While you enjoy the delicious food and beverages the FAVA will offer on May 30th, the Blueprint Masquerades would like to entertain you with several ‘revealing’ plays and short stories. Admission is free!

Week by week the same old song:
Read your books, it won’t take long (yeah right)
Be on time, prepared as fit
But still, that is about it-
Until…

An innocent calendar, filled with dates:
Some menacing times and places – and names
Herald stuffy rooms, nervous nail-biting,
and of course the “randomly” breaking pens

Already you smell the promising breeze
of a break, the day after, better times-
of papers in summer’s sun. Breathe it in
Only an odor through opaque smog, though

Keep calm, create a diversion – but don’t get distracted by the shiny things that lurk in the shadows whenever you’re not looking, which you usually aren’t–
You know the questions, now learn the answers
Then learn to know them without the questions
Oh, and for sake’s god, do not mix them up!

Do not sleep, night or day, or afternoon
Make a plan to squander, make an effort
Think of it as futile, but don’t give up
Know you can do it – if you don’t know it

Though a passing grade is all that you need
Audacious ambition what you must have
It is just a natural compromise
Between two eliminated extremes

And do not think of the breeze
Only remember that it’s
There…

By Laura Németh

Dear Readers,

It’s been ages again! I really can’t believe how time flies and have been very reluctant to write because that would also involve acknowledging that my year here will be coming to end all too soon. In what is about exactly a month I will have to pack my suitcases (which will involve finding a solution for all the dresses that I have acquired and that will certainly exceed Easyjets nasty weight limits) and leave this flat, the city and, above all, the people that have made this place home for me during these past months. Of course I am looking forward to my other home in Zurich too: I can’t wait to see all the lovely people that I have been missing for quite long enough now, to relax by the lake or jump into the river after a hot summer’s day, and to finally be able to cycle anywhere again at any point of day or night without any lights on my bike and yet with perfect ease of mind in the knowledge that the potential of being robbed, being hit by a double-decker bus or of losing my way in area in the darkness of a rather dodgy area is virtually non-existent.

And yet, even though I have certainly had a few moments where I was completely fed up with this place and wondered why on earth anybody could choose to live here, it has nevertheless become very dear to me and I know that I will miss it very badly. You simply cannot hate this city even though there are undoubtedly some grim things about it. In fact, I think anybody with an open mind could not help but start to really like it sooner or later because there are just so many things that make up for its less desirable sides.

The past few days have been a perfect example of this and I am sorry if I relate to one of Britain’s all-time favourite subjects again – the weather. Unfortunately, I had announced the arrival of spring rather too soon because the weather turned very horrible shortly afterwards and remained so for the past months, thanks to gusts of Siberian wind and the like. Just imagine British weather at its absolute worst and you get an idea of what we experienced. “Brass”, is what it is called here, so very brass. Unsurprisingly, I was not amused when all my friends let me know that it was already 24 degrees in Zurich with perfect summer sunshine whilst I was still stomping around in my coat, scarf and – TWO pairs of tights!

But when it eventually turned round (obviously it was not 24 degrees because that would already count as a heat wave – I am not exaggerating) a miraculous transformation happened not only in the city itself which was considerably beautified by blossoms in all shapes and forms, the most wonderful ones belonging to the uncountable magnolia trees which I completely hadn’t expected, but especially among the people. And by this I don’t mean just a few heads who really appreciate the sun and nice weather and then annoy everyone else in their surrounding by going on about it forever – to which I count myself. This becomes slightly weird and perhaps even irritating if its mid-July and countless days before have just been pretty much perfect. In contrast to here, where the vast majority of people (excluding perhaps my Indian and Egyptian flatmates who still think it’s very brass indeed or else appreciate the cold and rain because it is so “refreshing”) was visibly and profoundly excited and happy about the sun and warmth and talked about it literally all day. Every single patch of grass on campus was covered with students chatting, reading, drinking, picnicking or just soaking in the sun. Although it lasted only for a few days (it’s cloudy already again…) everyone definitely made the most of it and it was just an incredibly positive and summery atmosphere.

Never have I experienced before that I am not the most enthusiastic person about the weather – and I am quite persistent in urging everyone to have lunch outside when it’s sunny and pointing out every single daisy that I pass -  but the English enthusiasm about the weather is an entirely different story. Even just having breakfast inside because you live on the eighth floor and have notably already arranged to have lunch outside and spend a couple of hours in the afternoon soaking in the sun is met with utter bewilderment. “Why would you do that? You should definitely go outside, before you do anything else!”. A rather similar reaction you will experience if you dare wearing a cardigan, even though it might still be just about 12 degrees and quite windy– “I know it’s not as hot as in bloody Switzerland but it’s still warm enough to walk around in just a top”. Or, for that matter, to lay around in a bikini, as I have seen some girls do.

As exaggerated a behaviour as it might seem if you are privileged enough to experience the Swiss spring and summer (never again will I complain about the weather when I’m back in Zurich!) you would come to understand if you lived in the North of England for a few months. In fact, the way in which everyone gets to bond over and appreciates the few nice days of the year so incredibly much is actually one of the very endearing and charming qualities that will make me miss the people here so much.

Anyway, rather than becoming depressed and being homesick without having even left Manchester yet I had better finished what is hopefully – and rather incredibly – my very last English essay.  Just so that I will be ready at a moment’s notice as soon as a ray of sunshine manages to break through these clouds!

PS. Next time, if you see somebody on the way to or from the library, smile very broadly and tell them how lovely it is that the weather is so nice today and how beautiful the lake looks when it captures the sun – even if there is just a tiny bit of sunshine around. They might think you’re crazy but chances are you will make their exam preparation seem a little less gloomy and make them a little bit happier! It might sound very cheesy but I have come to realise here that it is really those little friendly remarks that can make all the difference.

Sunny wishes to Zurich,

Laura

He had been wondering about the elephant in the room for a couple of days now. One morning, it was suddenly standing there looking at him curiously. Most of the time, the elephant didn’t do anything but stand there, in the middle of the living room. Every now and then, it would wag its trunk a little bit and cause minor damage to furniture and interior design. No one knew where the elephant had come from, why it was here, or how long it will stay; but no one would have wanted it to be around. He had called the exterminator, but his call was dismissed as a prank. Not entirely surprising.

He looked up from his bowl of cereal on the kitchen table. The elephant was observing him in an interested manner. He shoved a full spoon in his general face-area, picked up his bowl, and walked over into the living room. There, he engaged in a staring contest with the elephant – a rather futile endeavor. The large animal stood there and calmly stared at him as he lost the contest by repeatedly blinking nervously. The elephant seemed to be at peace, as if a living room was its natural habitat.

He gulped down the last remains of cereal that he had been chewing while staring at the animal. “Tell me one thing: what are you doing here?” He was used to talking to animals. He once had a dog and it would always appreciate it when he talked to it, even though the dog never got what he had been saying. The elephant slightly tilted its massive head and went: “I am waiting for you to kiss me.” That the animal had just responded didn’t strike him as being as odd as it actually was. What really disturbed him was the animal’s request, rather than its unexpected ability to make it.

“What? Why would I kiss you?” Somehow, he decided that there must be a sensible explanation for the elephant in the room to tell him to kiss it. “Well, I am a princess who was turned into an elephant by an evil spell, a curse. Only a man’s kiss can restore my original form and give me back my wealth.” He had heard that sort of thing before, it sounded familiar – and a little cheesy. “So I have to kiss you and then you turn into a human lady?” He was a little skeptical. He imagined kissing an elephant to be rather disgusting. The elephant started laughing, which was weird, because he had never seen an elephant do that: “Nah, I’m just messing with ya. I’m actually a fairy. I can grant you three wishes.”

If the elephant was telling the truth, this would have been a rather strange turn of events. Then again, it probably would just about fall in line with a talking elephant randomly appearing in one’s living room. Still, he didn’t quite believe it: “Okay, I’m not exactly inclined to trust your outrageously ridiculous utterances.” He wondered why he was expressing this concern in such a formal and convoluted fashion. He tried to dial it down a notch: “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” The elephant was rather quick to respond: “Why don’t you just give it a try? Wish for something.”

For a second he thought about what he should wish for. Then he realized that if he was being played, it would be rather embarrassing to have put so much thought into making a sophisticated wish. On the other hand, if this elephant really was a fairy, then he’d still have two wishes left afterwards, so he might as well waste this first one. So, instead of thinking about what to wish – although admittedly thinking about thinking about what to wish – he just blurted out: “I want Indiana Jones to show up in this living room.”

He stared at the elephant with a smug smile: nothing was happening, and the animal wasn’t saying anything, either. He guessed that he was right not to believe this hoax. One of the windows shattered as the man with the hat swung into the room on his whip. It wasn’t Harrison Ford; it was the man himself. He pulled back his whip, looked up, tipped his fedora towards the surprised man standing next to an elephant, and ran out of the room. Drily, the elephant said: “You saw that, right?” He did, indeed. Looks like there really was a fairy standing in the living room.

“Okay. You can grant wishes. Apparently. Why are you an elephant, though? Is that what fairies typically look like? And why did you just stand around for days before you revealed yourself?” The elephant laughed again; this time, it felt significantly less creepy. “I just wanted to see how long it takes you to get it.” “So you’re saying you took the form of an elephant and appeared in my living room, just to mess with me.” “Exactly.” “You’re a bit of an ass, aren’t you?” “An elephant, actually. But hey, if it makes you feel any better, you still have two wishes left to make.”

This time, he actually thought about it long and hard. He knew what his last wish will be, but the second one wasn’t as easy. He had to come up with something grand, something impressive that everyone would benefit from. He wasn’t just going to wish for money; that would have been too mundane, plus it would probably have had a negative impact on inflation. He knew that there were stories about Djinns who tried to trick people by granting them wishes that would have negative consequences; one had to be cautious. The elephant-fairy was watching him patiently while he worked out what his second wish would be.

“Okay,” he finally said, “I want this world to be really, really funny at all times.” The elephant looked at him, slowly nodding. He didn’t feel like anything had changed significantly. He stared at the elephant-fairy. “What’s your third wish, then?” But he didn’t feel like his second had been granted, yet. He raised an eyebrow while continuously staring at the elephant in the room. There was something amusing about the situation. A play on words, he realized. “The elephant in the room” – he got it now. This was an actual elephant and the wish that was not granted was a metaphorical one. He had to laugh out loud.

The elephant kept standing there, patient, quiet. There was something funny about it – all of it. The way the elephant stared, the way it didn’t say anything even though it could have, which was funny in and of itself, the way it was a fairy looking like an elephant, just to mess with him. “Isn’t it weird,” he asked, interrupting himself with repressed laughter, “isn’t it weird that I never realized, hehe, never realized that – how funny it is that an elephant,” gasping for air he had to take another quick break, “an elephant is standing in this living room?” The elephant did not respond. He held his belly, laughing. “It’s the third floor!” Another burst of uncontrollable laughter. “How could you have gotten up here? Did you take the stairs?”

The elephant had to grin a little bit. It responded: “Nah, I’m pretty magic. I just sort of showed up. It’s difficult to explain.” Unsurprisingly, he was amused by that, as well. “What’s your third wish,” the elephant inquired once again. “I want-” he had to laugh again. “I want a thousand-” he looked at the elephant-fairy. “A thousand more-” Initially it had been weird and pretty annoying. Now it was funny. “Elephants in- elephants in the living room,” he exclaimed in hilarity, pointing at the grey animal in front of him. Before he realized that he had just uttered his final wish, it got extremely crowded in the living room. The elephants weren’t their usual size, probably because they wouldn’t have fit in here. It didn’t bother him that he hadn’t wished for what he originally had planned. It amused him, rather; he got so distracted by how funny a literal elephant in the living room was, he accidentally wished for more of them. Now that’s hilarious. And so were all the mini-elephants around him. And the fact that the elephant-fairy seemed to have vanished.

- Apocalypse goggles
- Pointless presentations
- Complaining and ranting
- Raph invites spammers
- Jenny instructs trolls

On Course: Global and Personal Apocalypse
- Diane’s Seminar
- White Noise on Google Books
- Crash on Google Books

In ZEST:
- “Depressing” comeback

Announcements/Miscellaneous
- May 2: Fava Cake Day II
- May 16: Final Stammtisch
- May 17: Literary journalism workshop
- May 30: Grill’n'Chill and Blueprint Masquerades event
- Become a ZEST contributor

Note that The Zurich English Student Podcast is our intellectual property and you need our permission to use or distribute any of its content for anything other than our explicitely expressed intentions. Most specifically, you are allowed to download The Zurich English Student Podcast and share the links that we provided, but under no circumstances do you have authorization to upload and share these files in any other fashion.

Image courtesy of The CELESTIAL Convergence

For a nation that “refuses to be terrorized,” America is surprisingly obsessed with their terrorists. Remember when there was a ‘World Trade Center’ and a couple of maniacs crashed stolen planes into it? I may have been living under a rock, but I had never heard the name ‘Bin Laden’ before that day. How come I still cannot name a single person who was in that building, but I know exactly who was made responsible for their deaths? Even the man who famously made a recorded call while the building was collapsing – I don’t know anything else about him.

Is it an off-the-rails sense of justice that makes us think that we need to know everything about the murderers to avenge their unknown victims? Track, nay, hunt them down, sure. But don’t give them more of a voice than they already took without asking. Anarchy had its fifteen minutes of glory when a few unsuspecting runners lost their lives to it. Keep it that way. Fifteen minutes, not more. Don’t provide your redundant analyses and follow-ups that are nothing more than the media milking tragedy, and guidelines for aspiring terrorists. Say you’re on it and let us know when justice has been served. Meanwhile, let us turn to the victims.

People died that day, others’ lives were forever changed, possibly ruined. Dreams were shattered. We are talking about real people and real lives. Put yourself in that position. No more walking for you, my friend. Sure it’s easy to ask who did it and it may give you some fleeting sense of satisfaction to take an eye for an eye. It’s never going to bring them back – negative justice cannot truly right any wrongs. I suspect that, apart from the obsessive desire to know anything that scares us, it is our inherent reluctance to be compassionate towards our fellow human beings that makes us forget that none of the victims will profit even if the entire world simultaneously expressed their shared hatred towards the culprits. Luckily, there are still quite a few people out there who haven’t forgotten, and all credit should go to them for their support, be it physical, spiritual, or financial. A manhunt through Boston does not count as support, though, and we shouldn’t care about it as much as we seem to. It’s petty vengeance to no effect. I’m not saying that these abominable excuses for human beings should not be pursued incessantly, but do not honor the terrorists by calling their names, America. Pay your respects to the victims by calling theirs.

The inclined reader is likely to see more than 80 summers in their lifetime.

Krystle Campbell only saw 29.
Lingzi Lu only saw 23.
Martin William Richard only saw 8.
So many others will never see the world the same.

Unless you know these names by heart, don’t you dare naming their murderers ever again.

Sources:
Victims of the Marathon Bombings
Americans Refuse to be Terrorized
In Pursuit of the Terrorists
Life Expectancy, Switzerland

Natalia Messmer

Kon-Tiki is based on real events which makes the film even more exciting. The story starts in 1947 when Thor Heyerdahl, Norwegian explorer and writer, decides to prove his theory about South American settlers in Polynesia, by following exactly the same way they took – across the Pacific Ocean on a balsa raft. The whole idea seems dangerous, if not crazy, yet Heyerdahl is not a man who gives up in front of difficulties.

Thor finds five men for his ambitious project – some are his friends (Erik Hesselberg, Knut Haugland and Torstein Raaby) and some are simply fascinated by what he wants to do (Bengt Danielsson and Herman Watzinger). However, it is not easy to find money for such an original project in post-war times, so Heyerdahl has to use all his charisma and personal connections to get the expedition financed. Supported by private loans and donations from US Army, the crew starts building a raft.

Here comes another challenge: Heyerdahl insists to keep everything as authentic as possible and to construct the raft only with the materials which were available 1500 years ago (balsa logs, ropes, mangrove wood, banana leafs). As exception a number of modern items are allowed on board: a radio, watches, charts, sextant and metal knives.

The adventure begins: the raft leaves from a port in Peru in April 1947, around 100 days and 6900 kilometers lay ahead. The journey is everything but peaceful: it turns into a personal challenge for each crew member, captain Heyerdahl included (he will have to face his biggest fear and deal with it). Apart from real dangers like a storm or shark attacks, there is psychological tension between people on board.

This is a movie about people in extraordinary circumstances and their abilities survive in extreme conditions. One can only applaud to their brave (and successful) attempt to prove a scientific hypothesis by risking their lives. The film is wonderfully made, one has a feeling of being there on the raft with Thor and his companions, “sharing” dangers and joys. I would strongly recommend the film to those who love adventure and documentaries.

In the last 45 years suicide rates have increased by 60% worldwide.
Today you saw a dead cat by the roadside.
Has anybody ever wondered why suicide notes never rhyme?
You don’t live in Lithuania or Belarus.
Still you had to learn that when nine lives get wiped out you will not get an ambulance or flashing lights.
You could not close your eyes and run away.
You had to push the bike up the hill. The bike had a flat tire.
You were inattentive for a moment.
Men are on average three to four times more likely to take their own lives.
Most of them will choose firearms or dangling from a ceiling beam
like the chickens in the stereotypical Chinese butcher shop
you see in the movies.
You went to the cinema and cried at all the happy endings up there on the big screen.
You were in no war. You are not poor or sick.
The driver didn’t even look back. Maybe he too
was not able to bear the thought of a world where even nine lives are not enough.
Jumping is also quite popular, as are chemicals.
Women are more likely to choose pills over guns
and are less likely to die; their calls for help getting heard.
40 to 60 percent choose to lock themselves into the garage with the car engine running.
You tried to talk to a friend at work, but you were afraid.
You laugh.
You aren’t taking this seriously enough.
Most suicides have not been planned, but happen spontaneously.
Something just cracks.
The cat had orange stripes and a white belly.
It did not look hurt at all.
There is no one waiting for you.
For each successful suicide there are 10 to 40 attempts that will not end in death.
People sometimes discuss the term “successful suicide”.
You don’t go out.
There will be no one waiting for you.
You make fun of it.
The dark clouds.
Sinking slowly to the ground; the deathly mists starts creeping in.
Had you not seen it rocketing towards the sun, lifted up by shining brightness,
You’d have believed it to be sleeping. Calmly, by the side of the road,
not noticing the occasional car driving by.
In a lot of countries suicide rates are highest among the middle aged and elderly.
Now he’s got so fat and bald; he never thought that he’d grow old.
You smile at people on the train.
You make up poems and little stories about smiling at people on the train.
How are you doing? How’s life for you these days?
Good. Alright. Busy. Tired. Gotta go.
You fix the printer. That’s how people will notice.
The printer will jam. Eventually. It always does.
Sometimes something just cracks. You go insane and forget to laugh at yourself.
For just one split second your mind gets stuck in between channels and switches to white noise.
In Ancient Greece and Rome suicide was deemed to be an acceptable method to deal with military defeat.
You are not an ancient Roman general. There is no army standing there behind you.
Live Now! You want to
Throw the bike to the ground and run. Run for your life. Run for that shiny, mediocre, little life or yours.
The mp3-player runs out of battery mid-song.
You couldn’t touch the cat. You couldn’t bear looking at that perfect little body.
Completely unharmed;
but flying high up to the sun comes at a price of exactly nine lives; paid on the spot, no splitsies, no refunds.
They made you believe you could be anything.
You couldn’t be the one to end any wars.
You haven’t fought for your ideals,
nor written any books or been up on stage with that kick ass band of yours you never got round to getting together.
You are the one who fights in wars on screen and reads Wikipedia
and has an opinion on almost everything;
the one who knows how to fix the printer – the printer here being used metonymically for all sorts of electronic devices and maybe even other stuff.
You know about metonymy and hope that maybe one day soon something will just crack.
About 15 to 45 percent leave a suicide note.
You are writing a poem
about how cats don’t die, but rocket skywards, shining bright in the afternoon sun and fall asleep by the side of the road.
It’s been a bad day. The show is over. You’ve got to go now. The world carries on.
You cry. Cats don’t die. How can you live in a world where they do?
Sometimes something just cracks;
(and you write poems about)
The kid with the bicycle. A perfect little backbone. A mind on the edge.
It’s been a bad day. A cat died somewhere by some roadside and a kid pushing a bicycle with a flat tire saw it rocketing towards bright, warm afternoon sun.
Suicide rates have been found to be greater in households with firearms than in those without them.
No, I don’t have a gun.
I’m not gonna crack.
In extenuating situations where continuing to live would be intolerable, some people use suicide as a means of escape.
Does anybody ever wonder if a bad day qualifies as an extenuating situation?
You laugh.
You once again missed the moment to crack.
It’s been a bad day and there are still a lot more lying in store for you.
You laugh and fix the printer.
Smile at your friends and people on the train.
You make up poems and little stories about smiling at your friends and people on the train.
How are you doing? How’s life for you these days?
Asking about suicidality does not appear to increase the risk.
Good. Alright. Busy. Tired. Gotta go.
In a world where cats die, you are the jackass who writes about it.
You kill them; don’t let perfect little tigers just sleep by the side of the road.
You want to cry.
Switch on the radio.
Has anybody ever wondered why suicide notes never rhyme?
Broadcast me a joyful noise!
Instead you get an advertisement for deodorant
one for laser hair removal
and one for diet pills.