My office recently moved to a building near Macy's in Herald Square, which means that my walk from the subway is an exercise in dodging other office dwellers and tourists. At first, in the summertime, it wasn't so bad. Then around Christmas it seemed as if everyone had these strange white strings hanging around their necks. I was one of them. Some kind souls had given us all iPods for the holidays and suddenly we had hundreds of songs at our fingertips to soothe or rile us up, depending on the mood.

An iPod is an amazing gadget as well as great camouflage. By simply wearing one you can avoid being approached by annoying "Save the Children" fund-raisers in Union Square or the guys handing out the AM New York outside the subway stations. It's perfect for blaring Van Halen at three o'clock in the morning when your roommates are asleep. During long runs in the park it delivers a punch of L.L. Cool J just when you need it most.

But I wonder if, as we're tangled up in our white headphones, we're missing some of the charm and character of the city. Sure, we're getting a constant stream of our favorite songs and a way to zone out of reality, however temporary, but at what cost? Are we missing the inane conversations of tourists trying to find the Statue of Liberty? The cluelessness of snooty, Upper East women? Would we not have gotten hit by that taxi if we had just heard it coming?

New York is full of sounds. Films and television shows about New York often include a horn blowing or a siren of some sort in their establishing shots. These sounds, however ubiquitous, are a necessary part of living in New York. Sometimes the initial rumbling of an incoming subway can be a relief, especially late at night or during a harried morning commute. As one becomes a more hardened citizen of this city these sounds, these tiny nuances of daily life, are shoved onto the back burner. But we need to know they're there. We know we will hear a man shouting, "Umbrellas!" during an impromptu rainstorm. We need to be told to stand clear of the closing doors.

But with these iPods, it seems as if walking down the street has become a little sanitized. Just as pretty much every mall in America has a Gap or a Bath & Body Works, listening to an iPod in New York makes every neighborhood feel and sound the same. It's true I can't predict what I will hear when I hit shuffle, but I can bet it will likely include something from the Beatles' White Album or by the Libertines. (My iPod seems to have hipster tendencies.) Half-knowing what I'll hear kind of takes the fun out of walking around. New York is a random town and blocking out the auditory surprises seems counterproductive to being here. For instance, Central Park on a Tuesday in July in a wonderfully serene place, but go about 70 blocks south and life on Canal Street is an acrid but functioning chaos. And what of human interaction? Will the art of subway flirting die because we're all too lost in our playlists? Will I not hear that old college friend trying to get my attention from halfway down the block?

I'm sure it will take me a while to figure out exactly how this slim, white, singing toy fits into my life . For running and for the gym it couldn't be better designed. I wonder, though, if I really need it as I walk to the subway at six in the morning, still groggy from too little sleep. Will I not hear the mugger behind me because I was too lost in Green Day?

A few days ago I was taking the subway home when a blind homeless man boarded the train at 28th Street. He started singing a medley of songs, including spirituals and Motown classics. It had been a while since I had heard a homeless person singing on the subway. I clicked off the iPod. The guy wasn't half bad.