天津阅读 Rd006・2014 阅读理解

A Guide to the University

Food

The TWU Cafeteria is open 7am to 8pm. It serves snacks (小吃), drinks, ice cream bars and meals. You can pay with cash or your ID cards. You can add meal money to your ID cards at the Front Desk. Even if you do not buy your food in the cafeteria, you can use the tables to eat your lunch, to have meetings and to study.

If you are on campus in the evening or late at night, you can buy snacks, fast food, and drinks in the Lower Cafe located in the bottom level of the Douglas Centre. This area is often used for entertainment such as concerts, games or TV watching.

Relaxation

The Globe, located in the bottom level of McMillan Hall, is available for relaxing, studying, cooking, and eating. Monthly activities are held here for all international students. Hours are 10 am to 10 pm, closed on Sundays.

Health

Located on the top floor of Douglas Hall, the Wellness Centre is committed to physical, emotional and social health. A doctor and nurse is available if you have health questions or need immediate medical help or personal advice. The cost of this is included in your medical insurance. Hours are Monday to Friday, 9am to noon and 1:00 to 4:30 pm.

Academic Support

All students have access to the Writing Centre on the upper floor of Douglas Hall. Here, qualified volunteers will work with you on written work, grammar, vocabulary, and other academic skills. You can sign up for an appointment on the sign-up sheet outside the door two 30-minute appointments per week maximum. This service is free.

Transportation

The TWU Express is a shuttle (班车) service. The shuttle transports students between campus and the shopping centre, leaving from the Mattson Centre. Operation hours are between 9 am and 3 pm, Saturdays only. Round trip fare is $1.

A world-famous Canadian author, Margaret Atwood, has created the world’s first long-distance signing device (装置), the LongPen.

After many tiring book-signing tours from city to city, Atwood thought there must be a better way to do them. She hired some technical experts and started her own company in 2004. Together they designed the LongPen. Here’s how it works: The author writes a personal message and signature on a computer tablet (手写板) using a special pen. On the receiving end, in another city, a robotic arm fitted with a regular pen signs the book. The author and fan can talk with each other via webcams (网络摄像机) and computer screens.

Work on the LongPen began in Atwood’s basement (地下室). At first, they had no idea it would be as hard as it turned out to be. The device went through several versions, including one that actually had smoke coming out of it. The inventing finally completed, test runs were made in Ottawa, and the LongPen was officially launched at the 2006 London Book Fair. From here, Atwood conducted two transatlantic book signings of her latest book for fans in Toronto and New York City.

The LongPen produces a unique signature each time because it copies the movement of the author in real time. It has several other potential applications. It could increase credit card security and allow people to sign contracts from another province. The video exchange between signer and receiver can be recorded on DVD for proof when legal documents are used.

“It’s really fun,” said the owner of a bookstore, who was present for one of the test runs. “Obviously you can’t shake hands with the author, but there are chances for a connection that you don’t get from a regular book signing.”

The response to the invention hasn’t been all favorable. Atwood has received criticism from authors who think she’s trying to end book tours. But she said, “It will be possible to go to places that you never got sent to before because the publishers couldn’t afford it.”

“Dad,” I say one day, “let’s take a trip. Why don’t you fly out and meet me?”

My father had just retired after 27 years as a manager for IBM. His job filled his day, his thoughts, his life. While he woke up and took a warm shower, I screamed under a freezing waterfall in Peru. While he tied a tie and put on the same Swiss watch, I rowed a boat across Lake of the Ozarks.

My father sees me drifting aimlessly, nothing to show for my 33 years but a passport full of funny stamps. He wants me to settle down, but now I want him to find an adventure.

He agrees to travel with me through the national parks. We meet four weeks later in Rapid City.

“What’s our first stop?” asks my father.

“What time is it?”

“Still don’t have a watch?”

Less than an hour away is Mount Rushmore. As he stares up at the four Presidents carved in granite (花岗岩), his mouth and eyes open slowly, like those of a little boy.

“Unbelievable,” he says, “How was this done?”

A film in the information center shows sculptor Gutzon Borglum devoted 14 years to the sculpture and then left the final touches to his son.

We stare up and I ask myself, Would I ever devote my life to anything?

No directions, no goals. I always used to hear those words in my father’s voice. Now I hear them in my own.

The next day we’re at Yellowstone National Park, where we have a picnic.

“Did you ever travel with your dad?” I ask.

“Only once,” he says. “I never spoke much with my father. We loved each other—but never said it. Whatever he could give me, he gave.”

That last sentence—it’s probably the same thing I’d say about my father. And what I’d want my child to say about me.

In Glacier National Park, my father says, “I’ve never seen water so blue.” I have, in several places of the world. I can keep traveling, I realize—and maybe a regular job won’t be as dull as I feared.

Weeks after our trip, I call my father.

“The photos from the trip are wonderful,” he says. “We have got to take another trip like that sometime.”

I tell him I’ve decided to settle down, and I’m wearing a watch.

People aren’t walking any more—if they can figure out a way to avoid it.

I felt superior about this matter until the other day I took my car to mail a small parcel. The journey is a matter of 281 steps. But I used the car. And I wasn’t in any hurry, either. I had merely become one more victim of a national sickness: motorosis.

It is an illness to which I had thought myself immune (免疫的), for I was bred in the tradition of going to places on my own two legs. At that time, we regarded 25 miles as a good day’s walk and the ability to cover such a distance in ten hours as a sign of strength and skill. It did not occur to us that walking was a hardship. And the effect was lasting. When I was 45 years old I raced—and beat—a teenage football player the 168 steps up the Statue of Liberty.

Such enterprises today are regarded by many middle-aged persons as bad for the heart. But a well-known British physician, Sir Adolphe Abrahams, pointed out recently that hearts and bodies need proper exercise. A person who avoids exercise is more likely to have illnesses than one who exercises regularly. And walking is an ideal form of exercise—the most familiar and natural of all.

It was Henry Thoreau who showed mankind the richness of going on foot. The man walking can learn the trees, flowers, insects, birds and animals, the significance of seasons, the very feel of himself as a living creature in a living world. He cannot learn in a car.

The car is a convenient means of transport, but we have made it our way of life. Many people don’t dare to approach nature anymore; to them the world they were born to enjoy is all threat. To them security is a steel river thundering on a concrete road. And much of their thinking takes place while waiting for the traffic light to turn green.

I say that the green of forests is the mind’s best light. And none but the man on foot can evaluate what is basic and everlasting.