Today, I lost my iPod virginity. I’ve held out for a long time, hauling around my clunky, held-shut-with-a-rubber-band portable CD player. But for my birthday this year, I got a very tiny, very shiny iPod Nano.

I’ve had it for a few days, a little intimidated by the daunting task of actually putting music on it. Last night I took the plunge and loaded one whole album on it – U2’s How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb. Nicely ironic, I know – the very first song that came out of those little white ear buds was the very song that catapulted the iPod to its sexy stardom.

This morning’s 30-minute commute was my inaugural iPod experience. As I stepped out the door into the sunshine, Bono certainly added a bounce to my step. But, I was very self-conscious about the white wires running from my coat pocket, like I was hooked up to some Matrix-y life-support machine.

Overall, I enjoyed being able to enliven the daily trudge down the street, through the cemetery, into the tube station, the obnoxiously slow ride on the District line. I especially didn’t mind my daily brush with death navigating the utter chaos that is Victoria station. Normally, the clash of people rushing to work with the confused tourists with roller bags is enough to make me scream. But today, I floated right through.

I admit I missed the sing-song of the birds in the cemetery. I didn’t buy a newspaper on my way into tube. I didn’t say “Bless you” to the man who sneezed on the train because I didn’t know if it would seem weird that I had noticed even thought I had earphones on.

It’s disturbing how much the iPod changes how we interact with our surroundings and each other. On the train, I didn’t realise two twentysomething male iPod owners were friends until one prepared to get off. Ear buds still securely fastened, the two exchanged a slide-and-grip handshake and barely-verbal goodbye.

It sure was nice to drown out the automated “Mind the gap” announcements, but I wonder… what else has been lost?