TEXT II

The four-thousand-year-old computer

In 1901, a group of divers excavating an ancient Roman shipwreck near the island of Antikythera, off the southern coast of Greece, found a mysterious object - a lump of calcified stone that contained within it several gearwheels welded together after years under the sea. The 2,000-year-old object, no bigger than a modern laptop, is now regarded as the world's oldest computer, devised to predict solar eclipses and, according to recent findings, calculate the timing of the ancient Olympics. Following the efforts of an international team of scientists, the mysteries of the Antikythera Mechanism are uncovered, revealing surprising and awe-inspiring details of the object that continues to mystify.

(From: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01hlkcq)

 TEXT I

           The Environmental Pillar of Sustainable Water: Ecological Services

Across the globe, increased demand and water mismanagement have put stress on water services. As a result, there has been a growing societal recognition of the need to look at sustainable solutions that allow for everyone to have access to clean water. There is growing recognition of the importance of ecological services (benefits arising from the ecological functions of healthy ecosystems) as part of a management strategy in new approaches. Ecological services imply that nature can also play a role in providing safe drinking water. Whether through source water protection or natural filtration, the environment can work in concert with technology to provide water in a reasonable, sustainable fashion.

                                              (From: http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK50775/)

                                                              Text 1

             Luis Suárez 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 Suárez, Neymar, Hulk, Mario Balotelli and Sergio Agüero were among those who posted pictures of themselves taking bites out of bananas in tribute to Alves' actions in his side's 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 Suárez, who served an eight-match ban for racially abusing Patrice Evra.

      Alves's Barça 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, Milan's former Manchester City striker, posted a picture of himself in a similar pose.

      Suárez posted a picture on Twitter of himself and Liverpool team-mate Philippe Coutinho taking bites out of bananas, along with the words: "#SayNoToRacism #WeAreAllMonkeys."

      (...)

      Barça 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.

Disponível em:<http://www.theguardian.com/football/2014/apr/29/luis-suarez-anti-racism-dani-alvesbanana> . Acesso em 29 abr.2014 (texto adaptado)  

                                                    Text 2  

                                          What’s 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, Smokey…mouli, buck, Ethiopian, brother, sistah…

                                                                                                              - Trey Ellis, 1989

      I had forgotten the incident completely, until I read Trey Elli’s 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.”

      “Doesn’t he know your name, Daddy? Why don’t you tell him your name? Your name isn’t George.”

      For a moment I tried to think of who Mr. Wilson was mixing Pop up with. But we didn’t 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.”

      “That’s right. Nobody.”

      I never again looked Mr. Wilson in the eye.  

                                                 Text 2  

                                          What’s 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, Smokey…mouli, buck, Ethiopian, brother, sistah…

                                                                                                              - Trey Ellis, 1989

      I had forgotten the incident completely, until I read Trey Elli’s 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.”

      “Doesn’t he know your name, Daddy? Why don’t you tell him your name? Your name isn’t George.”

      For a moment I tried to think of who Mr. Wilson was mixing Pop up with. But we didn’t 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.”

      “That’s right. Nobody.”

      I never again looked Mr. Wilson in the eye.  

                                                              Text 1

             Luis Suárez 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 Suárez, Neymar, Hulk, Mario Balotelli and Sergio Agüero were among those who posted pictures of themselves taking bites out of bananas in tribute to Alves' actions in his side's 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 Suárez, who served an eight-match ban for racially abusing Patrice Evra.

      Alves's Barça 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, Milan's former Manchester City striker, posted a picture of himself in a similar pose.

      Suárez posted a picture on Twitter of himself and Liverpool team-mate Philippe Coutinho taking bites out of bananas, along with the words: "#SayNoToRacism #WeAreAllMonkeys."

      (...)

      Barça 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.

Disponível em:<http://www.theguardian.com/football/2014/apr/29/luis-suarez-anti-racism-dani-alvesbanana> . Acesso em 29 abr.2014 (texto adaptado)  

                                                              Text 1

             Luis Suárez 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 Suárez, Neymar, Hulk, Mario Balotelli and Sergio Agüero were among those who posted pictures of themselves taking bites out of bananas in tribute to Alves' actions in his side's 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 Suárez, who served an eight-match ban for racially abusing Patrice Evra.

      Alves's Barça 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, Milan's former Manchester City striker, posted a picture of himself in a similar pose.

      Suárez posted a picture on Twitter of himself and Liverpool team-mate Philippe Coutinho taking bites out of bananas, along with the words: "#SayNoToRacism #WeAreAllMonkeys."

      (...)

      Barça 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.

Disponível em:<http://www.theguardian.com/football/2014/apr/29/luis-suarez-anti-racism-dani-alvesbanana> . Acesso em 29 abr.2014 (texto adaptado)  

                                                    Text 2  

                                          What’s 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, Smokey…mouli, buck, Ethiopian, brother, sistah…

                                                                                                              - Trey Ellis, 1989

      I had forgotten the incident completely, until I read Trey Elli’s 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.”

      “Doesn’t he know your name, Daddy? Why don’t you tell him your name? Your name isn’t George.”

      For a moment I tried to think of who Mr. Wilson was mixing Pop up with. But we didn’t 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.”

      “That’s right. Nobody.”

      I never again looked Mr. Wilson in the eye.  

                            How New Words Are Created

      Below we can find the description of five different processes that have led to the creation of new words in the English language.

      (I) ________

      Many of the new words added to the ever-growing lexicon of the English language are just created out of the blue, and often have líttle or no etymological pedigree. A good example is the word dog, etymologically unrelated to any other known word, which, in the late Middle Ages, suddenly and mysteriously displaced the Old English word hound (or hund) which had served for centuries.

      (II) ___________

      Some words arise simply as shortened forms of longer words (exam, gym, lab, bus, vet, phone and burger are some obvious and wellused examples). Perhaps less obvious is the derivation of words like goodbye (a shortening of God-be-with-you) and hello (a shortened form of the Old English for "whole be thou").

      (III) ______________

      Like many languages, English allows the formation of words by joining together shorter words (e.g. airport, seashore, fireplace, etc.). The concatenation of words in English may even allow for different meanings depending on the order of combination (e.g. houseboat/boathouse, casebook/bookcase, etc) .

      (IV) _______

      The drift of word meanings over time often arises, often but not always due to catachresis. By some estimates, over half of all words adopted into English from Latin have changed their meaning in some way over time, often drastically. For example, smart originally meant sharp, cutting or painful; A more modern example is the changing meaning of gay from merry to homosexual (and, in some circles in more recent years, to stupid or bad).

      (V) ______

      New words may arise due to mishearings or misrenderings. According to the "Oxford English Dictionary", there are at least 350 words in English dictionaries (most of them thankfully quite obscure) that owe their existence purely to typos or other misrenderings (e.g. shamefaced from the original shamefast, penthouse from pentice, sweetheart from sweetard, buttonhole from button-hold, etc).

                         (Adapted from http://wviw.thehistoryofenglish.com/issues_new.html)