia, treated my parents with an odd mixture of resentment and respect that even we understood at the time had something directly to do with a small but certain measure of financial security. He had left a little early that evening because I was with him and I had to be in bed early. I could not have been more than five or six, and we had stopped off at the Cut-Rate Drug Store (where no black person in town but my father could sit down to eat, and eat off real plates with real silverware) so that I could buy some caramel ice cream, two scoops in a wafer cone, please, which I was busy licking when Mr. Wilson walked by. Mr. Wilson was a very quiet man, whose stony, brooding, silent manner seemed designed to scare off any overtures of friendship, even from white people. He was Irish as was one-third of our village (another third being Italian), the more affluent among whom sent their children to Catholic School across the bridge in Maryland. He had white straight hair, like my Uncle Joe, whom he uncannily resembled, and he carried a black worn metal lunch pail, the kind that Riley carried on the television show. My father always spoke to him, and for reasons that we never did understand, he always spoke to my father. Hello, Mr. Wilson, I heard my father say. Hello, George. I stopped licking my ice cream cone, and asked my Dad in a loud voice why Mr. Wilson had called him George. Doesnt he know your name, Daddy? Why dont you tell him your name? Your name isnt George. For a moment I tried to think of who Mr. Wilson was mixing Pop up with. But we didnt have any Georges among the colored people in Piedmont; nor were there colored Georges living in the neighboring towns and working at the Mill. Tell him your name, Daddy. He knows my name, boy, my father said after a long pause. He calls all colored people George. Which of the following conclusions can be drawn from text 2?

[IME - 2014/2015 - 1a fase] Duas fontes puntiformes idnticas esto localizadas nos pontos A e B. As fontes emitem ondas coerentes e em fase entre si. Se a distncia d entre as fontes igual a um mltiplo inteiro positivo N do comprimento de onda, o nmero de mximos de interferncia que podem ser observados no eixo x direita do ponto B :

(IME - 2014/2015 - 2FASE) Text 2 Whats in a name? Henry Louis Gates Jr. (1989) The question of color takes up much space in these pages, but the question of color, especially in this country, operates to hide the graver questions of the self. - James Baldwin, 1961 blood, darky, Tar baby, Kaffir, shine moor, blackamoor, Jim Crow, spook quadroon, meriney, red bone, high yellow Mammy, porch monkey, home, homeboy, George spearchucker, Leroy, Smokeymouli, buck, Ethiopian, brother, sistah - Trey Ellis, 1989 I had forgotten the incident completely, until I read Trey Ellis essay, Remember My Name, in a recent issue of the Village Voice (June 13, 1989). But there, in the middle of an extended italicized list of the bynames of the race (the race or our people being the terms my parents used in polite or reverential discourse, jigaboo or nigger more commonly used in anger, jest, or pure disgust), it was: George. Now the events of that very brief exchange return to my mind so vividly that I wonder why I had forgotten it. My father and I were walking home at dusk from his second job. He moonlighted as a janitor in the evenings for the telephone company. Every day, but Saturday, he would come home at 3:30 from his regular job at the paper Mill, wash up, eat supper, then at 4:30 head downtown to his second job. He used to make jokes frequently about a union official who moonlighted. I never got the joke, but he and his friends thought it was hilarious. All I knew was that my family always ate well, that my brother and I had new clothes to wear, and that all of the white people in Piedmont, West Virginia, treated my parents with an odd mixture of resentment and respect that even we understood at the time had something directly to do with a small but certain measure of financial security. He had left a little early that evening because I was with him and I had to be in bed early. I could not have been more than five or six, and we had stopped off at the Cut-Rate Drug Store (where no black person in town but my father could sit down to eat, and eat off real plates with real silverware) so that I could buy some caramel ice cream, two scoops in a wafer cone, please, which I was busy licking when Mr. Wilson walked by. Mr. Wilson was a very quiet man, whose stony, brooding, silent manner seemed designed to scare off any overtures of friendship, even from white people. He was Irish as was one-third of our village (another third being Italian), the more affluent among whom sent their children to Catholic School across the bridge in Maryland. He had white straight hair, like my Uncle Joe, whom he uncannily resembled, and he carried a black worn metal lunch pail, the kind that Riley carried on the television show. My father always spoke to him, and for reasons that we never did understand, he always spoke to my father. Hello, Mr. Wilson, I heard my father say. Hello, George. I stopped licking my ice cream cone, and asked my Dad in a loud voice why Mr. Wilson had called him George. Doesnt he know your name, Daddy? Why dont you tell him your name? Your name isnt George. For a moment I tried to think of who Mr. Wilson was mixing Pop up with. But we didnt have any Georges among the colored people in Piedmont; nor were there colored Georges living in the neighboring towns and working at the Mill. Tell him your name, Daddy. He knows my name, boy, my father said after a long pause. He calls all colored people George. According to Gates description in text 2, we can say that Mr Wilson was

[IME - 2014/2015 - 1a fase] Um varal de roupas constitudo por um fio de comprimento 10,0 m e massa 2,5 kg, suspenso nas extremidades por duas hastes uniformes de 200 N de peso, com articulao nas bases, inclinadas de 45 em relao s bases e de iguais comprimentos. Um vento forte faz com que o fio vibre com pequena amplitude em seu quinto harmnico, sem alterar a posio das hastes. A frequncia, em Hz, neste fio Observao: a vibrao no fio no provoca vibrao nas hastes.