William Bowers at Pitchfork has a great piece about the Ipod's impact on his life. Here's a taste:
Listening to an album from start to finish begins to seem peculiar, or redundant, like something that a Dickens clerk would do at night. Whenever I actually get around to brushing the cat litter off of my record player, it's stagey and deliberate: Lookee, tee-hee, I am going to perform the quaint/archaic act of sitting in a rocking chair and listening to something in its entirety. Surely a pipe and a sweater vest are the only barriers between me and a guy who listened to FDR on one of those old, cathedral-shaped radios.
Read the whole thing.
Myself: I don't have one and probably won't be getting one for several reasons. The cost is too high for me, downloaded music doesn't sound that great, and I'm not in situations where I could make use of one much.