I don't believe there is a time limit, personally.

::adopts Jesse::

I get a little truculent about standing my ground or smashing past people who are unjustly standing theirs. But I like the veil of anonymity that falls over your violence in the Underground.

How are these not killing offenses?

Whaddya talk? Reading someone else's book is just passively accepting electrons into one's eyes. There is no offense involved. Now, talking to someone about the book they're reading, that's an assault on the personal bubble.

I have been in situations where my T-neighbor realizes I am reading along, and moves how he holds the book so that I can read more easily. Rarely, they will pause and wait for a nod before turning the page. I think it's cool! Symbiotic, like.

Now, talking to someone about the book they're reading, that's an assault on the personal bubble.

I did once say something to someone who was reading the same book as me, but he wasn't feeling it.

Reading someone else's book is just passively accepting electrons into one's eyes.

Well, sure, if you read the same word over and over and over until the page is turned.

My symbiosis does not allow for this. Talking is fine, but me raising a book is my cone of invisibility. You can read the cover, you can even talk to me about the cover, but you cannot acknowledge that the insides exist.

I did once say something to someone who was reading the same book as me, but he wasn't feeling it.

I realise, that when I saw Bradley Cooper reading Middlesex that the reason I didn't talk to him about it was because he was famous. It was an interesting enough book to talk about.

But I like the veil of anonymity that falls over your violence in the Underground.

I developed a serious briefcase-fu (as well as a largish-guy-moving-through-crowds style) for clipping knees of people who were rude in the subway or the commuter train rush. I don't do that commute any more (nor do I carry a briefcase) and I don't miss it, but the random violence, I do kinda miss.

George W Bush uses an iPod.

Lee, it's strange and disconcerting, but apparently we are not to get used to it.

Sigh. When is the new storm supposed to hit?

Talking is fine, but me raising a book is my cone of invisibility. You can read the cover, you can even talk to me about the cover, but you cannot acknowledge that the insides exist.

Well, it's true that when I am reading a book, I tend to forget about other people on the T. I consider it perfectly legitimate to cry when I have an open book in my hand (whereas, crying without a book is wildly humiliating), so there is something to the cone of invisibility on that front.

But it's up to the reader whether to acknowledge/accept co-readers. If the reader doesn't, no big whoop; the co-reader just reads what she can offa the page conveniently. (Some of the crap read on the T, you really only need 2/3 of each page anyway.) Ideally, unacknowledged co-readers are totally invisible to the reader, until such time as the reader chooses to notice them.

Bwah. I'm listening to a seven minute voicemail left in error by someone who was transferred (again in error) to my extension and is pissed that no one can take her call. She thinks she's hung up -- so I heard her cursing, and now her and husband are yelling at the kid.