The rule of 500

A smart guy and all-around brilliant author once said that the reason why we might think that "the world is small" is because the world is actually split into groups of around 500 people who (more or less) have some sort of connection with each-other.

From this view stems the concept of "mutual friends", of "old acquaintances popping up when you least expect them", of "familiar faces".

I wonder if this is really true. If, no matter how hard I try, I (or any social animal) will never surpass the ceiling of the 500 rule. And what happens between those groups? Do they intermingle through person X of group A and person Y of group B, who know each-other? SO, shouldn't that somehow make it "the rule of multiples of 500"? Must they always be 500? What happens if you're a complete introvert - can you then count practically anyone you ever had a more sustained interaction with, like the downstairs neighbour whom you constantly flood, or the lady at the corner store? And if they count for introverts, then they should count for everyone - but in the case of extroverts, that count would surely surpass 500, right?

On the other hand... does anyone know that really weird-ass group of little old men and women who haunt Bucharest's more-or-less-cultural-but-certainly-always-free events? I had a run-in with them at the ceremony organized last year by the Nipponica Foundation for Japan's national day. It was like... whoa! (:)), I'm being articulate). The room was half-full of the parents of the kiddies who were there to demonstrate aikido, and the other half of the spectators were these almost-fancy-looking-with-a-sprinkle-of-"moth-eaten" little geezers. There was even this chick (she must have been over 65) who had a bleedin' /list/ of free and cultural activities that were taking place in the following period. They were greeting each-other like old friends, enquiring about missing acquaintances or about events. I can't really say what struck me as freakish about them. In a sense, it was cool, but... whatever gave me the idea they were like a little organized mafia group?

And also related (both to the small world concept and to the freaky old people chapter), I wonder if there was a time, within living memory, when Bucharest /was/ a small world. When everyone really did know everyone - well, more or less, of course. (And it leads me to wonder what prompted the "more or less" clarification - are we really carrying the 500-rule in our subconscious? Pff, that'd be funny.) Two geezers were having a heartfelt reunion in the bus last night. And they were talking as if they hadn't seen each-other in /years/. So how did they know each-other? Did they go to war together? Did they frequent the same beer-house in the interbelica period? What /is/ it about old people? Even my anti-social grandmother knows half of her neighbourhood, and she lives in the biggest sector of the bloomin capital.

Concluziile unui semestru de japoneza

Bunica mea este un taitel, dar eu nu sunt un pantof, eu sunt om.

"If I ordered you to kill me..."

The new year has begun in a flurry, and I can't believe that only 2 weeks have passed since I was playing with a kitten in Vama Veche.



I'll be going to the Czech Republic in February. I'll be going to Cluj during the one-week holiday. I'll be running away from life, as per usual. The end-of-school project is looming, but I couldn't care less. I should be ashamed of myself, but I'm feeling weak-willed and complacent. Pfff... whatever, right?

There's days when my obsession pulls me closer than usual, when I feel I can't look at anything else, or do anything else. Because I should have known what I was getting myself into, but I gloriously failed to address the problem. Remember, this is my poultice, but it's also becoming my drug.



The idea that one day I'll just wake up and find myself removed from this world that I cherish so much almost makes me have an anxiety attack. Because I'm as resistant to change as Saban, and because when I meet Camaban-like people, who have the vision and the will-power to change the world, I get scared of them. I suppose that the Nakahara Sunako metaphore is perfectly appliable. So you've gotten hurt. Why keep trying, when you can give it all up and dwell in darkness all alone?



But my radiant creature would probably smack me upside the head for those thoughts :)