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Zero Return InvestmentOh, No! Not ANOTHER IQ Test!
Do You Know What a 12-Year-Old Kid Knows?I know the answer! The answer lies within the heart of all mankind! The answer is twelve? - Charles Schulz
Source: vissor.com NOTE: --------- Forwarded message ---------- Sir: Unfortunately, when I take the "grade school quiz" on the page and submit the quiz for "grading,", I am redirected to a page where I receive this error message: Fatal error: Failed opening required 'vissorDefiness.php' in /home/gattaca/web/vissor/secure/quizsub.php on line 2 Thanks for your help. Tony So, I have included the answers below - When it says: "You're almost finished! Click below to see your test results. Click here" if you don't click, you can just scroll sown to read the answers below... -------- Original Message -------- Tony Thanks for bringing this problem to our attention. I had no idea the flash file linked to another site for grading. You can go to Vissor and sign up for free, then take their test and they will still grade it for you. But for your information: On the true/false questions at the end of the test -
are all true - the rest are false - according to them. However...
People who write tests have an obligation to get the answers correct. I apologise for not having scrutinised this one more closely before now. Most people don't take the time to report problems. I thank you again for taking the time. Regards Original Message -------- Comments: The 12-year-old test has an error beyond those already mentioned - it lists a knife as "not being one of the simple machines" when it is no different in function than the "wedge" two items below it. Maybe the question should ask what the official names of the simple machines are... Jeremy I had a similar concern, but decided that the knife perhaps incorporates both the wedge and the lever-and-fulcrum (depending on how it's used, of course). Regards
One Wrong Move and...
This dog even passed the test!
Another Sort of Test...An orphan, my grandfather lied about his age to join the army and fought in the trenches in World War I. He was captured by the Germans, escaped, and was recaptured. When the war ended, he returned to Florida to work as a field hand and sharecropper. He eventually married my grandmother and settled down on a farm outside Rush Springs, Oklahoma. They raised 4 children and survived the Depression, dust storms, and the Second World War. Papa’s demeanor gave no indication of the difficulty he had known. He was cheery and playful with his grandchildren. In fact, when I was a little girl, I had a hunch that Papa just might be Santa Claus. He didn’t have a lot of money for gifts, but he was generous and loving. On his farm he let my brother and me pet the animals and explore at will. We ran barefoot in red-clay silt so fine it felt like powder. The only real dangers were yellowjackets, bull nettles, and fresh cow patties. One hot summer day, Papa took my cousins, my brother, and me with him to run errands. As we were headed back to the farm, we drove past some people working in a cotton field. Most of them were Negroes. One of my cousins started making fun of them, and we all chimed in. I don’t remember exactly what we were mocking. It may have been their dirty clothes, or their skin colour, or the work they were doing. I do remember that a shadow fell over Papa’s face. I had never seen him look so serious. He pulled over and told us to wait for him in the truck. When Papa came back, he told us that we were going to pick cotton. He gave each of us an enormous sack. We were not to return to the truck until we had filled our bags. I was excited at first. It was fun to see the white puffs we kept in a glass box in the bathroom growing from a plant. I figured it would be easy to fill a sack. As I started down my first row, sweat began to drip off my bangs into my eyes. The sandy clay soil stuck to my legs. The tough points of the dry outer pods scraped my hands. I was dismayed by how little of the bag my handfuls of cotton fibre filled. A woman with a scarf on her head stopped picking to look at me. There was neither animosity nor friendliness in her expression. I was used to adults addressing me in a cooing, comforting way. I thought perhaps this woman would put down her bag and help me fill mine. I was just a little girl from the city. Surely she would want to help me. But she returned to her own work. I walked up the embankment to Papa’s pickup, dragging the heavy, mostly empty bag behind me. Papa gave me some water from a metal canister. "I’m hot," I said. "Yep, hot out today." "I’m scratchy." "Better get back out there if you’re going to fill that bag before sunset." I stood still, surprised that I was being held to this bargain. Papa wasn’t supposed to be this hard on us - certainly not on me. As I started back down the embankment, I saw that there were other children, Negro children, in the field. They didn’t have their own bags, but were picking cotton and putting it into the bags of the grown-ups. Those kids worked a lot faster than I did. Didn’t the sun bother them? I started picking again, slower than before, careful to avoid the hard stems and pods. The sun dropped only slightly in the sky. When I saw Papa coming toward me, I felt sure he had relented. Instead, he took my bag and emptied it into my cousin’s. He told us that we could both fill the one bag. I grew tired and sunburned and picked even slower now. The Negro kids were still working at the same dogged pace. I had not seen any of them take a break. There was no hint of play in their task. Finally, when we had picked just enough for the cotton to reach the mouth of the bag, Papa emptied our pickings into a field worker’s sack. That man turned and began to pick the rest of our row. We followed Papa up to the pickup and crawled into the cab. I was too worn out to feel relief. As we drove away, I looked back at the field. No trees, no shade, just the red waves of silt and cotton plants. Papa didn’t say a word: no praise, no criticism. I’ve never forgotten that lesson. Cheryl Poole Source: The Sun June 2004 pp 36 - 37
Do You Have to Be Smart to Be Rich? The Impact of IQ on WealthAbstract How important is intelligence to financial success? Using the NLSY79, which tracks a large group of young US baby boomers, this research shows that each point increase in IQ test scores raises income by between $234 and $616 per year after holding a variety of factors constant. Regression results suggest no statistically distinguishable relationship between IQ scores and wealth. Financial distress, such as problems paying bills, going bankrupt or reaching credit card limits, is related to IQ scores not linearly but instead in a quadratic relationship. This means higher IQ scores sometimes increase the probability of being in financial difficulty. Source: sciencedirect.com
Frog's FortuneA frog went to have his fortune told. The fortune teller looked at his little webbed palm and said, "Aha! You're about to meet a beautiful young lady who is going to want to know everything about you." The frog said, "Thanks! I'm going to run right back to the pond so I won't miss her." The fortune teller said, "You won't meet her at the pond. You're going to meet her in her freshman biology class."
Did You Know?Our intelligence tends to produce technological and social change at a rate faster than our institutions and emotions can cope with... - Gwynne Dyer
Click to Play Karl Fisch, a high school administrator at Arapahoe High School in Littleton, Colorado, pulled together a Powerpoint with “some interesting ideas” for teachers at his school. (Later, Scott Mcleod, a professor at Univ. of Minnesota, generalized the presentation.) Source: The Fischbowl thefischbowl.blogspot.com/2006/08/did-you-know.html His sources (in case you want to verify anything):
For articles on education covering subjects taught, tests, costs, boredom, honour, rites of passage, rigid rules, cliques, thinking, learning, homeschooling, creating,
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