Prova de 2015: Centro de Educação Superior a Distância do Estado do Rio de Janeiro (CEDERJ) — questões com gabarito

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

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

    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

    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

    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:

    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 :

    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:

    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)

    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,

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:

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

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

A imagem reforça a relação da ditatura com o patriotismo expresso na bandeira:



Sobre a Ditadura Militar Brasileira, é correto afirmar que:

Leia o texto a seguir:

Existia certo exagero nas expectativas em relação ao Brasil. Eram aspirações provavelmente pouco realistas, muito dependentes da China. Agora houve uma reação nos mercados, e os preços das ações parecem mais realistas. A tendência no longo prazo ainda é favorável. O Brasil poderá se beneficiar do crescimento dos Estados Unidos e também de países da América Latina. A situação não é como a da Índia. Existem muitas oportunidades na América Latina, mais até que na Ásia. Países como Chile, Peru e Colômbia, além do México, têm atraído os investidores.

FINK, Larry. Uma retomada movida a gás. Veja, Ed. 2342, Ano 46, n. 41 09 out. 2013, p.23. Adaptado.

A análise apresentada no texto enfatiza o seguinte aspecto do mundo contemporâneo:

Leia o texto a seguir:

Em novembro deste ano, em Cingapura, pela primeira vez em mais de meio século, os presidentes de Taiwan e China se reuniram. O taiwanês Ma Ying-Jeou e o chinês Xi Jinping conversaram sobre suas respectivas posições em temas bilaterais, com a intenção de “assegurar a paz”. Em 1949, o líder nacionalista Chiang Kai-shek e suas forças fugiram para Taiwan – conhecido então como Formosa – para estabelecer um governo chinês no exílio. A China, desde então, considera Taiwan parte de seu território, com a reunificação pendente.

O Globo, Mundo, 04 nov. 2015. Adaptado.

Tendo em vista os sistemas político-econômicos adotados, entre China e Taiwan encontra-se a seguinte situação:

Duas amostras com iguais quantidades de um mesmo gás ideal estão confinadas no interior de cilindros idênticos por êmbolos que podem se mover livremente, sem atrito com as paredes dos recipientes. As faces superiores de ambos os êmbolos, de massas MI e MII, estão em contato com o ar ambiente. O gás do cilindro I, que ocupa um volume VI , encontra-se a uma temperatura TI e o do cilindro II, que ocupa um volume VII, está a uma temperatura TII, maior que TI .

Qual deve ser a relação entre as massas para que a pressão nos dois cilindros seja a mesma e qual é a relação – nesse caso – entre os volumes ocupados pelos gases nos dois cilindros?