THIS IS ALL TIED INTO THE UK PREMIERE OF "TERMINATOR", SOMEHOW

Just had a really bad 24-hour stretch, tech-wise. Somewhere, our robot overlords are chortling.

It started in the evening. I whipped out my dongle, plugged it in, and immediately found it wasn't as fast it should be; in fact, it was excruciatingly slow. (damn right I'm secure enough to use "whip out", "dongle" and "fast" in the same sentence.) The dongle was brand new and had worked perfectly just the day before, and I wasn't surfing any dodgy websites (yet...er...ever), so I thought it was just a temporary glitch or something. But as the night wore on, I still waited ages for pages to load - if there was as any connection at all. Re-boot, re-connect, re-load, over and over, over and over, and I still couldn't get anything. Finally, as I was about to give up and turn in, a pop-up appeared from my anti-virus software (or, as I prefer to think of it, a message from the future!) It warned me that a "severe threat" had tried to attack my computer, but that it had been blocked, and no further action had to be taken. As if on cue, surfing speed returned to normal, but by then, "Britain's Got Talent" replays were on, so I was obliged to drop everything.

"All hail Skynet"

The following morning, I attended a conference in a building whose main session hall apparently blocked cellphones and wi-fi (they interfered with the interpreters' audio equipment; at least, that's what the MAN would have you believe). I still gave the internet a go on my mobile, only to end up screwing the phone's settings. In a desperate attempt to fix things, I actually locked myself out of my own phone. It took me until the early evening to get the damn thing unlocked through the service provider.

You're welcome.

Then that very same night, as I was heading home and transferring trains, my mobile rang furiously. A strange number. In the movies, this would be where the voice on the line goes "don't say anything, don't ask any questions, just do as I say" (whereupon, the leading man goes "please don't hurt me"); instead here, it was my bank with a message just as ominous: some suspicious activity had been detected by their fraud department on my new card (whereupon I said, PLEEEEAAAASSSEEEE don't hurt me!!!).

I feel your pain.

All kidding aside, the bank really did find unauthorized purchases - some small, some not so - charged to my account. Their swift action, however, prevented any real harm. (on the other hand, that could have been my only chance to sneak by the LLDD-Hyphen-L certain pay-per-view purchases and video rentals that also "questionably" appeared on my bill.)

"I swear, sweetie, it was the hackers!"

Needless to state, I was a bit rattled by the experience. I told the story and sought comfort from my friends and collegues (read: I wanted to be the center of attention), but to my surprise, I was greeted with --- meh. There was sincere concern, to be sure, but there was no alarm. Apparently, this sort of thing happens enough times here that people don't express shock; they ask how soon did it happen.

And that, my friends, tells me one thing: the robots are winning.

So go on another f***ing rant against the cinematogranator, Christian Bale. You have my full support.

In the meantime, if you ever see a video post of me blinking rapidly, that's my secret signal to y'all that the robots have taken over this blog and are holding me against my will.