Harsh language was appropriate under the circumstances. My router had just been hacked.
Setting up a reliable home network has always been a challenge for me. I live in a cramped three-story house and I don't like running cables. So my router's position is determined by the fiber modem. In a corner on the bottom floor. Not long after we moved in, I realized that our old Airport Extreme was not delivering much signal to the attic, where two game-obsessed occupants fought for bandwidth.
I tried all sorts of things. I extended the network. I used Ethernet-over-powerline connectors to deliver network access. I made a mystic circle and danced naked under the full moon. We lost neighbors, but we didn't gain signal.
Eventually, I gave in to the inevitable. After some research, I purchased a router that, I was told, would probably deliver useable signal to the outer reaches of the solar system. And it worked. The Netgear R6400 left only one place in the house with little-to-no reception. But, crucially, my wife and son were happy gamers upstairs, Netflix flixxed, and Youtube tubed. Life was sweet.
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