According to the dictionary, addiction is a term used to describe “a devotion, attachment, dedication, inclination … a recurring compulsion by an individual to engage in some specific activity, despite harmful consequences to the individual’s health, mental state or social life.”

Thanks to years of therapy and a 13-step program, I have (almost) kicked my disgusting addiction to noir crime novels via Amazon.com, the crack cocaine of Internet commerce. After several hundred purchases (honest to God), I considered the cost of the addiction. I have no idea how they were all paid for.

I have so many detective books that I give them away by the bag, the box, even the wheat bag. I needed professional help.

Forget the library. Will they have the latest Elmore Leonard, Robert B. Parker, Daniel Woodrell or Andrew Vachss? No.

After years of treatment (no money), I controlled the addiction, not by willpower, but by buying used books on Amazon. Some cost 5 cents.

But an addictive personality is an addictive personality. Two years ago, my charming daughters gave me my first iPod for the car trip to Florida. They had no idea what they were doing, which was opening the addictive floodgates.

If you don’t know, (I may be the last person in the country to get an iPod), you play all your CDs on your computer, then “download” them into this tiny cigarette-package size which you can play in person, or through the car radio. I added 2,000 songs from my CDs into the little machine.

But you must load these tunes through a system called iTunes, herein called “the dealer.” Once they have their hooks into you, they market like Amazon does. You get an e-mail which says, “If you like those Emmylou Harris tunes, think about these … at $1 each.”

I am a weak man. I never bought all those Allman Brothers records back in the day; now I could, at the touch of a button – and $12. I needed those Chi-Lites tunes and give me some Tom Waits, too.

Eventually, I figured out that these music orders would be followed, swiftly, by a credit card bill. As with the Amazon addiction, I eventually (several hundred dollars later) decided that enough was enough.

Right.

For reasons unknown, I subscribe to Rolling Stone magazine. I think it was about $6 a year. Last week, RS arrived in the mailbox with “The 100 Greatest Guitar Songs of all Time!”

Oh, my God.

I lost control of my hands, which flew to iTunes and the music store. The best I could do was promise to take only the top 10 tunes I did not have. (For your information, “Johnny B. Goode” by Chuck Berry from 1958, was No. 1.)

I bought my first Van Halen (“Eruption”), my first Led Zeppelin (“Stairway to Heaven,” natch), my first Nirvana (“Smells Like Teen Spirit”), more Hendrix (“Voodoo Child”), more Neil Young, (“Cowgirl in the Sand”) and my very first Black Sabbath (“Black Sabbath”).

I bowed to superior knowledge and downloaded The White Stripes (“Seven Nation Army”) and the Yardbirds (“Over Under Sideways Down”), The Impressions (“People Get Ready”) and finally for the 10th dollar, The Ramones (“Blitzkrieg Bop”).

The iPod was now close to 2,400 songs (2,400 songs?) and enough was enough. That particular addiction was enough already. How could I listen to 2,400 songs?

Then came Father’s Day.

Among the loot from Bean’s and Coleman was a slim envelope. I opened it. I love gifts.

It was a gift certificate. From iTunes.

I am doomed. We are off to the races.

Black Sabbath?

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.