It’s been almost two months since my iPod Classic died and was replaced by the leaner, sleeker Nano, so I thought it was about time to offer up the official Trainjotting Nano review.

Two notes before we start.

1. A hearty shout-out to the clunky old Aiwa TX516 cassette Walkman–yes, you read correctly–for its positively Fernando Tatis-ian knack for stepping in when the flashier players were out of commission.

2. On the rare occasions that I’ve posted something technology-related, I’ve been bombarded (OK, flurried) with emails pointing out something I’m doing wrong that the rest of the country seems to understand perfectly well. This is good. I’d like to think my ignorance helps others.

OK, on to the review.

My Nano, which I bought for $149, is absolutely tiny. Remember how tiny you thought the iPod Classic (then just the iPod) was when you got it? This thing makes the Classic look like a cigar box. It looked bigger on the iPod Website; when I opened up the packaging, I initially thought the box was empty. As you see in the picture, it could barely take a Triscuit in a street fight.

At times it’s too small. It’s very difficult to rest it on your lap on a moving train without the thing sliding to the floor. It could conceivably even slip in the crack at the base of your seat. I’ve kept my eyes open for a rubbery protective case, and finally found one today–outdoor vendor on East 28th, packaging cloaked in grime, armband I’ll never use (Like I’m really gonna go jogging…or is it called yogging?), for a whole $7.

Interface-wise, the commands are upside down, compared to the Classic. As in, your earphones plug into the bottom, not the top, like the Classic. You’ll stare at your songs upside down for a good month before you get used to it.

Speaking of the iconic iPod earbuds, they’ve officially scrapped the fuzzy earmuff things that never stayed on anyway. And I think the sound is substantially better–and certainly louder–on the new ‘phones. When I plug in the standard-issue phones after listening on the expensive Bose cans, it’s louder on the earbuds, which absolutely wasn’t the case with the Classic buds.

Regarding the interface, the screen is crystal clear, with an attractive white backdrop, and the font is pleasing to the eye–your lineup of songs looks much more attractive than it did on the Classic. You can add album art too, if you’re a 13-year old girl.  

My biggest gripe is the song capacity. I get my RAMs and ROMs mixed up a lot, but I think my Classic was 20 Gig–it had about 2500 songs on it, including the Doors’ “The End” and “When the Music’s Over,” which should both probably count as two songs, and plenty of room left over for more.

Not the case with my 8 Gig Nano, which transferred about 2100 of my 2500 songs before announcing it was full. Sure, the thing plays video, but unless I’m doing something gravely wrong, there’s little room for the massive video files. I downloaded an episode of The Wire for $2, and it looked great–but I had to delete everything else on the Nano just to fit one episode on the hard drive.

The Nano is a gorgeous little contraption that would not be laughed at in a time capsule opened 50 or a hundred years down the road. But the limit of just over 2,000 songs feels very restrictive, at least to me.

My iPod “Classic.”

I guess this is, as the cliche goes, good bye.

We went through a lot together, dear iPod “Classic” (I believe you were merely an “iPod when I bought you three years ago, much as “Classic Rock” was merely “rock” when Dark Side of the Moon came out). I don’t believe it’s a stretch to say I could not have handled commuting each day without you, as you linked so seamlessly with my Bose headphones to help tune out the dull buzz of the hurtling train and my fellow riders.

Before we met, dear iPod, I was slapping cassette tapes–cassette tapes!–into a rickety old Aiwa player that’s slightly smaller than a Tom Clancy paperback. The ballyhooed CD Walkman just did not cut it, and I never thought I’d advance beyond the crummy old 90-minute Maxells.

Then you came along. Sleek, sexy, able to bear my entire CD collection in a package no bigger than a pack of Marby Reds. Whiter than the White Album, cloaked in a rubbery lime-green wrap for extra protection.

You gave me three years, iPod Classic, which I’m learning is a good six months to a year better than most people get. Then you sputtered. You froze. Finally, you expired.

Don’t think I don’t appreciate the effort.

As you might expect, if you were still responsive, a sleeker model has come along. Indeed, she’s–yes, she’s a she–barely bigger than a Triscuit, and really not much wider.

Please don’t think I like her better. When you were resting on my lap on the 8:16 to Gotham, you didn’t go sliding off onto the cruel, filthy Starmucks of the M7’s floor, as my Nano–yes, that is her name. I believe it’s German. You stayed anchored. Your graphics were lo-fi and you didn’t show album artwork, but hey, what am I, a 14-year old girl? You did everything I asked, and more.

You rocked. You know it. I know it.

I’ll miss you.

Longingly,

TJ

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.

Crowded 6 train headed downtown, 9:15 this morning.

I got on at 42nd. A guy squeezes by in front of me.

He’s a bit fey, neatly trimmed gray buzz cut, dressed in black, a large knapsack on his back.

He has a thermos in a side pouch of his knapsack. As he squeezes by me, the handle of the thermos hooks onto the iPod wire stretching from my ears to my pants pocket.

As the man has fully passed me, the thermos–defying the laws of gravity and logic–remains stuck on my earphone cord, hanging there precariously like a highwire guy after a two-martini lunch.

After staring at the thermos dangling in midair for several seconds, I remove it from my iPod cord, tap the man on the shoulder, and give it back to him.

“Thanks,” he says, no idea how I ended up with his beloved thermos.

Flushing Line

I took the 7 train. Not my usual run, but this morning I found myself during rush hour, 8:42, mixing with the straphangers on the above-ground line.

I was on my way to the South Bronx for work. Here’s what I noticed compared to the Lexington line from the week before.

§         It was packed with about 50 people in the car.

§         I counted 12 seated passengers who were asleep, or at least with their eyes closed and seemingly asleep.

§         There were easily 15 people reading papers. Three read the Daily News and the other 12 read Chinese or Korean papers, their characters alien script to me. A man read a paperback book – I couldn’t see the title.

§         There were three people on cell phones–the beauty of the elevated train is you can still stay in touch electronically [Editor’s Note: Beauty?]. Two people were holding phones and seemed to be; by the way they stared, reading messages.

§         There were four visible pairs of white ear buds for iPods and two old-style CD players.

§         Winter parkas abounded. Women wore thick coats with the hoods lined around the edge with faux fur. Men wore sport coats without ties. A couple of guys wore hoodies. I saw two briefcases and lots of backpacks. At least half of the people in the car wore sneakers.

§         One woman had a coffee with her. She didn’t drink it. She just held it and seemed to stare past it. It wasn’t from Espresso 77 – I could tell because the brown heat-shield wasn’t stamped with its red logo.

§         The advertisement that covered the wall above me was for “the mother of all vodkas from the motherland of vodkas – Stolichnaya.” There was no mention of pie or pi.

§         I dropped a bookmark and a man across from me said, “Hey–you dropped something.” It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me and that I had dropped something. I said thanks, impressed with the kindness.

To cross the East River we went underground and the world closed in around us. My ears popped.

At Grand Central the car emptied almost completely. I transferred to the 5 going to the Bronx. The train was packed up until 86^th Street, then cleared out. By the time I got to 149^th Street/3^rd Avenue stop I was one of half a dozen left.

Up on the surface, the South Bronx spread out before me and I moved from one world to the next.

–Joe Lunievicz

Thanks to a three-word suggestion from “Meq”–”try re-setting it”–my iPod disaster was averted. I poked my head into a co-worker’s office, asked if he knew anything about resetting iPods, and he did. Moments later, my iPod was no longer shuffling through songs like J-Lo trying on shoes.

Thus re-enabled, I was able to blissfully, mercifully tune out all fellow commuters on the 5:46 home.

It was like reverse karma.

I was hustling down the stairs at Grand Central to catch the 6 train this morning. A woman of undetermined nationality, subway map in hand, asked a woman in front of me for help. Fearing the subway was about to leave, the commuter brushed past the tourist without so much as a word. The tourist through her hands skyward in frustration upon this reaffirmation of the Ugly American stereotype.

I was right behind, so I offered up my help. The woman smiled and I hit Pause on my iPod (the Libertines’ debut album, if you’re scoring at home, before Pete Doherty became tabloid fodder). I helped her find the 4-5 to Bowling Green (”uh, it’s right there”) and we were on our way.

I hit the 6 platform and slid my finger into my pocket to un-Pause the iPod.

Nothing.

I tried it again.

Nothing.

Mind you, my iPod is my first line of defense in my daily commuter wars. It’s more important than good reading material like the Times, Nick Hornby’s latest, even AMNY. It’s more important than the Bose headphones. It’s the fountain from which all Metro-North relaxation flows (or at least trickles).

And now, my little lifeline-in-20 Megs was racing through tracks like an iPod shuffle after 841 Red Bulls: “The Man Who Would Be King,” “Music When the Lights Go Out,” “Narcissist.” Ripping through entire albums in, oh, six seconds, with nary a note reaching my ‘phones.

The 6 pulled up. I shut the thing off and turned it on, tried shuffle mode. “D is For Dangerous” by the Arctic Monkeys, a live “Love Over Gold” by Dire Straits, “Town With No Cheer” by Tom Waits.  

No cheer, indeed–it took all of 10 seconds to tear through 30 tracks. And still, not a peep of sound.

Good Lord.

Will tomorrow’s commute see me plug my cassette Walkman (a big, honkin’ Toshiba circa 1992) into my Bose cans? What ever would that sound like?

Who’s had this problem and can offer some sort of light in the proverbial tunnel? 

I stood on the platform under Grand Central, waiting for the downtown 4/5.

She was pointing to my earphones and saying something.

I plucked the iPod buds from my ears to listen.

“I have that too!” she said excitedly.

She was about 10, in pigtails and a big smile. She was with her mother and little sister, who appeared to be about 5.

I wasn’t sure what to say, and was especially mindful of having the mother there next to her. Mothers typically don’t take to their little girls chatting with strange men–especially devilishly handsome ones such as myself.

“I use mine every day,” I said. (C’mon, what would you say?)

She told me hers doesn’t come in too good sometimes.

“Is yours an iPod?” I asked.

“No. A radio.”

Still no sign of the 4/5. I peeked over at the mother, who looked tired, like she just wanted to get back to Brooklyn, sit the kids in front of SpongeBob, and take a deep breath. She wasn’t giving me the evil eye.

I told her about my new Bose headphones, how they drowned out all the noise around me.

“Wow!” she said, looking around at all that contributed to the noisy mosaic.

“Uh…who’s your favorite singer?” I asked.

“Mary J. Blige!” came back the response.

I scanned my brain for something I knew about Mary J. She covered U2’s “One”, didn’t she?

“She’s great,” I said.

“Michael Jackson too!” the girl added.

“He’s a little crazy,” I shot back. I hoped my assessment wouldn’t be interpreted in some weird way by the mother as racist. Then again, I reasoned, Michael is white. The mother nodded her head in agreement. Jacko being Wacko is something we all can agree on.

“How old do you think he is?” the girl asked.

I thought for a moment.

“45?”

“He’s that old?” the girl responded. I shrugged.

“He started singing when he was really young,” I said. “Your age.”

It was quiet for another moment.

Finally, the 4 train shuffled in.

I smiled at the girl and we walked to different parts of the car.

Eric From Bronxville, inventor of the downloaded photo of the monthly pass on his iPhone, attempted to use the digital image as his train ticket last Friday.

He writes:

As the conductor approached, I readied my iPass, positioning it on my briefcase to minimize the glare on the screen.  In case of failure, my authentic, paper monthly pass waited under my coat to be revealed.

My heart raced as the conductor looked at the iPass (a second or two longer than the usual glance), said “Thank You,” and moved on.

Was this a one-time lucky break?  Or is it now Metro-North’s policy to accept electronic versions of tickets?  Or maybe he figured if I took the time to put my ticket on my iPod, I deserved a free ride.

Disclaimer: Do not try this with one-way or round-trip tickets.  The conductor may try to punch a hole in your iPod.

A reader with a supercomputer for a brain, as opposed to my Commodore VIC-20, took our suggestion to keep the monthly train pass in your iPod holder several steps further: He downloaded a photo of his November pass into his iPod.

How will the conductor react? Will he simply look at the thing and walk on by, or try to pick it up for closer examination, or confiscate the iPod and regift it to his tween daughter for Christmas?

We’ll find out. This enterprising young Bronxville man will try it out tonight.