Questões: Centro de Educação Superior a Distância do Estado do Rio de Janeiro (CEDERJ) — com gabarito

A soma de todos os números inteiros entre 50 e 350 que terminam em 3 é:

III Sendo x e y números reais não nulos, então .

Em um triângulo retângulo, a altura relativa à hipotenusa mede 12 cm, e o menor dos segmentos que ela determina sobre a hipotenusa mede 9 cm. A medida do menor cateto é:

    Define-se por eletrólise o processo no qual se induz no sistema, artificial e forçadamente, uma corrente – seja ela elétrica ou química – a fim de se obter uma reação química, convertendo energia elétrica em energia química ou vice-versa. Em resumo, quando dois compostos entram em contato químico, seus elementos são separados, de modo forçado, através da corrente elétrica de energia química.

Em relação à eletrólise,

    Considere as condições de remoção de Cl₂ , adição de PCl₃ e diminuição do volume do recipiente que estão relacionadas com a reação

PCl_3(g) + Cl2_(g) PCl5_(g)

    Segundo a teoria eletrolítica de Arrhenius, que considera o comportamento das substâncias quando dissolvidas em água, a função inorgânica dos sais pode ser definida da seguinte forma: Sal é toda substância que, em solução aquosa, sofre dissociação, liberando pelo menos um cátion diferente do H+ ou H₃O+ e um aníon diferente do OH^- .

O sal formado entre o ácido bórico e o hidróxido de magnésio apresenta a seguinte composição centesimal:

    O efeito íon comum decorre da diminuição da solubilidade de um sal ao se agregar um dos íons. O aumento da concentração de um dos íons que formam o precipitado deve corresponder à diminuição da do outro, para que o Kps permaneça constante, a uma temperatura determinada. Esse efeito é o que permite reduzir a solubilidade de muitos precipitados ou precipitar, quantitativamente, um íon, usando excesso de agente precipitante. O valor do Kps do hidróxido de magnésio é 8.9 x 10-¹², a 25.0°C.

A solubilidade desse composto a 25.0°C, em água pura e em uma solução de pH igual a 13.00, será, respectivamente, em molL-1 :

    Para evitar bolor em armários, utilizam-se produtos denominados “sais secantes", como o CaCl2 anidro, que é higroscópico, isto é, capaz de absorver moléculas de água. Por essa razão, o frasco contendo este secante acaba por acumular líquido no fundo, que nada mais é do que solução aquosa de cloreto de cálcio. Com base nessa informação e utilizando – caso necessário – a tabela periódica, analise as afirmativas a seguir:

I O cloreto de cálcio é um sólido iônico.
II O cloreto de cálcio sólido é um bom condutor de eletricidade.
III Para ser usado como “secante de armário", o sal deve ser higroscópico.

São verdadeiras:

Why don’t we take our own advice?
Oliver Burkeman

“Why is it so hard to take your own advice?” the psychology writer Melissa Dahl asked in a New York magazine essay some months ago, and the question’s been bugging me ever since. I have the arrogance to imagine that if you followed some of the suggestions made each week in this column, you might be a little happier or more productive, with a little less relationship drama, a little more inner calm. (From my email inbox, I know this happens at least occasionally.) But were you to infer from this that I follow such advice flawlessly myself, you’d be mistaken. When friends mention their difficulties with partners or bosses, Dahl wrote, she always tells them to talk to the person involved. Just say something! “And probably, this is good advice,” she mused. “I wouldn’t know, as it’s something I rarely do myself.” I can understand. I suspect most of us can. As the old wisecrack has it: “Take my advice – I’m not using it.”
The cynical take on this is that we ignore our own advice because it’s rubbish: we give it to seem wise, when in fact it’s nonsense. (All advice to “try harder” or “snap out of it” or “look on the bright side” fall into this category: if the recipient could do so, he or she already would have, without your so-called help.)
But a more interesting notion is that the advice is often good – yet something prevents us applying it to ourselves. One such obstacle is simply too much information: inside our own heads, we have access to all manner of details, making us believe that this relationship problem, this job dilemma, is special, so the advice doesn’t apply. Dahl cites work by the psychologist Dan Ariely, showing that when a friend gets a serious medical diagnosis, most people would urge them to get a second opinion. But were it to happen to themselves, they’d be more likely not to do so, for fear of offending their doctor. The fear of offence is something you’d think of only in your own case – and it’s totally unhelpful.
But there’s another big reason I don’t follow my own advice: the huge gulf between grasping something intellectually and really feeling it in your bones. For example, it was years ago that I first encountered the insight that anxiety and insecurity aren’t reduced by trying to exert more control over the world; in fact, that usually makes them worse. I know this. But apparently I have to keep learning it, over and over. Its correctness isn’t sufficient for it to get into my brain once and for all; that takes repeated experience. As a result, I continue to “suddenly realise” things I already wrote an entire book about.
If nothing else, this should be a caution against getting too frustrated with that one friend of yours who keeps getting into the same kind of pickle, time and again, deaf to the obviously good advice that everyone keeps offering. You know the type. We’ve all got a friend like that. The scary thought is that, for some of your friends, it’s probably you.

Adapted from http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/sep/11/ taking-your-own-advice-oliver-burkeman. Accessed on: 22 out. 2015.

Glossary

advice: conselho; to bug: incomodar; to infer: concluir; flawlessly: perfeitamente; to muse: meditar; wisecrack: espertinho; cynical: cínico, pessimista; rubbish: besteira; to urge: insistir; gulf: distância; exert: exercer; pickle: encrenca

    Diante da confissão da especialista em psicologia Melissa Dahl de que ela própria raramente segue os seus próprios conselhos, o autor do texto, Oliver Burkeman, reage com

Why don’t we take our own advice?
Oliver Burkeman

“Why is it so hard to take your own advice?” the psychology writer Melissa Dahl asked in a New York magazine essay some months ago, and the question’s been bugging me ever since. I have the arrogance to imagine that if you followed some of the suggestions made each week in this column, you might be a little happier or more productive, with a little less relationship drama, a little more inner calm. (From my email inbox, I know this happens at least occasionally.) But were you to infer from this that I follow such advice flawlessly myself, you’d be mistaken. When friends mention their difficulties with partners or bosses, Dahl wrote, she always tells them to talk to the person involved. Just say something! “And probably, this is good advice,” she mused. “I wouldn’t know, as it’s something I rarely do myself.” I can understand. I suspect most of us can. As the old wisecrack has it: “Take my advice – I’m not using it.”
The cynical take on this is that we ignore our own advice because it’s rubbish: we give it to seem wise, when in fact it’s nonsense. (All advice to “try harder” or “snap out of it” or “look on the bright side” fall into this category: if the recipient could do so, he or she already would have, without your so-called help.)
But a more interesting notion is that the advice is often good – yet something prevents us applying it to ourselves. One such obstacle is simply too much information: inside our own heads, we have access to all manner of details, making us believe that this relationship problem, this job dilemma, is special, so the advice doesn’t apply. Dahl cites work by the psychologist Dan Ariely, showing that when a friend gets a serious medical diagnosis, most people would urge them to get a second opinion. But were it to happen to themselves, they’d be more likely not to do so, for fear of offending their doctor. The fear of offence is something you’d think of only in your own case – and it’s totally unhelpful.
But there’s another big reason I don’t follow my own advice: the huge gulf between grasping something intellectually and really feeling it in your bones. For example, it was years ago that I first encountered the insight that anxiety and insecurity aren’t reduced by trying to exert more control over the world; in fact, that usually makes them worse. I know this. But apparently I have to keep learning it, over and over. Its correctness isn’t sufficient for it to get into my brain once and for all; that takes repeated experience. As a result, I continue to “suddenly realise” things I already wrote an entire book about.
If nothing else, this should be a caution against getting too frustrated with that one friend of yours who keeps getting into the same kind of pickle, time and again, deaf to the obviously good advice that everyone keeps offering. You know the type. We’ve all got a friend like that. The scary thought is that, for some of your friends, it’s probably you.

Adapted from http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/sep/11/ taking-your-own-advice-oliver-burkeman. Accessed on: 22 out. 2015.

Glossary

advice: conselho; to bug: incomodar; to infer: concluir; flawlessly: perfeitamente; to muse: meditar; wisecrack: espertinho; cynical: cínico, pessimista; rubbish: besteira; to urge: insistir; gulf: distância; exert: exercer; pickle: encrenca

    Segundo o autor do texto, no terceiro parágrafo, muitas vezes não seguimos o nosso próprio conselho porque

Why don’t we take our own advice?
Oliver Burkeman

“Why is it so hard to take your own advice?” the psychology writer Melissa Dahl asked in a New York magazine essay some months ago, and the question’s been bugging me ever since. I have the arrogance to imagine that if you followed some of the suggestions made each week in this column, you might be a little happier or more productive, with a little less relationship drama, a little more inner calm. (From my email inbox, I know this happens at least occasionally.) But were you to infer from this that I follow such advice flawlessly myself, you’d be mistaken. When friends mention their difficulties with partners or bosses, Dahl wrote, she always tells them to talk to the person involved. Just say something! “And probably, this is good advice,” she mused. “I wouldn’t know, as it’s something I rarely do myself.” I can understand. I suspect most of us can. As the old wisecrack has it: “Take my advice – I’m not using it.”
The cynical take on this is that we ignore our own advice because it’s rubbish: we give it to seem wise, when in fact it’s nonsense. (All advice to “try harder” or “snap out of it” or “look on the bright side” fall into this category: if the recipient could do so, he or she already would have, without your so-called help.)
But a more interesting notion is that the advice is often good – yet something prevents us applying it to ourselves. One such obstacle is simply too much information: inside our own heads, we have access to all manner of details, making us believe that this relationship problem, this job dilemma, is special, so the advice doesn’t apply. Dahl cites work by the psychologist Dan Ariely, showing that when a friend gets a serious medical diagnosis, most people would urge them to get a second opinion. But were it to happen to themselves, they’d be more likely not to do so, for fear of offending their doctor. The fear of offence is something you’d think of only in your own case – and it’s totally unhelpful.
But there’s another big reason I don’t follow my own advice: the huge gulf between grasping something intellectually and really feeling it in your bones. For example, it was years ago that I first encountered the insight that anxiety and insecurity aren’t reduced by trying to exert more control over the world; in fact, that usually makes them worse. I know this. But apparently I have to keep learning it, over and over. Its correctness isn’t sufficient for it to get into my brain once and for all; that takes repeated experience. As a result, I continue to “suddenly realise” things I already wrote an entire book about.
If nothing else, this should be a caution against getting too frustrated with that one friend of yours who keeps getting into the same kind of pickle, time and again, deaf to the obviously good advice that everyone keeps offering. You know the type. We’ve all got a friend like that. The scary thought is that, for some of your friends, it’s probably you.

Adapted from http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/sep/11/ taking-your-own-advice-oliver-burkeman. Accessed on: 22 out. 2015.

Glossary

advice: conselho; to bug: incomodar; to infer: concluir; flawlessly: perfeitamente; to muse: meditar; wisecrack: espertinho; cynical: cínico, pessimista; rubbish: besteira; to urge: insistir; gulf: distância; exert: exercer; pickle: encrenca

Why don’t we take our own advice?
Oliver Burkeman

“Why is it so hard to take your own advice?” the psychology writer Melissa Dahl asked in a New York magazine essay some months ago, and the question’s been bugging me ever since. I have the arrogance to imagine that if you followed some of the suggestions made each week in this column, you might be a little happier or more productive, with a little less relationship drama, a little more inner calm. (From my email inbox, I know this happens at least occasionally.) But were you to infer from this that I follow such advice flawlessly myself, you’d be mistaken. When friends mention their difficulties with partners or bosses, Dahl wrote, she always tells them to talk to the person involved. Just say something! “And probably, this is good advice,” she mused. “I wouldn’t know, as it’s something I rarely do myself.” I can understand. I suspect most of us can. As the old wisecrack has it: “Take my advice – I’m not using it.”
The cynical take on this is that we ignore our own advice because it’s rubbish: we give it to seem wise, when in fact it’s nonsense. (All advice to “try harder” or “snap out of it” or “look on the bright side” fall into this category: if the recipient could do so, he or she already would have, without your so-called help.)
But a more interesting notion is that the advice is often good – yet something prevents us applying it to ourselves. One such obstacle is simply too much information: inside our own heads, we have access to all manner of details, making us believe that this relationship problem, this job dilemma, is special, so the advice doesn’t apply. Dahl cites work by the psychologist Dan Ariely, showing that when a friend gets a serious medical diagnosis, most people would urge them to get a second opinion. But were it to happen to themselves, they’d be more likely not to do so, for fear of offending their doctor. The fear of offence is something you’d think of only in your own case – and it’s totally unhelpful.
But there’s another big reason I don’t follow my own advice: the huge gulf between grasping something intellectually and really feeling it in your bones. For example, it was years ago that I first encountered the insight that anxiety and insecurity aren’t reduced by trying to exert more control over the world; in fact, that usually makes them worse. I know this. But apparently I have to keep learning it, over and over. Its correctness isn’t sufficient for it to get into my brain once and for all; that takes repeated experience. As a result, I continue to “suddenly realise” things I already wrote an entire book about.
If nothing else, this should be a caution against getting too frustrated with that one friend of yours who keeps getting into the same kind of pickle, time and again, deaf to the obviously good advice that everyone keeps offering. You know the type. We’ve all got a friend like that. The scary thought is that, for some of your friends, it’s probably you.

Adapted from http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/sep/11/ taking-your-own-advice-oliver-burkeman. Accessed on: 22 out. 2015.

Glossary

advice: conselho; to bug: incomodar; to infer: concluir; flawlessly: perfeitamente; to muse: meditar; wisecrack: espertinho; cynical: cínico, pessimista; rubbish: besteira; to urge: insistir; gulf: distância; exert: exercer; pickle: encrenca

Why don’t we take our own advice?
Oliver Burkeman

“Why is it so hard to take your own advice?” the psychology writer Melissa Dahl asked in a New York magazine essay some months ago, and the question’s been bugging me ever since. I have the arrogance to imagine that if you followed some of the suggestions made each week in this column, you might be a little happier or more productive, with a little less relationship drama, a little more inner calm. (From my email inbox, I know this happens at least occasionally.) But were you to infer from this that I follow such advice flawlessly myself, you’d be mistaken. When friends mention their difficulties with partners or bosses, Dahl wrote, she always tells them to talk to the person involved. Just say something! “And probably, this is good advice,” she mused. “I wouldn’t know, as it’s something I rarely do myself.” I can understand. I suspect most of us can. As the old wisecrack has it: “Take my advice – I’m not using it.”
The cynical take on this is that we ignore our own advice because it’s rubbish: we give it to seem wise, when in fact it’s nonsense. (All advice to “try harder” or “snap out of it” or “look on the bright side” fall into this category: if the recipient could do so, he or she already would have, without your so-called help.)
But a more interesting notion is that the advice is often good – yet something prevents us applying it to ourselves. One such obstacle is simply too much information: inside our own heads, we have access to all manner of details, making us believe that this relationship problem, this job dilemma, is special, so the advice doesn’t apply. Dahl cites work by the psychologist Dan Ariely, showing that when a friend gets a serious medical diagnosis, most people would urge them to get a second opinion. But were it to happen to themselves, they’d be more likely not to do so, for fear of offending their doctor. The fear of offence is something you’d think of only in your own case – and it’s totally unhelpful.
But there’s another big reason I don’t follow my own advice: the huge gulf between grasping something intellectually and really feeling it in your bones. For example, it was years ago that I first encountered the insight that anxiety and insecurity aren’t reduced by trying to exert more control over the world; in fact, that usually makes them worse. I know this. But apparently I have to keep learning it, over and over. Its correctness isn’t sufficient for it to get into my brain once and for all; that takes repeated experience. As a result, I continue to “suddenly realise” things I already wrote an entire book about.
If nothing else, this should be a caution against getting too frustrated with that one friend of yours who keeps getting into the same kind of pickle, time and again, deaf to the obviously good advice that everyone keeps offering. You know the type. We’ve all got a friend like that. The scary thought is that, for some of your friends, it’s probably you.

Adapted from http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/sep/11/ taking-your-own-advice-oliver-burkeman. Accessed on: 22 out. 2015.

Glossary

advice: conselho; to bug: incomodar; to infer: concluir; flawlessly: perfeitamente; to muse: meditar; wisecrack: espertinho; cynical: cínico, pessimista; rubbish: besteira; to urge: insistir; gulf: distância; exert: exercer; pickle: encrenca

    According to the text, friends who are always in trouble because they do not follow our advice should be treated with

Sérgio Vaz

Fragmento adaptado. VAZ, Sérgio. Flores de alvenaria. 2.ed. São Paulo: Global Editora, 2021. p. 71-73.

Sérgio Vaz é poeta, idealizador da Semana de Arte Moderna da Periferia, fundador da Cooperifa (Cooperativa Cultural da Periferia) e de outros projetos.

No fragmento do texto intitulado “Antes que seja tarde”, predomina a estrutura

Sérgio Vaz

Fragmento adaptado. VAZ, Sérgio. Flores de alvenaria. 2.ed. São Paulo: Global Editora, 2021. p. 71-73.

A prosa de Sérgio Vaz, caracteristicamente poética, apresenta várias figuras de linguagem. Marque a opção em que os elementos sublinhados NÃO CORRESPONDEM à figura apontada:

Sérgio Vaz

Fragmento adaptado. VAZ, Sérgio. Flores de alvenaria. 2.ed. São Paulo: Global Editora, 2021. p. 71-73.

Leia o trecho para responder à questão:

“Fico em silêncio quando a multidão desinformada pede redução da maioridade penal, porém, ela sabe que, se não educarmos nossas crianças, vão ter que prendê-las com 16, depois 14, depois 12, até que não tenhamos mais crianças nas ruas.” (Linhas 25 - 30). 

Assinale a opção em que a substituição do conectivo “porém” altera o sentido do enunciado:

Sérgio Vaz

Fragmento adaptado. VAZ, Sérgio. Flores de alvenaria. 2.ed. São Paulo: Global Editora, 2021. p. 71-73.

Leia o trecho para responder à questão:

“Fico em silêncio quando a multidão desinformada pede redução da maioridade penal, porém, ela sabe que, se não educarmos nossas crianças, vão ter que prendê-las com 16, depois 14, depois 12, até que não tenhamos mais crianças nas ruas.” (Linhas 25 - 30). 

O sujeito a que se refere o predicado “vão ter que prendê-las” é