Category Archives: community

Facebook Notes: Maximum Capacity

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5

facebook_cartoon.gif

I joined Facebook, the online social networking site, about a year and a half ago. Back then, Facebook had opened its site to third party developers and a large wave of people joined, jumping to about 30 million users. There seems to be another wave of users recently and the latest figures show 150 million users. And probably increasing.

I find myself using Facebook for most of my emailing, a lot of my photo-sharing, some light blogging, event organizing. And I link most of my other online activities to my Facebook wall. It’s an amazing tool, often time-sucking, but always useful for keeping in touch with friends who are all over the world, and sharing interesting links. I used to do a regular mass email, alerting people to things I’ve been doing. Now I just let Facebook take care of that.

It could be alarming, entrusting so much of my personal information to 189 other people who may be careless with it. But I set the privacy settings pretty tightly. And I’m prudent about which Facebook applications I use. What more can you do? Life has always been full of risks.

Maximum Capacity or Dunbar’s Number
At the beginning of the year, I accepted my 150th friend. And considered capping it off there. Shut the gates and put up the no vacancy sign. I’m a tidy guy. I go through regular cycles of purging everything I don’t need or use. But it doesn’t work that way with people. People aren’t old newspapers or fraying socks.

I chose 150 as the maximum because of Dunbar’s Number, an idea popularized in the Tipping Point. The concept theorizes that a group works best up to about 150 people. It’s the maximum number of people that the human brain is able to conceptualize as one group, knowing everyone’s relationship to each other. Beyond that, accountability starts to decrease, competing factions start to naturally form separate groups.

The plan was to only accept new friends if I unfriend someone else. These unfriended people would be someone who I rarely interact with on Facebook and who I never see in real life. But I just couldn’t do it. It seemed unnecessarily mean.

Still, some limits had to be set on who was able to have access to all my photos, photos of my friends, personal information on daily activities of myself and others.

So I devised guidelines on who to be Facebook friends with. I’m now at 189 friends. My social network is well past its cohesiveness, apparently. And it appears to be burgeoning recently, with a wave of people joining. Some tipping point seemed to have been reached.

The Secret Handshake
These are the criteria that I seemed to be loosely using on whether to accept friends. The following are automatic ins.

• Family members.
• Close friends.
• Collaborators in dance or music. Grueling hours of rehearsals and getting naked together in dressing rooms form permanent bonds.
• Current co-workers. How awkward would it be to ignore a friend request from someone you see every day?
• We’ve lived together. No secrets there.
• Fellow graduate students. We were a close knit group.
• We’ve traveled together. Nothing bonds people more than traveling together.

After a while I had to expand those criteria. And now factors that increase the likelihood of sharing the secret handshake include:

• High school friends.
• Acquaintances who always gave off a good vibe.
• Teenage kids or younger siblings of my friends. Even though they all have 700 friends.
• The more mutual friends we have the better.
• We recently connected and they seem like someone I’d like to know more.
• People who write a note of greeting instead of just send the request.

So I guess that’s pretty much anyone. The only people I’ve ignored are those people who I don’t know and have never met. Or I barely know but can’t remember any kind of interaction with them. Also, people with 700 friends are obviously in it for the popularity contest, and I tend to ignore them, unless they’re kids of my friends. They can’t help it if they grew up in the age of social networking.

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Facebook 3.0
The next step for Facebook should be giving people levels of access. Right now, it’s just two levels. Either access to everything, or almost nothing at all. It’s not useful.

I’d like to see several circles of access. Like one for friends, co-workers, family, old classmates, etc. That way, embarrassing party photos could be limited to your drinking buddies. Interesting acquaintances you just met recently might have an introductory area of access. And these circles could be overlapping.

So many applications already do this in clumsy ways. There are Top Friends, Girl Friends, Dance Friends. It’s natural to want to make order out of the community of friends.

Otherwise, it’s just a mass of people milling around your Facebook house. Some people you want to have tea with in the living room. Others you want to laugh and drink wine with in the kitchen. There may be one or two you want to plop in the basement and shut the door. And you certainly don’t want to mix these crowds.

For a demographic analysis of my facebook friends you’re welcome to read:

The Gated Community

The Archetypal Friend

Race and Ethnicity

Roses and Crowns

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4

at the rose and crown

Pining for Thorns at The Rose and Crown

Monday was Sea Day and most people had the day off. We had a mini UK reunion at a pub in Yurakucho, which is near Ginza. The Rose and Crown, on the surface, is quite authentic. As shabby as much of England is, the pubs are always meticulously cared for. And the Rose and Crown follows this practice, with its busy baroque patterns, dark woods, and dour bartenders.

Though they serve the beer in imperial pint glasses (which are larger than American pints) there is a bit of foam on top unlike in England. Real British pints are filled up to the very top. No foam. Still, it’s far better than other Tokyo bars where the beer is about 25-33% foam. Their signature beer, the Rose Ale, has a bit of bite, but it’s suited to Japanese tastes. It’s better in the half-and-half.

pretty fish and chips

We all ordered fish and chips but it wasn’t anything like real fish and chips. First of all, it wasn’t greasy enough. It was served in four small pieces, accompanied by pretty potato wedges. Fish and chips should be big, in one piece, liberally breaded, wrapped in newspaper, soaking up the oil. The fish and chips at the Rose and Crown was disappointingly healthy and palatable.

Nevertheless, whenever I’m in the neighborhood, I like to pop in for a pint. It felt like “home” the first time I wandered in, fresh from England. And by “home”, I mean like an ex-con pining for the prison mess hall. There’s a happy hour until 7pm. I recommend going there then because otherwise the beer costs nearly 1,000 yen. There’s also a fine scotch list if that’s your fancy.

But pining for “home” was really about missing the great community of friends I had in England. Of the 100 or so who were in my MA program, about 80 were non-British. We were a close-knit multinational group of fun-loving people. Our department, Peace Studies, was referred to by others as Party Studies since we were always organizing events with each other.

So it’s always great to see my old friends from England. On Monday, though they were all Japanese, they still spoke English with each other. Probably out of respect for my terrible Japanese, and maybe because that was the language they spoke when they lived among each other in England. It’s also typical of Japanese hospitality. I’ve found that most Japanese don’t mind that foreigners have lived in their country for years and still can’t speak the language. I think it’s embarrassingly arrogant that so many of us can’t. I’ve got to write more about this later.

Disturbing the Peace in Hibiya Park

We had a good time at the pub, but afterwards we opted to buy liquor at the convenience store and continue our party at Hibiya Park, which used to be owned by feudal lords. There were lots of couples taking in the breezy evening air, and a small homeless encampment made of blue tarps and cardboard boxes in one corner of the park.

Unlike in the US, it’s perfectly legal to drink in public. We sat outside in the warm breezy summer night and chatted and laughed. Continuing the British theme, the gardens at Hibiya Park were landscaped to look like something out of Kensington Gardens. The lawns are cordoned off with decorate wrought iron chains.

I suggested that we step over the low chain and sit on the grass, but my fellow merrymakers felt this was forbidden, which it probably was. So public drinking and homeless squatters are acceptable but the lawn was off-limits? After hanging out on the benches and looking at the inviting grass, the American in me said, hey who’s it hurting if we sit down on the grass? So that’s what we did. After all, in this globalized world, we should be blending the best of all traditions. In this case, public drinking and sitting on the lawn were an excellent cross-cultural match.

on the lawn

The Stress of Urban Living

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4

triangulation

A few days ago, a man rented a van and intentionally ran over people in a crowded part of Tokyo. He got out of the vehicle and then proceeded to stab people randomly. Seven people died and another 14 were wounded. He explained that he was “tired of life”. I wonder if moving from Aomori, a remote rural part of Japan where the suspect is from, to Tokyo, a dense metropolis, was a factor in his tragic actions.

Earlier this year, I transferred from Shibuya to Meguro. I had worked in Shibuya, one of the three busiest station areas in Tokyo, for two years and the crowds started to aggravate me. People bumped me, cut me off, pushed, shoved, stepped on my feet. For a West Coast guy, used to a lot of personal space, it frayed my nerves. At first, it was interesting in an anthropological way, but then it just became people getting in my way, making me late for work.

My train line, the Yamanote, which circles around Tokyo, isn’t as crowded as other trains. The busiest lines are trains that radiate out to the suburbs. And the best way to describe those during peak hours is to think about that 50’s craze where as many people as possible stuffed themselves into a phone booth. Then imagine that every 5 minutes a few more squeeze themselves in. Repeat a dozen times. And that approximates the morning commute for millions of Tokyoites.

In the summer, it’s hot and sweaty and everyone’s in a suit. Eventually, you’re just propped up by the people around you. What a way to begin your day. I only did this for a month when I decided it’s better to pay higher rent and live closer to the city center. I once counted how many people were in physical contact with me and there were 12! I sometimes had to step out of the train, well before I reached my destination, because I couldn’t breathe. I could understand how people might have panic attacks.

Fortunately, once I moved to Ebisu, I only had to ride one station away to Shibuya and that was against the rush hour. But even after getting off the train, I had to contend with the throngs of spaced-out, slow-moving teenagers fixated on their mobiles, iPods and handheld video games. I still go there to go to my gym. But dread the crowds when I come back home.

Now it’s a 5 minute bike ride to Meguro. Or a 15 minute walk. And my sanity has begun to restore itself.

The Japanese are a slender and patient lot, two essential traits to survive the daily commute. If similar conditions existed in most other countries, there would be daily outbreaks of fisticuffs and hard words. I’ve found myself, more than once, barking at someone who obliviously bumps into me while sending a text message, elbowing overly-aggressive commuters, or flaring my nostrils at slow-moving tourists.

In this context, it’s not surprising that someone could snap, and wantonly hurt innocent people, because he was “tired of life”. I have an inkling of where that frustration is coming from. Out of the 30 million people who live in the Tokyo metro area, there are bound to be more than a few who just can’t deal with the stress of urban living.

But it’s important to remember, amidst all the media global coverage of the stabbings, that Tokyo is still the safest place I’ve ever lived in or visited, amazing for a dense city of its size. You can walk in any neighborhood at all hours by yourself and you’d be okay. There have been a few grisly crimes recently, but it’s nothing compared to the constant high-level of crime that I’ve lived amidst in other countries.

Still, dense urban living anywhere is not natural. It’s not good for the soul, mind or body. But concentration of people in the cities have been a powerful trend in the last 200 hundred years. I wonder what it would take to reverse the irresistible draw of the cities.

38 Special

Posted on
8

persimmon leaves

It’s my birthday today. My Lakers swept the Nuggets and are through to the 2nd round. That’s a nice gift. And I couldn’t ask for better weather. It’s warm and sunny, and there’s a sweet breeze that makes me want to drink cool water. But I’ll settle for a glass of wine on the balcony.

Most birthdays I like to do every day things. My theory is that whatever you do on your birthday is the tone you set for the rest of the year. I have a short list of things I have to do. Dance. Play guitar and sing. Play a flute. Write some poetry, maybe a song. Laugh liberally. Do some gardening. And most satisfying of all, do some deep housecleaning.

Occasionally I’ll throw a party, like the now legendary Red Party that I threw when I hit 30. Thanks to my buddy Gil, who donated his house and his neighbors’ goodwill, over a hundred people showed up, and most of them were dancers or musicians or artists. So it was one big audience participation performance, from flamenco to salsa to tango, culminating in the best jam session of infectious dance music that I’d ever experienced. Everyone had to wear red, bring red wine, and I concocted a never ending stream of sangria from a big box of citrus. That’s the gold standard of birthday parties.

foot bath

I had a much quieter party a few days ago. It was at this cool place in Roppongi, called Fioria Ariablu, that’s essentially a glorified karaoke room. I picked out the course menu and the all you can drink option. The room had a little waterfall that emptied into a warm pool of water underneath the table so we could soak our feet and relax while we ate and sang. Towels were included. I also liked the air ionizer that made us instantly feel good as we entered the room.

At parties, I like to have little activities to get people involved and be creative. That’s my credo: creativity, collaboration, community. I try to practice it whenever I can. So I did stuff like write a haiku for each guest. I had everyone say a word of the day, which Erin combined into one text and reads like a beat riff. Here’s the result:

One birthday in France, eternal friendship and a credenza. Tsukiri cocoon. I love the universe!

I had them bring something from their travels. Others had to guess who it belonged to and what country it was from. And we ended the night with a rousing “We Are the World.” We had so much fun we hung out outside for over an hour just chatting.

bent

Yesterday I also bought myself a gift. A little plant that I haven’t been able to identify. It caught my eye when I went shopping for lavender. T’s first words when she saw it was, “Tasty! I want to eat it!” She also wanted to make tempura out of the tender persimmon leaves that are pictured at the top of the post. In my Oregon garden, I had to deal with gophers, squirrels, crows, slugs, aphids, and mold spores. Now I have to ward off my own wife. But that’s one pest I really don’t mind dealing with. Continue reading →

A Fukushima Funeral

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2

This past Tuesday, T’s grandfather passed away. He was 92 and led a very rich life, which I will write about in part 2 of this story. In this post I want to write about the funeral rites and rituals.

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Gathering at the Village

Kunio Kasai lived and died in Fukushima, an agricultural prefecture five hours north of Tokyo by car. We set off on the drive with T’s dad on Thursday morning at 7am. Her mother was already there. Several other relatives from around the Tokyo area and some from Niigata also were on their way there by car.

Kunio had four daughters and they were all there. The second eldest, Kyoko, strangely enough, was already in the area attending another funeral, so she even had appropriate clothes. What a coincidence. Continue reading →