I couldn't help it. Like the One Ring, it was shiny, alluring, and had writing along the side. And, like the One Ring, I now feel as though I'm carrying a terrible burden... and yet, it is my precious... my precioussss.

First there was the guilt in actually making the purchase. I invented justification for the blatant consumer act. The blood money came from a side-contract, so it wasn't "real" money, it was a reward for stretching my schedule to the breaking point. And the iPod is a hard drive: I use a Mac at my day job and a PC at home (also my girlfriend uses a Mac) and I have the need to shuttle files around from time to time.

Once acquired, the iPod was dug out of its high-end packaging--most of which looked like assorted condom wrappers--and popped directly into my PC. Power flowed. I installed driver software. I synchronized the iPod with iTunes, sending nearly 6,000 songs over Firewire. My tragic journey of self-loathing had begun.

I hadn't had time to disguise my elite booty. The hot white earbuds screamed to the world "I have way too much money, perhaps you should bonk me on the head." Within minutes of leaving the house I was approached by a spare changer. Now I could ignore him. My iPod eliminates my need to look at or talk to street people. I AM LISTENING TO MUSIC, WHICH IS CLEARLY MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR SCABIES OR ADDICTION TO LIGHTER FLUID OR WHATEVER AILS YOU STREET PEOPLE. But please, don't rob me. I have delicate skin.

I feel like I've bought a Ferrari and am driving slowly through the streets with the windows rolled down and the bass rumbling. I own a frivolous luxury item. I am better than you. Passersby and sidewalk loiterers eye my white earbuds furtively... covetously... accusingly.

Cool-factor: Zero. But it is a well-designed piece of hardware.