When you're younger, birthdays are day to ask for things. It's a time to shamelessly make lists of all your toy box yearnings - Barbie accoutrements, dirt bikes, Game Boys and whatnot.

Sure, there's Christmas. But the magic of the Christmas wish list is soured by the knowledge that you also have go buy/make/do things for other people.

The birthday wish list is the purest of all lists because it's 100% self-indulgent. They're Toys R Us fantasies mapped out on paper.

My lists often centered on the acquisition of all things Cabbage Patch. But I do recall asking for some rather absurd things too - like the year I wanted a bowling ball engraved with my name. And no, I wasn't really into bowling. I just thought a personalized bowling ball sounded "rad."

My parents, not shockingly, didn't get me one.

I remember asking for a robot that would clean my room. And I think I may have once requested a Jetson car that I could drive to school and then fold into a briefcase.

I asked for these silly things and no one ever scolded me for being selfish. Because when you're a kid and it's your birthday, there's no such thing as "egocentric."

But somewhere in your teens people stop asking you what you want. Maybe they've stopped caring. But who cares, they give you cash! They write checks!

I'm at the point now when I just get birthday cards. No cash. No checks. No money whatsoever.

Just "birthday wishes" that aren't redeemable for a small fry, let alone an indoor s'more-making kit (which is, truth be told, what I really wanted).

So I went proactive this year and got myself something special: I got me the Internet.

No more leaching off the neighbor's wireless!

It's not that I've grown suddenly weary of using a service I'm not paying for - really I'm an ardent supporter of sponging whenever possible. But wireless in my apartment had grown fickle. For months I could only pick up a decent signal in my bathroom. Then not at all.

And I need the Internet. Don't roll your eyes - you need it too. We all do. It's an all-consuming force.

Besides, if I'm going to successfully swap smoking with a debilitating addiction to online gambling, I'm going to need 24-hour web access. Goals, people!

And while the Internet is the gift that keeps on giving, I'm starting to think cable is a curse.

After serious consideration, a long list of pros and cons and a consultation with a spiritual healer, I opted to get cable too. I haven't had cable in any apartment I've ever lived in, but it just felt like the right thing to do.

So the cable guy came yesterday, bringing with him the Internet and over 100 channels of God knows what. Last evening, as I readied to head out the door, I found myself captivated by the made-for-television thriller "The Perfect Tenant" on Lifetime Movie Network.

I mean, this woman rented her guest house to a murderer! She'd just let danger in the door and there's no telling what would happen!

That's not true. It's a Lifetime movie, I think we can all guess what happened.

At any rate, it took a concerted effort to off the TV and leave the house.

I'd thought my will was stronger, but cable's grip is not to be taken lightly.