The popularity of lip pencils and crayons is soaring, I suspect it’s because they’re just so easy to use. I’ve been trying out two new ones to see which I prefer. In the red corner we have MAC Patent Polish Lip Pencil and in the blue corner we have NARS Velvet Matte Lip Pencil. So let’s get ready to rumble while I put them through their paces…. Although the packaging of these two is quite similar the formulation and finish of the lip colours are very different – MAC Patent Polish is a light gloss and NARS Velvet Matte has a stark matte finish. So whether you prefer your lips sheer and glossy or pigmented and matte there should be something for everyone here. MAC Patent Polish Lip Pencil – this is the first lip pencil that I’ve tried from MAC (apart from lip liner) and I’m really impressed with it. As the name suggests the finish is a very shiny gloss that gives an almost patent shine, it has the feel of a lip gloss but it’s not sticky. The colour is called Spontaneous, MAC describe it as a ‘soft plum with pearl’. It’s definitely a plummy shade, although I can’t really detect any pearl in there. It looks quite dark as a crayon but as it’s very sheer it appears much more natural once it’s on the lips. It’s a great way to introduce darker lip colours to your make-up bag if you’re not used to them. MAC Patent Polish Lip Pencil is a bit like a fabulous giant tinted lip balm! The crayon itself is chunky and easy to hold, the nib is quite chunky and not great for precision application, but you could use a lip brush to apply it. I love to apply MAC Patent Polish straight from the crayon, it’s quick and easy, and as it’s very light and sheer it’s easy to wipe away any mistakes and re-apply. According to the above context, answer the following question. When did the author decide which lip product she liked better?

Answer: after she tried both of the products


Paul knew that the plan was insane and probably illegal. Certainly the stuff he'd been helping Chloe and her gang of followers do for the last few hours was technically illegal. He'd asked them why they were helping him, what did they hope to gain? They'd told him that this is what they did for fun. Chloe assured him that they "lived for this kinda shit." Ok, fine. He could sort of see that. Once he was there, helping them come up with the plan and then actually carrying it out, it sure as hell was exciting - probably the most exciting thing he'd ever done. Now that he was home and alone with his misgivings and paranoia, it all seemed like a really stupid idea. If it weren't for Chloe and her mesmerizing enthusiasm, there's no doubt that he wouldn't be doing this at all. But it was too late now. Or was it? It was five in the morning when Paul got back to his apartment. He'd told Chloe that he wanted to get a few hours sleep before the big meeting, but he now realized that there was no way he was going to be able to relax. When he'd stepped out the door twenty-two hours earlier he'd still had his job and was looking forward to a showing the rest of the art team his new designs for some of the higher-level monsters he wanted to add to the game. Screw that, he thought, they're my monsters now. I'll use them somewhere else. It could never work. How could it? Right then and there Paul decided that he was going to call the whole thing off. It wasn't too late. They hadn't done anything yet that wasn't reversible. No one had been hurt. No money had changed hands. No one had been lied to. If he called it off right now he could just move on and try and put the whole, sorry state of affairs behind him. According to the above context, answer the following question. What was probably Paul's job?

Answer: Video Game Designer


Rain, the young man is thinking. Of course it would be raining. Not a heavy, cleansing rain that leaves the streets steaming and the neatly sculptured yards lush and fragrant. This is a gray drizzling rain. A rain that makes him think of places like England and Scotland as they appear in those disturbing late night films on cable, the ones in black and white that weren't particularly memorable when they were made and are even less so now. Still, it rains and the air is cool. All he has to shelter him is a think nylon jacket. The jacket is soaked. It feels both chilly and coarse against his skin. His hair hangs in flat and sodden wings, falling into his eyes. It's long in the back, almost to his shoulders, and he thinks that the cars that pass him on the street, the occupants of those cars, might look at him and see only that he is wet and not that he is dirty as well. Can they tell that his hair has been unwashed for days? That his clothes are the same ones he's worn for more than a week? It doesn't matter. He's invisible to them as soon as they pass, taking any assumptions they might make with them. They might just mistake him for one of those hoity-toity college kids, one of those clean limbed and beaming have's who has happened to find himself caught out without his umbrella. He makes a desultory attempt to straighten his shoulders, to lift his eyes from the buckled sidewalk. To look like he might have a purpose or a destination. It doesn't help. He has become the day. He has internalized the environment. He did that years ago, in fact. That's all I can do. Not his words, of course, but he understands them. He is intimately acquainted with his limitations. According to the above context, answer the following question. The character in the story thinks of England and Scotland:

Answer: before imagining what people in the cars passing think


"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?" "Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing." "Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?" "No, Sir." "Well... " "I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool." "You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips. "Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic." "Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up." "I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar." "I'll talk to her." "Great! I already have a guitar and--" "--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says." "Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door. Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square. But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going. According to the above context, answer the following question. How long did the lesson probably last?

Answer:
one hour