Read Online Notes From the Internet Apocalypse by Wayne Gladstone - Free Book Online
Authors: Wayne Gladstone
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wall. Like this foolishness with the Internet outage.”
Okay. Now we were getting somewhere, I thought. Having an intelligent discussion with an honest-to-goodness Muslim right in the heart of the detected terrorist transmissions. Perhaps this exercise wasn’t just an excuse to maintain a Scotch-based buzz while I roamed Manhattan.
“I don’t disagree, Khalil, but given the detected transmissions, the animus of the Muslim world against America, and the history right here in New York, do you really have to be a bigot to be nervous about a solitary Muslim man crunching numbers five blocks from Ground Zero?”
A slow smile spread across Khalil’s face. He was remembering someone, and it brought a happiness, especially now that the years had wrapped the memories in the comfort of wax paper. “You’re a Jew,” he said. “Yes?”
“Why so sure?” I asked.
“Only a Jew would be open-minded enough to come to a Muslim community center, while still opinionated enough to risk offending the people inside.”
I sipped at my coffee and thought for a moment. “Well, if that’s your definition of a Jew, then I kinda take that as a compliment, Khalil.”
“Good,” he said, and raised his spiced date-juice tea or whatever he was drinking.
“Oh, are we toasting?” I asked, removing my flask. “Well, as long as we’re doing so much for international relations, maybe we should get the Scots involved.” He offered his glass, and I spiked both our drinks.
“I wasn’t sure if you drank…” I said.
“Yeah, I’m not too observant,” Khalil said, taking a sip. Then he paused. “Did you say Scotch? This tastes like Jameson?”
“Yeah.”
“But Jameson is Irish whiskey…”
“I know, but … I know.”
“Anyway, Gladstone,” he said. “Explain this to me. Some terrorists stole the Internet for their own purposes. Evil purposes?”
“That’s the theory.”
“So they can have old YouTube videos all to themselves?”
“I would think the greatest advantage of stealing the Internet would be maintaining all its communications power while depriving those advantages to your enemies. Also, Khalil, you’re the one with The Wall Street Journal in front of you. Just the loss of the Net itself is helping tank our economy. Need there be more?”
“Economic terrorism. That’s a bit more compelling.”
“Yeah.”
“But you don’t really believe that, do you?”
“No,” I said with a laugh. “Not even a little. But why don’t you tell me why.”
“Because,” Khalil said, “America is at war with radical Muslim fundamentalists, not robots.”
“Meaning?”
“Muslims like the Internet too. What terrorist group could win the hearts and minds of the Muslim people if it deprived them of Facebook and Twitter? Osama Bin Laden might have been holed up in an Abbottabad compound without the Internet, but his neighbor Tweeted the whole U.S. tactical assault. And how about the riots in Egypt when they took the Net away? That did not work out so well for the government.”
Khalil had been dying to make this point, and I was happy not only to receive such a logical argument, but to have given him the chance to articulate it.
“I’m sold, Khalil,” I said. “But tell me more about these robots.”
Khalil hunched over with a laugh that creased the midsection of his lovely shirt. It was nice to end on a high note.
* * *
Tobey and Oz were already in the lobby when I arrived, and it was clear that after some time here even Tobey didn’t believe Park51 was the hotbed of terrorist activity Glenn Beck had led him to believe. And even if it were, we hadn’t found any trace of the Internet. We were about to grab our things and get wrecked at the Heartland Brewery when we heard it. Something I hadn’t heard in at least ten years. An old-school modem with all its crackles and buzz.
“Fuck, I knew it!” Tobey said.
“Knew what?” I said.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t hear that modem.
Okay. Now we were getting somewhere, I thought. Having an intelligent discussion with an honest-to-goodness Muslim right in the heart of the detected terrorist transmissions. Perhaps this exercise wasn’t just an excuse to maintain a Scotch-based buzz while I roamed Manhattan.
“I don’t disagree, Khalil, but given the detected transmissions, the animus of the Muslim world against America, and the history right here in New York, do you really have to be a bigot to be nervous about a solitary Muslim man crunching numbers five blocks from Ground Zero?”
A slow smile spread across Khalil’s face. He was remembering someone, and it brought a happiness, especially now that the years had wrapped the memories in the comfort of wax paper. “You’re a Jew,” he said. “Yes?”
“Why so sure?” I asked.
“Only a Jew would be open-minded enough to come to a Muslim community center, while still opinionated enough to risk offending the people inside.”
I sipped at my coffee and thought for a moment. “Well, if that’s your definition of a Jew, then I kinda take that as a compliment, Khalil.”
“Good,” he said, and raised his spiced date-juice tea or whatever he was drinking.
“Oh, are we toasting?” I asked, removing my flask. “Well, as long as we’re doing so much for international relations, maybe we should get the Scots involved.” He offered his glass, and I spiked both our drinks.
“I wasn’t sure if you drank…” I said.
“Yeah, I’m not too observant,” Khalil said, taking a sip. Then he paused. “Did you say Scotch? This tastes like Jameson?”
“Yeah.”
“But Jameson is Irish whiskey…”
“I know, but … I know.”
“Anyway, Gladstone,” he said. “Explain this to me. Some terrorists stole the Internet for their own purposes. Evil purposes?”
“That’s the theory.”
“So they can have old YouTube videos all to themselves?”
“I would think the greatest advantage of stealing the Internet would be maintaining all its communications power while depriving those advantages to your enemies. Also, Khalil, you’re the one with The Wall Street Journal in front of you. Just the loss of the Net itself is helping tank our economy. Need there be more?”
“Economic terrorism. That’s a bit more compelling.”
“Yeah.”
“But you don’t really believe that, do you?”
“No,” I said with a laugh. “Not even a little. But why don’t you tell me why.”
“Because,” Khalil said, “America is at war with radical Muslim fundamentalists, not robots.”
“Meaning?”
“Muslims like the Internet too. What terrorist group could win the hearts and minds of the Muslim people if it deprived them of Facebook and Twitter? Osama Bin Laden might have been holed up in an Abbottabad compound without the Internet, but his neighbor Tweeted the whole U.S. tactical assault. And how about the riots in Egypt when they took the Net away? That did not work out so well for the government.”
Khalil had been dying to make this point, and I was happy not only to receive such a logical argument, but to have given him the chance to articulate it.
“I’m sold, Khalil,” I said. “But tell me more about these robots.”
Khalil hunched over with a laugh that creased the midsection of his lovely shirt. It was nice to end on a high note.
* * *
Tobey and Oz were already in the lobby when I arrived, and it was clear that after some time here even Tobey didn’t believe Park51 was the hotbed of terrorist activity Glenn Beck had led him to believe. And even if it were, we hadn’t found any trace of the Internet. We were about to grab our things and get wrecked at the Heartland Brewery when we heard it. Something I hadn’t heard in at least ten years. An old-school modem with all its crackles and buzz.
“Fuck, I knew it!” Tobey said.
“Knew what?” I said.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t hear that modem.
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