June 2009 ACT Reading Discussion

[christi]

<p>I’m pretty sure it was drumming, since he said it took time for his “interest to be converted to useful energy” or something like that. Shifted focus, blah blah, don’t remember the wording.</p>

<p>It did say butterflies and the other answer (but not chemistry), but it was drumming then philosophy for him.</p>

[AznKnight17]

<p>For the philosopher one, everybody seems to be debating about “drumming”. My answer was “butterflies” here’s my reasoning.</p>

<p>In the first paragraph, he says at the age of 17, somebody suggested that he becomes a philosopher, which he claims “inconceivable”. He then says he’s more likely to be (though not a good chance) a drummer since he played in a rock band.</p>

<p>At the 2nd half of the passage, he says his passion was for chemistry when he was 10. But before he was 10, he said he liked butterflies. Something along the lines of "At the age of 10, I was immersed in Chemistry, and butterflies and lizards before that.</p>

[azaan847]

<p>OELA i rmr this</p>

[Rtgrove123]

<p>It was definately butterflies…look you can try to weasle your way around the meaning of what the question asked. However, the ACT would NEVER try to trick ppl by utilizing a wording that would essentially throw ppl off. In the SAT, such tricks are commonplace but not here. So, drumming and butterflies are still on even ground as far as which is correct. Then, the author states that he “got into drumming in his late teens” while he developed a passion for butterflies and lizzards at an age younger than ten. Now here is where some really hard math comes into play…is less than 10 or late teens bigger = D. Of course, less than 10 is smaller so butterflies is correct.</p>

[christi]

<p>How was the question worded again? I don’t even remember now.</p>

[tbonus]

<p>rt i think one of the choices was “traditional woods” the others didnt make much sense, another might have been like furniture lumber or something random</p>

[davematthewsxvii]

<p>1st edition. It was stated that because the eels were so small, the scientists concluded that they had just been born (and they were found in t he sargassi sea). that’s why it’s size, and not shape</p>

[Rtgrove123]

<p>tb-</p>

<p>All I remember was that my answer had the word environment in it…so it was wat u put right?</p>

[Katie123]

<p>Yeah, the question was definitely butterflies!</p>

<p>The only one that I know that I definitely got wrong is the one about the cosmonaut . . .
Because I was getting really stressed at that point and put
“Saw himself as a citizen of space and not the Soviet Union” or whatever.
And now that I think about it, that was a stupid choice! :/</p>

[tbonus]

<p>ya certified had environment, it think it was the only answer with environment in it.</p>

<p>it wasn’t butterflies, he hardly even talks about it</p>

<p>

My father had become a successful builder, so we were not materially deprived, and it was expected that I would become some sort of technical worker, possibly a quantity surveyor. The idea that I might one day become a professional philosopher was inconceivable in those days, to me and everyone else. I was simply not living in a place where that kind of thing ever happened; it was far likelier - though still not at all likely - that I would become a pop star (I played drums in a rock band).</p>

<p><a href=“College of Arts & Sciences | The University of New Mexico”>College of Arts & Sciences | The University of New Mexico;
The paperback British edition of my memoir The Making of a Philosopher has a photograph on the cover of a man sitting on a bench, placed in a grey and listless landscape. He is overlooking the sea on a misty grim day, and the atmosphere is bleak and melancholy. The man, hunched up, immobile, coiled almost, has a pensive posture, as if frozen in thought. This picture is based on a story I tell in the book about sitting on a bench in Blackpool, aged 18, pondering the metaphysical question of how objects relate to their properties. Is an object just the sum total of its properties, a mere coalescence of general features, or does it somehow lie behind its properties, supporting them, a solid peg on which they happen to hang? When I look at an object do I really see the object itself, or just the appearance its properties offer to me? I remember the feeling of fixation that came over me when I thought about these questions - a kind of floating fascination, a still perplexity. The photograph itself is an exercise in Cartesian dualism, presenting both the outer world of substance and drizzle, and the weightless inner world of thundering thought, so silent and so arresting. I had begun living in those two worlds, suspended between them, as my intellectual interests took root.</p>

<p>When I look back on this period in my late teens, I recall the harnessing of undirected mental energy by intellectual pursuits. Up until then, my mental energy had gone into things like reading Melody Maker, which contained fairly serious articles about pop musicians; I always knew the top 20 off by heart, and studied the articles about drummers intensely, hoping to improve my own technique. I suspect that this kind of swashing mental energy is fairly typical of boys that age. School doesn’t seem to connect with it, and it goes off in search of some object of interest, often trivial, sometimes destructive. In my case, it was philosophy that seized that energy and converted it into a passion - though one that took several years to form fully. It is a delicate and fastidious energy that I am speaking of, despite its power, and it will only be satisfied by certain employments, which of course vary from person to person. I had had a similar passion for chemistry when I was ten, and for butterflies and lizards before that. How to harness such passions to formal education remains a great and unsolved problem: how to convert a love of Harry Potter stories, say, into a taste for good literature. The mental energy of young people is not to be underestimated, even when it leads to nothing but an elaborate obsession with piercing.</p>

<p>It was - of course - a teacher who tapped into my formless and fizzing mental energy. Mr Marsh, teacher of divinity, brimmingly Christian, a man with very active eyebrows and sharp enunciation, in love with scholarship (oh, how he relished that word) - it was he who first brought out my inner philosopher. From him I heard of Descartes, locked up in his room, wondering whether anything could really be known beyond his own existence, contemplating the possibility of an all-deceiving evil demon that delights in human error, finally saving human knowledge (and dignity) by proving God’s existence and goodwill. But what I mainly got from the enthusiastic Mr Marsh was the desire to study. His own passion for study shone through, and he managed to make it seem, if not glamorous, then at least exhilarating - when done the right way and in the right spirit. Pencils and stationery were made to seem like shiny tools, and the pleasure of making one’s mark on a blank sheet of paper hymned. Choosing a good spot to study was emphasised. Above all, I learned a very valuable lesson, one that had hitherto escaped me: make notes. When reading a book, or listening to a lecture, or even just ruminating, put the salient points down on paper: this will fix them in your mind, give them firm expression, and provide a quick and easy way to recall what you earlier learned. Simple, I know, but even today I notice legions of my students sitting through lectures without pen in their hands. Thinking and writing should be indissoluble activities, the hand ministering to the thought, the thought shaped by the hand. Today, if I find myself without pen and paper and thoughts start to arrive, my fingers begin to twitch and I long for those implements of cogitation. With such rudimentary tools you can perform the miracle of turning an invisible thought into a concrete mark, bringing the ethereal interior into the public external world, refining it into something precious and permanent. The physical pleasure of writing, which I find survives in the use of a computer, is something worth dwelling on in matters of education.</p>

<p>Around this time I started to write a diary, chiefly as a way to practice my writing skills. Since there is no need to monitor the quality or interest of what is being written, the diary is an ideal form for developing the technique of writing, and for taking the anxiety out of it. No one will correct your grammar and spelling, or make fun of your naive thoughts and banal phrases, so you are free to get on to friendly terms with the language you speak. I would often try out new words I had learned - the dictionary had become my friend, rather than a standard I was failing to live up to - secure in the knowledge that solecism would not lead to embarrassment. A few hundred words a day, complemented by steady reading, will soon produce a passable prose style. The habit of daily reflection also fosters a critical sense, and an articulacy about what is going on; moral acuity can grow from this, as well as self-knowledge. Yes, a diary can seem like self-indulgent wallowing in the trivial details of day to day life, but it is the form, not the content, that counts. I have never read any of my old diaries, and I haven’t written one for over 20 years, but I do think that composing them helped teach me how to write and even how to think. Everyone should have one, starting young.</p>

<p>All this was before I went up to Manchester university in 1968. Since Mr Marsh had taught me how to study, I had done well enough to be admitted to university to study for a degree in psychology, thinking I might become an educational psychologist or some other useful and worthy thing. Philosophy was more of a hobby then, and maybe its tangential relation to my main studies added to its allure. In any case, philosophy wasn’t something you did for a living. I had two notable teachers at this time: Professor John Cohen, head of the psychology department, and Dr Wolfe Mays, a senior member of the Manchester philosophy department. I would describe both, intending no disrespect, as short Jewish men with funny voices. Cohen had trouble with his “r’s,” producing a slightly guttural sound, which is hard to put into phonetic form. He would say things like, “Colin, have you chrread Pchrroust?” (I pronounced it Prowst). Mays had that habit of saying his “th’s” as “v’s,” as in, “Vis is the ve difference.” His accent seemed suspended somewhere between south London and Cambridge.</p>

<p>Not to put too fine a point on it, I adored these two men, despite the fact that they were many decades my senior. And, for some reason, they both took a shine to me. John Cohen, who I always referred to simply as “Prof,” would invite me into his cluttered office and discuss some psychological topic with me in a man to man kind of way, just as if he valued my opinion. He would joke with me, smoke his pipe, make fun of some of his more earnest young colleagues, and offer encouragement, all done in the lightest and least condescending way possible. What seemed to me his vasterudition would fill the room, and I felt that here was a man for whom learning and life were one.

</p>

[JanSAT09]

<p>Did those of you who put drumming even read the passage? After reading, it was clear to me that the answer was butterflies, and even double-checking the answer was obvious. Perhaps you didn’t get the meaning of the passage by going back and forth by numbers instead of reading it as a whole.</p>

[mabsjenbu123]

<p>ok in the eel passage u guys found, I cant seem to find the exact place where the question with the answer “observe” is. (like what part was quoted)</p>

<p>any help?</p>

[hooray910]

<p>I though butterflies was pretty obvious…</p>

<p>o and did anyone else put “delicate, trivial” for the
potent constructive one</p>

[tbonus]

<p>jan sat, quote what your talking about, cause the passage is right there</p>

<p>what delicate/trivial?</p>

<p>at mabs: maybe this, i forget
“These studies have not only documented a large
number of eels in the lower Shenandoah
River, but also have provided
information relative to the ecology
of eel movements and the effectiveness
of eel ladders.”</p>

[cosine45]

<p>I def. agree with butterflies. IMO, I thought the order was: butterflies, chemistry, drumming, philosophy</p>

[JanSAT09]

<p>

When I look back on this period in my late teens, I recall the harnessing of undirected mental energy by intellectual pursuits. Up until then, my mental energy had gone into things like reading Melody Maker, which contained fairly serious articles about pop musicians; I always knew the top 20 off by heart, and studied the articles about drummers intensely, hoping to improve my own technique. I suspect that this kind of swashing mental energy is fairly typical of boys that age. School doesn’t seem to connect with it, and it goes off in search of some object of interest, often trivial, sometimes destructive. In my case, it was philosophy that seized that energy and converted it into a passion - though one that took several years to form fully. It is a delicate and fastidious energy that I am speaking of, despite its power, and it will only be satisfied by certain employments, which of course vary from person to person. I had had a similar passion for chemistry when I was ten, and for butterflies and lizards before that. How to harness such passions to formal education remains a great and unsolved problem: how to convert a love of Harry Potter stories, say, into a taste for good literature. The mental energy of young people is not to be underestimated, even when it leads to nothing but an elaborate obsession with piercing.

Thanks for proving that it’s butterflies. :)</p>

<p>He talks about how kids go from one passion to another. His teen passion was drumming. At age 10 it was chemistry, and even before that it was lizards and butterflies. Clear as day IMO.</p>

[tbonus]

<p>what was the exact question with butteryflies</p>

[rcchen]

<p>Can we have a quick recap of the solutions we’ve worked out already?</p>

[hooray910]

<p>The one where tbonus got “potent energy into some constructive use”
I put “delicate energy that was used on trivial…”</p>

<p>Why is it the constructive one?</p>

[tbonus]

<p>not from chicago
father welcome off train
las vegas gambling
the town has not genuinely progessed
football field fenced
not photographs
tanning salon
reflecting on past and pondering the present
russian cosmonaut = political changes</p>

<h2>exercise</h2>

<p>size
bermuda triangle
pressure for deeper water
river cycle
observe
strong currents
adapt to less light
there are gaping holes</p>

<h2>commonly known as</h2>

<p>gloomy tension, fascination
schools need to search for ways to connect
drums? (up for debate) - probably butterflies
cover of magazine at 18 yrs old
chemistry teacher impacted his life greatly</p>

<h2>things in writing NOT A precious and something</h2>

<p>balesemi azame
the forest stuff could be worked on else where in the amazon
tuition
spread message to other villagers (hope that the students do this)
use woods that are ok for environment
hard to get customers to buy the guitars
you can make other things using science (might be a repeat answer)
2/3 wasted</p>

<p>both of these in regard to philosopher guy
was their a question with the top 20 and melody maker
potent energy to be constructive or something- i say this because “In my case, it was philosophy that seized that energy and converted it into a passion”
I thought the question was worded talking about what could be done with this potent energy of his. earlier in life he had trouble harnessing it, but then he makes something constructive with it</p>

<p>

When I look back on this period in my late teens, I recall the harnessing of undirected mental energy by intellectual pursuits. Up until then, my mental energy had gone into things like reading Melody Maker, which contained fairly serious articles about pop musicians; I always knew the top 20 off by heart, and studied the articles about drummers intensely, hoping to improve my own technique. I suspect that this kind of swashing mental energy is fairly typical of boys that age. **School doesn’t seem to connect with it, and it goes off in search of some object of interest, often trivial, sometimes destructive. **<a href=“not%20for%20him%20though,%20he%20doesn’t%20wander%20toward%20something%20trivial”>u</a>In my case, it was philosophy that seized that energy and converted it into a passion - though one that took several years to form fully. It is a delicate and fastidious energy that I am speaking of, despite its power, and it will only be satisfied by certain employments, which of course vary from person to person. I had had a similar passion for chemistry when I was ten, and for butterflies and lizards before that. How to harness such passions to formal education remains a great and unsolved problem: how to convert a love of Harry Potter stories, say, into a taste for good literature. The mental energy of young people is not to be underestimated, even when it leads to nothing but an elaborate obsession with piercing.

</p>