Well, it appears the iPod is officially dead, eternally stuck on “Shuffle Songs” without actually shuffling songs.

So I dusted off the old–as in very old–cassette Walkman, technically an Aiwa TX516, with “SUPER BASS” for those moments when the bass level that has carefully been determined by the album’s artist, producer, engineer and label exec is deemed to be insufficient by your well-trained aural receptors.

I fetched an old cassette–a Hornby-esque mix tape, no less, from my days of courting The Missus–and noisily slid it in as the 8:16 pulled out of Hummerville. A youth across the aisle, maybe 21, stared at the strange, clunky contraption in my hand, wondering if perhaps it was an 8-track player he’d heard referred to by Fez on That ’70s Show.

I popped my pricey Bose headphones into the Aiwa TX516 and it was the proverbial pearls before swine–a Mercedes hood ornament hastily affixed to a ‘75 Dodge Dart the color of a new penny.

The mix tape started off, fittingly, with “Pretty Fly (For a White Guy),” and we were on our way.

Fearful as I was at the loss of my iPod, I actually had a nice ride in with the Aiwa TX516. You’re much more likely to sit through a borderline song (of course, there are no borderline songs on the mix I made for the Missus) when it requires fast forwarding, as opposed to a simple flick of the finger on the iPod, and the volume level actually is more consistent on the Aiwa, compared to an iPod in Shuffle mode.

And that SUPER BASS, well, let’s just say “White Lines” never sounded so funky.

As a preferred Bose customer who wallows in the blissful audio cocoon of his Bose QuietComfort 3 headphones each day, I received a postcard informing me of Bose’s latest development in commuter-friendly electronics: The Bose QuietComfort 3 Bluetooth communications kit. The kit “connects wirelessly to your Bluetooth phone,” says Bose, “plugs into your portable audio device…and [italics theirs] switches seamlessly between the two.”

Essentially, the kit frees up hands for reading the newspaper, gesticulating wildly to illustrate a point while on the phone, or enjoying a tasty adult beverage while dealing with the morning commute.

Bose talks about creating a “virtual office in airport lounges…on commuter trains and buses…just about anywhere.” A “noise-limiting mike allows others to hear your voice more clearly even when you’re calling from a noisy environment.”

The Bose/Bluetooth kit can be tried out at the Bose stores in Soho and Columbus Circle before its release date in late March. Its suggested retail is $200.

I’d call for a review unit, but I made a pact with myself a few years back to never, ever, ever be the guy with the Bluetooth thing affixed to his hear. Nothing personal, it’s just my own pet peeve. I don’t care how widespread the technology gets…I’ll wait till you can just embed the damn phone right into my eardrum.

I knew this was going to happen.

Fifteen months after leaving the city and settling up there in Hummerville, I actually know a few people. Neighbors. Little G’s friends’ parents that turned up at his birthday party last week. That sort of thing.

One of the things I’ve actually liked about commuting is that I don’t know a soul on the train: No one to pretend I don’t see on the platform in the morning, no one to make small talk with or, egad!, share a seat with as we schlep to or from the city. I just want to be alone with the expensive Bose headphones, Crackberry, NY Times.

But twice this week, I’ve been called out by these new acquaintances on board. They’re seemingly terrific guys — smart, interesting, even urbane. But I’d rather just stay in my Syd Barrett-esque cocoon when I’m on the train. It’s how I cope.

And as the Missus and I creep closer towards being Pillars of Our Community in the coming years, it’s only going to get worse.  Little G’s school mates! His soccer pals! The Missus volunteering for the bake sale! (OK, that may never happen) .

Consider me outed.

I knew it would happen eventually.

After one year and two weeks of regular train riding, a perfect storm of factors fell into place on the 8:43 this morning and I fell asleep for the first time on my commute, drifting off somewhere around 125th and waking up just before we docked in Grand Central.

I’m not against sleeping on the train; in fact, I think it’s a great way to pass the time and catch up on sleep on those days when Little G thinks 5:55 a.m. is the perfect time to get up and re-enact the tractor-tipping scene from Cars with Matchbox cars. But for whatever reason, mostly centering around my general state of low-level anxiety in crowded spaces, I’d been unable to do so thus far.

But everything came together today. It being the 8:43, it wasn’t very quiet. No one on my car yapped into their phone. The train was way overheated, those Sox games have been ending around midnight, and those Bose ‘phones did their noise-cancelling trick. Next thing I knew, I was out.

Let’s hope it’s not another 54 weeks before I sleep on Metro-North again.

I dusted off the ol’ Bose headphones (and by “ol’” I mean very new), plugged in all the bells and whistles, and gave them a trial run on the 8:16 this morning. It was as if everyone on board knew I was testing them out–when we hit White Plains, a yapping cellphone lady (”I’m on the train…I’m on the train…I’m on the train!”) got on board, followed by a woman pushing a baby in a stroller.

The train was surprisingly full (has Slippery Rail started yet? No way!), and people seemed pretty content to let the lady with the stroller stand. Having been there recently with Little G, I slid over to the window and let her sit.

I quickly steered my iPod over to the Recently Purchased; owing to the ubiquity of Springsteen on TV these days, I’ve been in the inexcusable mood for his two albums with the least street cred in the Boss oeuvre–the one with the ass on the cover, and the one where Springsteen lived in L.A. and was falling out of love with his actress wife.

The Bose phones did indeed drown out just about everything but the sound of “No Surrender” and “Brilliant Disguise.” The sound quality is good, though not quite spectacular, but the phones seemed to do what that ad promised–block out the extra noise and bring out some aspects of your music that you may have missed before (that cheesy drum machine at the start of Springsteen’s “Tunnel of Love”–I had no idea!).

I still don’t know if I’ve even activated the noise-cancelling feature yet; as the name indicates, it’s sort of hard to tell when you’ve successfull cancelled noise, because there’s nothing there to put your finger on. Guess I’ll have to read the f***in’ manual.