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活动执行 合同 劳动合同范本免费下载装修合同范本免费下载租赁合同免费下载房屋买卖合同下载劳务合同范本下载 Text 课文 Part I Pre-reading Task Listen to the recording two or three times and then think over the following questions: 1. Is the hero a student or an employee? 2. What was he doing when the boss came in? 3. How did he act in front of his boss? 4. Can you guess what the texts in this unit are going to be about? The following words in the recording may be new to you: surf vt. (在网上)漫游 log onto 进入(计算机系统) unpredictable a. 不可预测的 Part II Text A Maia Szalavitz, formerly a television producer, now spends her time as a writer. In this essay she explores digital reality and its consequences. Along the way, she compares the digital world to the "real" world, acknowledging the attractions of the electronic dimension. A VIRTUAL LIFE Maia Szalavitz After too long on the Net, even a phone call can be a shock. My boyfriend's Liverpool accent suddenly becomes impossible to interpret after his easily understood words on screen; a secretary's clipped tone seems more rejecting than I'd imagined it would be. Time itself becomes fluid — hours become minutes, or seconds stretch into days. Weekends, once a highlight of my week, are now just two ordinary days. For the last three years, since I stopped working as a television producer, I have done much of my work as a telecommuter. I submit articles and edit them via email and communicate with colleagues on Internet mailing lists. My boyfriend lives in England, so much of our relationship is also computer-assisted. If I desired, I could stay inside for weeks without wanting anything. I can order food, and manage my money, love and work. In fact, at times I have spent as long as three weeks alone at home, going out only to get mail and buy newspapers and groceries. I watched most of the endless snowstorm of'96 on TV. But after a while, life itself begins to feel unreal. I start to feel as though I've become one with my machines, taking data in, spitting them back out, just another link in the Net. Others on line report the same symptoms. We start to feel an aversion to outside forms of socializing. We have become the Net critics' worst nightmare. What first seemed like a luxury, crawling from bed to computer, not worrying about hair, and clothes and face, has become a form of escape, a lack of discipline. And once you start replacing real human contact with cyber-interaction, coming back out of the cave can be quite difficult. I find myself shyer, more cautious, more anxious. Or, conversely, when suddenly confronted with real live humans, I get overexcited, speak too much, interrupt. I constantly worry if I am dressed appropriately, that perhaps I've actually forgotten to put on a skirt and walked outside in the T-shirt and underwear I sleep and live in. At times, I turn on the television and just leave it to talk away in the background, something that I'd never done previously. The voices of the programs are comforting, but then I'm jarred by the commercials. I find myself sucked in by soap operas, or needing to keep up with the latest news and the weather. "Dateline," "Frontline," "Nightline," CNN, New York 1, every possible angle of every story over and over and over, even when they are of no possible use to me. Work moves into the background. I decide to check my email. On line, I find myself attacking everyone in sight. I am bad-tempered, and easily angered. I find everyone on my mailing list insensitive, believing that they've forgotten that there are people actually reading their wounding remarks. I don't realize that I'm projecting until after I've been embarrassed by someone who politely points out that I've attacked her for agreeing with me. When I'm in this state, I fight my boyfriend as well, misinterpreting his intentions because of the lack of emotional cues given by our typed dialogue. The fight takes hours, because the system keeps crashing. I say a line, then he does, then crash! And yet we keep on, doggedly. I'd never realized how important daily routine is: dressing for work, sleeping normal hours. I'd never thought I relied so much on co-workers for company. I began to understand why long-term unemployment can be so damaging, why life without an externally supported daily plan can lead to higher rates of drug abuse, crime, suicide. To restore balance to my life, I force myself back into the real world. I call people, arrange to meet with the few remaining friends who haven't fled New York City. I try to at least get to the gym, so as to set apart the weekend from the rest of my week. I arrange interviews for stories, doctor's appointments — anything to get me out of the house and connected with others. But sometimes being face to face is too much. I see a friend and her ringing laughter is intolerable — the noise of conversation in the restaurant, unbearable. I make my excuses and flee. I re-enter my apartment and run to the computer as though it were a place of safety. I click on the modem, the once-annoying sound of the connection now as pleasant as my favorite tune. I enter my password. The real world disappears. (820 words) Unit 5 Text A True Heigh Part I Pre-reading Task Listen to the recording two or three times and then think over the following questions: 1. What happened to the singer? 2. What helped her pull through all the hardships she suffered? 3. What is the tone of the song? 4. Is the song related to the theme of the unit — overcoming obstacles? Part II Text A Look at the following two sayings and then see if the story of Michael Stone bears out the points they make. The greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it. —— Moliere When it is dark enough, you can see the stars. —— Charles A, Beard TRUE HEIGHT David Naster His palms were sweating. He needed a towel to dry his grip. The sun was as hot as the competition he faced today at the National Junior Olympics. The pole was set at 17 feet. That was three inches higher than his personal best. Michael Stone confronted the most challenging day of his pole-vaulting career. The stands were still filled with about 20,000 people, even though the final race had ended an hour earlier. The pole vault is truly the highlight of any track and field competition. It combines the grace of a gymnast with the strength of a body builder. It also has the element of flying, and the thought of flying as high as a two-story building is a mere fantasy to anyone watching such an event. As long as Michael could remember he had always dreamed of flying. Michael's mother read him numerous stories about flying when he was growing up. Her stories were always ones that described the land from a bird'seye view. Her excitement and passion for details made Michael's dreams full of color and beauty. Michael had this one recurring dream. He would be running down a country road. As he raced between golden wheat fields, he would always outrun the locomotives passing by. It was at the exact moment he took a deep breath that he began to lift off the ground. He would begin soaring like an eagle. Where he flew would always coincide with his mother's stories. Wherever he flew was with a keen eye for detail and the free spirit of his mother's love. His dad, on the other hand, was not a dreamer. Bert Stone was a hardcore realist. He believed in hard work and sweat. His motto: If you want something, work for it! From the age of 14, Michael did just that. He began a very careful training program. He worked out every other day with weightlifting, with some kind of running work on alternate days. The program was carefully monitored by Michael's coach, trainer and father. Michael's dedication, determination and discipline was a coach's dream. Besides being an honor student and only child, Michael Stone continued to help his parents with their farm chores. Mildred Stone, Michael's mother, wished he could relax a bit more and be that "free dreaming" little boy. On one occasion she attempted to talk to him and his father about this, but his dad quickly interrupted, smiled and said, "You want something, work for it!" All of Michael's vaults today seemed to be the reward for his hard work. If Michael Stone was surprised, excited or vain about clearing the bar at 17 feet, you couldn't tell. As soon as he landed on the inflated landing mat, and with the crowd on its feet, Michael immediately began preparing for his next attempt at flight. He seemed unaware of the fact that he had just beaten his personal best by three inches and that he was one of the final two competitors in the pole-vaulting event at the National Junior Olympics. When Michael cleared the bar at 17 feet 2 inches and 17 feet 4 inches, again he showed no emotion. As he lay on his back and heard the crowd groan, he knew the other vaulter had missed his final jump. He knew it was time for his final jump. Since the other vaulter had fewer misses, Michael needed to clear this vault to win. A miss would get him second place. Nothing to be ashamed of, but Michael would not allow himself the thought of not winning first place. He rolled over and did his routine of three finger-tipped push-ups. He found his pole, stood and stepped on the runway that led to the most challenging event of his 17-year-old life. The runway felt different this time. It startled him for a brief moment. Then it all hit him like a wet bale of hay. The bar was set at nine inches higher than his personal best. That's only one inch off the National record, he thought. The intensity of the moment filled his mind with anxiety. He began shaking the tension. It wasn't working. He became more tense. Why was this happening to him now, he thought. He began to get nervous. Afraid would be a more accurate description. What was he going to do? He had never experienced these feelings. Then out of nowhere, and from the deepest depths of his soul, he pictured his mother. Why now? What was his mother doing in his thoughts at a time like this? It was simple. His mother always used to tell him when you felt tense, anxious or even scared, take deep breaths. So he did. Along with shaking the tension from his legs, he gently laid his pole at his feet. He began to stretch out his arms and upper body. The light breeze that was once there was now gone. He carefully picked up his pole. He felt his heart pounding. He was sure the crowd did, too. The silence was deafening. When he heard the singing of some distant birds in flight, he knew it was his time to fly. As he began sprinting down the runway, something felt wonderfully different, yet familiar. The surface below him felt like the country road he used to dream about. Visions of the golden wheat fields seemed to fill his thoughts. When he took a deep breath, it happened. He began to fly. His take-off was effortless. Michael Stone was now flying, just like in his childhood dreams. Only this time he knew he wasn't dreaming. This was real. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The air around him was the purest and freshest he had ever sensed. Michael was soaring like an eagle. It was either the eruption of the people in the stands or the thump of his landing that brought Michael back to earth. On his back with that wonderful hot sun on his face, he knew he could only see in his mind's eye the smile on his mother's face. He knew his dad was probably smiling too, even laughing. What he didn't know was that his dad was hugging his wife and crying. That's right: Bert "If You Want It, Work For It" Stone was crying like a baby in his wife's arms. He was crying harder than Mildred had ever seen before. She also knew he was crying the greatest tears of all: tears of pride. Michael was immediately surrounded by people hugging and congratulating him on the greatest accomplishment of his life. He later went on that day to clear 17 feet 6 1/2 inches: a National and International Junior Olympics record. With all the media attention and sponsorship possibilities, Michael's life would never be the same again. It wasn't just because he won the National Junior Olympics and set a new world record. And it wasn't because he had just increased his personal best by 9 l/2 inches. It was simply because Michael Stone is blind. (1170 words) Unit 6Text A I'm Going To Buy The Brooklyn Bridge Text 课文 Part I Pre-reading Task Listen to the recording two or three times and then think over the following questions: 1. Why can't women be ignored? 2. What price have women had to pay for their wisdom? 3. What happens to them if you try to break their will? 4. Have women realized their dreams? The following words in the recording may be new to you: gonna = (infml) going to invincible a. 战无不胜的 conviction n. 信念 embryo n. 胚胎;萌芽期 Part II Text A How do some women manage to combine a full-time job with family responsibilities and still find time for doing other things? Adrienne Popper longs to be like them, but wonders whether it is an impossible dream. I'M GOING TO BUY THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE Not long ago I received an alumni bulletin from my college. It included a brief item about a former classmate: "Kate L. teaches part-time at the University of Oklahoma and is assistant principal at County High School. In her spare time she is finishing her doctoral dissertation and the final drafts of two books, and she still has time for tennis and horse riding with her daughters." Four words in that description undid me: in her spare time. A friend said that if I believed everything in the report, she had a bridge in Brooklyn she'd like to sell me. My friend's joke hit home. What an idiot I'd been! I resolved to stop thinking about Kate's incredible accomplishments and to be suitably skeptical of such stories in the future. But like a dieter who devours a whole box of cookies in a moment of weakness, I found my resolve slipping occasionally. In weak moments I'd comb the pages of newspapers and magazines and consume success stories by the pound. My favorite superwomen included a politician's daughter who cared for her two-year-old and a newborn while finishing law school and managing a company; a practicing pediatrician with ten children other own; and a television anchorwoman, mother of two preschoolers, who was studying for a master's degree. One day, however, I actually met a superwoman face to face. Just before Christmas last year, my work took me to the office of a woman executive of a national corporation. Like her supersisters, she has a husband, two small children and, according to reports, a spotless apartment. Her life runs as precisely as a Swiss watch. Since my own schedule rarely succeeds, her accomplishments fill me with equal amounts of wonder and guilt. On a shelf behind her desk that day were at least a hundred jars of strawberry jam, gaily tied with red-checked ribbons. The executive and her children had made the jam and decorated the jars, which she planned to distribute to her staff and visiting clients. When, I wondered aloud, had she found the time to complete such an impressive holiday project? I should have known better than to ask. The answer had a familiar ring: in her spare time. On the train ride home I sat with a jar of strawberry jam in my lap. It reproached me the entire trip. Other women, it seemed to say, are movers and shakers — not only during office hours, but in their spare time as well. What, it asked, do you accomplish in your spare time? I would like to report that I am using my extra moments to complete postdoctoral studies in physics, to develop new theories of tonal harmony for piano and horn, and to bake cakes and play baseball with my sons. The truth of the matter is, however, that I am by nature completely unable to get my act together. No matter how carefully I plan my time, the plan always goes wrong. If I create schedules of military precision in which several afternoon hours are given over to the writing of the Great American Novel, the school nurse is sure to phone at exactly the moment I put pencil to paper. One of my children will have developed a strange illness that requires him to spend the remainder of the day in bed, calling me at frequent intervals to bring soup, juice, and tea. Other days, every item on my schedule will take three times the number of minutes set aside. The cleaner will misplace my clothes. My order won't be ready at the butcher shop as promised. The woman ahead of me in the supermarket line will pay for her groceries with a check drawn on a Martian bank, and only the manager (who has just left for lunch) can OK the matter. "They also serve who only stand and wait," wrote the poet John Milton, but he forgot to add that they don't get to be superwomen that way. Racing the clock every day is such an exhausting effort that when I actually have a few free moments, I tend to collapse. Mostly I sink into a chair and stare into space while I imagine how lovely life would be if only I possessed the organizational skills and the energy of my superheroines. In fact, I waste a good deal of my spare time just worrying about what other women are accomplishing in theirs. Sometimes I think that these modern fairy tales create as many problems for women as the old stories that had us biding our time for the day our prince would come. Yet superwomen tales continue to charm me. Despite my friend's warning against being taken in, despite everything I've learned, I find that I'm not only willing, but positively eager to buy that bridge she mentioned. Why? I suppose it has something to do with the appeal of an optimistic approach to life — and the fact that extraordinary deeds have been accomplished by determined individuals who refused to believe that "you can't" was the final word on their dreams. Men have generally been assured that achieving their heart's desires would be a piece of cake. Women, of course, have always believed that we can't have our cake and eat it too — the old low-dream diet. Perhaps becoming a superwoman is an impossible dream for me, but life without that kind of fantasy is as unappealing as a diet with no treats. I know the idea of admiring a heroine is considered silly today; we working women are too sophisticated for that. Yet the superwomen I read about are my heroines. When my faith in myself falters, it is they who urge me on, whispering, "Go for it, lady!" One of these days I plan to phone my former classmate Kate and shout "Well done!" into the receiver. I hope she won't be modest about her achievements. Perhaps she will have completed her dissertation and her two books and moved on to some new work that's exciting or dangerous or both. I'd like to hear all about it. After that I'm going to phone the friend who laughed at me for believing all the stories I hear. Then I'll tell her a story: the tale of a woman who bought her own version of that bridge in Brooklyn and found that it was a wise investment after all. (1097 words)