Cleanse, Tone, Defrag: I Need a Technorcism

Followers of mine on that there Twitter (before you start, not a shameless plug so much as a point of reference so you know I’m not just making this stuff up; and really, you just couldn’t) will know that I’ve been having somewhat of a tech curse following me of late. This in some way could be responsible for my iTunes arbitrarily changing genres and tracks dropping off of my iPod on a seeming whim, but I’m trying to do an L.A. Noire and investigate this with the suspects being my mates who like to see me squirm at incorrectly categorized items.

For some strange reason, I have inexplicably acquired the ability to knock out Internet connections by my very presence. It’s a miracle that you’re getting this entry quite honestly, but I’m uploading this from within a cleansed circle of candles with the incense provided by the neighbour’s wafting in through the window. Or not. Or I’ve uploaded it in one of the more lucid connection times. Whatever. If I had a unit-frame like in World of Warcraft, then a curse icon would totally be flashing to tell the healers and that Wrath-baby Mage who doesn’t know that they can decurse, to rid me of my affliction.

I’ve not fallen folly to any ladders, ignored a lonesome Magpie, knocked over the salt pot, and I’m certain I’ve not refused a mortgage extension to a crusty old Gypsy with a hacking cough, weird eyeball and a penchant for sucking boiled sweets, toothless, while resting her gobby dentures on my desk. Needless to say that I am at a complete and utter loss as to what is just going on with me that, all joking aside, a curse seems to be the most plausible reason. Perhaps it’s all just down to a run of rotten luck. We all have stretches like that, when a mounting boat load of problems and events stack up in a short amount of time.

What gets me though is how specific my malady seems to be, and it seems to follow me.

“Internet’s down again. Oh wait, no, it’s just Rob.”

Either Wi-Fi signal will suddenly drop or associated items disconnect from the router and struggle to get back on. Then they do, and then they drop again. Rinse, repeat. Modem locks up. Power-cycles, reboots, restarts, all moot more or less. Sometimes it’ll come back on, and if it does it’s to the heady heights it should be. Even gone so far as to look into if there’s been a service outage in the area.

Oh, maybe it is all just Sod’s Law and an accumulating run of coincidences, but to be on the safe side, I’m going to need one of two things – one, an elder tech whisperer come swami to get the tech to talk to me without swearing at me once more; or two, I need a “technorcism” (Editor’s note: technology exorcism). Hopefully minus projectile pea-green soup.

It’ll pass, I’m sure; in the interim though, it just seems weird. Also apologies for a less techy more bloggy one this week. To coin another movie reference, it’s like a fat Scottish bloke has stolen my mojo and given it to a bald me who lacked technical flare.

Now, please excuse me, I need to go check I’m not missing any buttons.

About Rob

Rob Kidman is an aspiring writer, have-a-go designer, avid tea drinker and geek from birth. Oh, and he’s British. What he doesn’t know about Doctor Who, isn’t worth knowing. Sends text messages in full, perfect grammar, no matter if it costs an extra 10p, as he believes txtspk to be an affront to the Queens’ English. Partial to cheese and pickle, random gherkins, and a fan of the miniature sombrero.

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