A Dolphin and an Astronomer
One day in 1963, a dolphin named Elvar and a famous astronomer, Carl Sagan, were playing a little game. The astronomer was visiting an institute which was looking into the way dolphins communicate with each other. Sagan was standing on the edge of one of the tanks where several of these friendly, highly intelligent creatures were kept. Elvar had just swum up alongside him and had turned on his back.
The dolphin wanted Sagan to scratch his stomach again, as the astronomer had done twice before. Elvar looked up at Sagan, waiting. Then, after a minute or so, the dolphin leapt up through the water and made a sound just like the word "more". The astonished astronomer went to the director of the institute and told him about the incident. "Oh, yes. That’s one of the words he knows," the director said, showing no surprise at all.
Dolphins have bigger brains in proportion to their body size than humans have, and it has been known for a long time that they can make a number of sounds. What is more, these sounds seem to have different functions, such as warning each other of danger. Sound travels much faster and much further in water than it does in air. That is why the parts of the brain that deal with sound are much better developed in dolphins than in humans. But can it be said that dolphins have a "language", in the real sense of the word Scientists don’t agree on this. Dolphins are the most useful animals to humans.
A．Right B．Wrong C．Not mentioned

All this is important because the finagle factor is still at work. For example, in the artificial sweetener controversy, for example, it is (64) that all the studies sponsored by the sugar industry find that the artificial sweetener is unsafe, (65) all the studies sponsored by the diet food industry find nothing wrong with it.

After too long on the Net, even a phone call can be a shock. My boyfriend’s Liverpudlian accent suddenly becomes hard to understand after the clarity of his words on screen; a secretary’s tone seems more rejecting than I’d imagined it would be. Time itself becomes fluid—hours become minutes, and alternately 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 producer for Charlie Rose, I have done much of my work as a tele-commuter (远程交谈者). I submit articles and edit them via E-mail and communicate with colleagues on Internet mailing lists. My boyfriend lives in England, so much of our relationship is computer-mediated.
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 blizzard (风) of ’96 on TV.
But after a while, life itself begins to feel unreal. I start to feel as though I’ve merged with my machines, taking data in, spitting them back out, just another node (节点) on the Net. Others on line report the same symptoms. We start to strongly dislike the outside forms of socializing. It’s like attending an A.A. meeting in a bar with everyone holding a half-sipped drink. We have become the Net opponents’ worst nightmare.
What first seemed like a luxury, crawling from bed to computer, not worrying about hair, and clothes and face, has become an avoidance, a lack of discipline. And once you start replacing real human contact with cyber-interaction (网上交流), coming back out of the cave can be quite difficult.At times, I turn on the television and just leave it to chatter in the background, something that I’d never done previously. The voices of the programs soothe (安危) me, but then I’m jarred (使感不快) by the commercials. I find myself sucked in by soap operas, or compulsively (强制性地) needing to keep up with the latest news and the weather. "Dateline," "Frontline," "Nightline," CNN, every possible angle of every story over and over and over, even when they are of no possible use to me. Work moves from foreground to background.