You Can't Make Mistakes.

May your spirit find its way, whichever way that might be

My advisor and friend David Ede, Chair of the Department of Comparative Religion at Western Michigan University, passed away a week ago today. He was 73 years old and died as the result of an allergic reaction to nuts, something that he had known about and was always prepared for with an epi-pen on hand. I am not sure as to the specifics, really.

I was shocked to learn this when a good friend called me last Sunday to let me know. I was thankful because I might not have known as soon otherwise, being that I just returned to Cairo a few weeks ago. Dr. Ede’s death is an untimely one: for me it seems especially untimely because we were still working on my thesis project. He will unfortunately not be able to see the results.

There was a very nice write-up in the Kalamazoo Gazette yesterday which can be found here. However, as with all such articles and obituaries, I felt that it left something to be desired. So, I will use this forum to express a few of my more fond memories of David.

I hadn’t really realized, having studied under him for almost 4 years, how much I had come to consider Dr. Ede a friend as well as mentor. I, of course, had my gripes with him, but that is par for the course in any grad-student/advisor relationship. Grad school wouldn’t be very interesting if our advisors didn’t occasionally piss us off. However, those gripes were typically assuaged by even the shortest conversation with him. He had a way of setting my mind at ease whenever I was freaking out about my project or anything else. This would typically involve his telling of anecdotes from grad school or living and traveling abroad. One thing that I regret that I will never be able to do now is to help him compile these stories into a memoir of sorts, something that we spoke about briefly this spring after I suggested that he do this. In that same meeting, having not met in months as I was living in Egypt last year, we spent about 15 minutes talking about my thesis and a good three hours talking about our recent travels. He had just returned from a trip to Japan with his wife, Yumi, and his eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store while talking about food, trains, and other little phenomena of which he had taken note.

That is how he was: his attention to detail was remarkable. One of the most valuable things that he taught me as his student was how to compile an exhaustive bibliography. If you were writing a paper for him, he wasn’t happy until you had found every source in existence with even a mere mention of your topic. It is for this reason that I have been able to find as much primary source data as I have to work with for my thesis. He told me once that you could start out compiling sources by excluding some of them from the beginning. You have to wait until the end to decide what is redundant and what is irrelevant to your work.

I think that it was in that same spirit of being thorough that he conducted his own education. Having been initially trained at a Lutheran seminary, he used to say that he didn’t go into the clergy not because he didn’t believe, but because there were so many other things out there to believe in. He didn’t feel like he could choose just one path. This led him to study religion in a comparative/pluralist academic environment, a field of study which he remarked only recently is “still very new, and still theoretically wide-open.”

This was the same thing that he said to me the day that I, having just come back from Egypt for the first time, went to his office to inquire about the MA in Comparative Religion. He was dressed in a such a way that he looked like he might be off to the beach as soon as he left the university with his flip-flops and Acapulco shirt. I left his office that day having been accepted into the department and with a teaching assistantship for his course on Islamic Traditions. He wore sandals, shorts and Acapulco shirts to class too. I remember him once saying, “when you get to a certain age, if you want to wear flip-flops to teach, you just can.”

A number of the students in that class would come to my office hours with endless questions. They thought that the material was a little obtuse, that Ede was a little boring. I, sitting in the same class so that I could help with the undergrads and grade exams, thought that he was giving the most in-depth survey he could given the time-constraints, and that he was as thorough and as knowledgeable as you could get. His answers to students’ questions were not patronizing, pedantic, or overly simplified, they were complete. When they weren’t complete, he would give students the information they needed to find a more complete answer on their own. He was a big fan of teaching students the joys of utilizing the library for research. On one occasion, we took the entire class to the library to show them where the Islamic Studies references were and how to use the Encyclopedia of Islam (2nd Ed, Brill) and the Index Islamicus (Brill), among others.

David was also very thorough in his other interests. One of the most fascinating conversations that I had with him happened as we were listening to some recordings of Qur’anic recitation by Iranian women reciters that I had found for him. I brought them in on a USB stick and he put them on his Mac so we could listen. He commented that it was amazing how much audio you could fit in such a small space these days, and how it all sounded terrible.

It turned out that he was a HUGE audiophile, actually constructing his own multi-track audio systems from parts: ceramic drivers, hand-wrapped coils, hours of soldering and fitting boards into amplifiers. He had constructed a system which in which he had striven to make the playback sound as much like being live as possible. He said that the secret wasn’t this trend toward very low-frequency sub-woofers balanced with tweeters for dispersal, but those combined with lots and lots of mid-range stacks. “Mid-range is where all of the sound really is,” he remarked, “Without it, all you have is booming bass and screechy treble.” We sat and listened to the rest of the recordings and he made some suggestions for my living-room system, which I immediately went home and implemented. Dvorak had never sounded so good, neither had Zeppelin.

I know that Dr. Ede felt bad that in the past year he had been very distracted with having been tapped as the department chair and not as focused on his students’ research projects. He said as much to a colleague/friend of mine who recently graduated from the department when she spoke to him about my project. While it is true that he may have been distracted sometimes, the advice that he did have was always spot-on, and is still applicable. It will be with this in mind that I finish this project, my interest in which would have never come to the surface if not for him. He was always excited that I had found something so original and new to work with and his eyes would light up whenever we talked about it. He never doubted my ability to conduct scholarly work, sometimes—I felt—over-estimating me. Because of this, I worked ever harder to live up to his expectations, and he was never disappointed. At one point he even asked me to collaborate on a translation of Hasan al-Basri’s letter to ‘Abd al-Malik on the problem of free-will, and some other unpublished things that he had been kicking about for years. We just never really got around to doing anything about it. Had we but world enough, and time, I suppose…1

There is a visitation and memorial service being held today in Kalamazoo. Details are listed in the link above.

Dr. Ede, you’ll be sorely missed. I hope your spirit finds its way now the same way you did in life, whatever way that might be. Rest in peace, dear friend.

———

1 “Had we but world enough, and time, / This coyness, Lady, were no crime” – from “To His Coy Mistress” by Andrew Marvell, 17th-century English poet.

Warning: memoir material ahead

I had one of those creepy, sappy moments last night that I always wince at when I hear from someone else. However, it left me with a warm contentedness—something that usually only a Xanax and two whiskeys will do for me before I get on a flight—so I felt it was worth relating.

I was sitting on the Metro, returning from Heliopolis, staring out the window at the city rolling by and suddenly felt completely at home. This came as a shock to me because I’ve been here for a while and it doesn’t often take me very long to acclimate, but there it was.

I’m not talking about some weird sort of assimilation. I can’t really assimilate here. Or maybe I won’t. I don’t know. It involves too much compromise. What I can do is live here, by my groceries at the local places, speak Arabic in an attempt to increase fluency, and learn from everything I see and hear.

I think I just finally, about two weeks before I am set to depart for the States for the summer, realized that I live here now. I think that it may have something to do as well with increasingly solid plans to return and live here for a few more years in the fall.

Back to the feeling, though. It wasn’t like anything suddenly made sense or that I understood something new. It was just the utter normalcy and mundanity of that situation: I was exhausted, and just brain-off gazing out the window at recognizable buildings in familiar parts of the city. I suppose that this is when I should know that I have finally arrived, right?

Just when your marriage, job, academic course, mode of artistic expression, home, etc. becomes a little bit boring, THAT is when you know that it is actually working. When the new-puppy feeling wears off, that is when you have what you really want. Unless, of course, you are the type who wants to always feel like you are experiencing something new and different.

I am not. I prefer the boring train-rides to the helter-skelter variety. They stay on the tracks and you know the stops.

Shameless plug to follow.

You can also listen live through the magic of the internet by going to WBEZ.org.

If you haven’t been paying attention up until now, you had better start.

So this is not the post that I promised. The Friday feature is still in development phase and since I am putting the finishing touches on a paper right now, it wasn’t going to happen this weekend.

However, I am pleased to report, that my dear friend Scott Masson and the band Office are now on MTV.

That, ladies and gents, is a big leap forward for these guys. They were bound to make it, and now they are doing so.

You can see their progress by clicking on this link.

If you haven’t purchased their record, A Night at the Ritz, you can do so by clicking here.

And, if you are really up for some fun: watch the “Oh My” video on YouTube, or right here:

You can also learn more about OFFICE at their website: www.reachoffice.net.

Thanks for enjoying this along with me. I couldn’t be more proud of these folks. Raise your glass to them. Cheers.

Two lessons about the kindness of strangers in one week. I am starting to become a little unnerved.

After the incident with the wrong train the other day, I had assumed that my luck was up for the time being. I figured that I had spent all of my good will and happy chance in one blow.

Not so.

I went last night with a friend from University to have a coffee, some food, and to buy some groceries at the local Carrefour. She had just come back from a week in London and was not feeling good about being here by herself and moving around the city alone after dark. I told her that I would join her so she didn’t have to worry.

So we went, did what we intended to do and grabbed a cab back to her place to drop her and her stuff off. When we arrived, the driver severely overcharged us and no amount of arguing and fighting would deter him. Also, we were both sick, tired and just wanted to be done with it. So we gave him the 15 EGP that he asked for, and told him to get lost.

Afterward, I got in another cab and went on my way back home. I started talking to my cabbie, Muhammad, and by the time we got to my place we were laughing and he was telling me dirty jokes and we were having a right good time. He told me about his family and his kids and his wife and he said we should have tea and a sheesha one afternoon. He said he didn’t like to drive too much in the afternoon because it was so busy, but if I needed to go anywhere, to call him. I said that would be cool and we exchanged mobile numbers when we got to my building.

As I got out and pulled my bags from the back seat, I tried handing him a 10 note—which would have been too much for the ride, but I didn’t care. I don’t mind overpaying if the guy is cool. He refused to take my money. At first, I thought that he was just doing the politeness dance where he refuses three times and then I insist and he takes it.

Not this time. After I offered again he said, “Listen. I haven’t laughed while I was working in maybe 10 weeks. Most of the people who get in my cab don’t care at all. Especially the foreigners. You’re different, habibi.”

I almost cried. I was pretty much speechless. I told him to call me this weekend and we’ll have sheesha, thank you and goodnight. He drove off and I called my friend whom I had just dropped off while in my elevator to tell her what had just happened to me. It was in such stark contrast to what had happened just before that that I couldn’t even believe that I was in the same place.

And again, like before, the kindness of strangers is just astounding to me. This is something that I so rarely experience at home. It is weird there for people who you don’t know to just do something unbelievable kind. Most people just turn their heads and pretend not to notice when someone needs help. Forget about random acts of kindness. These are the things that I experience everyday here, amid endless frustration and bureaucratic hoops and other problems.

At the end of the day, though, it is all worth it if I can have a reason to tell someone at home that, “No. It’s not that bad living here as you might think. It’s actually really nice.”

A shameless promotional spot for a dear friend

I don’t usually write about music or movies or anything like that, but in this case I am happy to make an exception.

The up-and-coming band OFFICE has just released a new record. A Night at the Ritz sort of a wonderful review with a new spin and some new material for those of us who have known these guys for a while. I say up-and-coming, but for so many of us, this band has been a part of our regular musical landscape for years and years. This record, though, represents the best of the best from these folks. Though, we still haven’t heard my favorite song of Scott’s on a record. Maybe someday, eh Skottie? It was nice to hear “The Red and Green Bastards” and have it dedicated to me at an event that I helped to throw this past summer at which Scott and drummer extraordinaire, Erica Corniel graced us with their presence for a two-man show.

If you haven’t already bought this record, you can do so at Amazon.com by clicking here.

I’ve known Scott Masson, the bald genius behind OFFICE for a long time now. I love this guy. He is talented as all get out, has a huge heart, and never forgets about the people who love him. If anyone deserves musical fame and fortune, it’s this guy.

Let’s not forget about those around him though. Scott has always been wonderful about choosing brilliant people to work with. The crew that he has going right now is by far the best incarnation of OFFICE to date. I had the great fortune of playing in one of the first incarnations of the band: a twisted little experiment that was a load of fun. Where else would I have ever gotten the chance to play both the accordion badly and the saxophone.

Scott and OFFICE have come a long way since then, and I hope only the best for them from here on out. You can listen to samples of their music on their website and I encourage you to buy the new record, A Night at the Ritz. You won’t be sorry.