Benjamen Walker's Theory of Everything - Occupy Siberia (dislike club prequel)

Episode Date: December 29, 2014

Yours truly is recuperating from 2014 in France but wishing you a happy holiday. Hope you enjoyed the programming this year. The dislike club series pretty much contains everything I have ever wanted to say about social media. Been thinking about all this stuff for quite some time now,  but it all started to crystalize when I got invited to Russia three years ago. I made a show about that trip for my old radio program “too much information” (it used to run on WFMU). I updated it a bit and offer it here, as the ToE 2014 holiday special – or the dislike club prequel. ***ALERT*** heard from a bunch of you now that you can’t find the DISLIKE CLUB Finale. Just search for this word: RADIOTONIC and you will find a radio show called Radiotonic from the ABC’s Creative Audio Unit. They commissioned the finale. Download it here. Or subscribe to their podcast. Look for the Dec 21st episode called the Dislike Club – that is part VI (the finale).

You are listening to Benjamin Walker's Theory of Everything. At Radiotopia, we now have a select group of amazing supporters that help us make all our shows possible. If you would like to have your company or product sponsor this podcast, then get in touch. Drop a line to sponsor at radiotopia.fm. Thanks. episode. Why is there something called influencer voice? What's the deal with the TikTok shop? What is posting disease and do you have it? Why can it be so scary and yet feel so great to block someone on social media? The Neverpost team wonders why the internet and the world because of the internet is the way it is. They talk to artists, lawyers, linguists, content creators, sociologists, historians, and more about our current tech and media moment. From PRX's Radiotopia, Never Post, a podcast for and about the Internet.

Episodes every other week at neverpo.st and wherever you find pods. Okay, so I've received a number of emails from a bunch of you out there that you're having trouble finding the finale of The Dislike Club, which is part six in the series. So I'm going to explain it to you. It's really easy. All you need to do is type in one word, radiotonic, into iTunes or whatever podcasting service that you use, or even Google. It's just one word, Radiotonic, and that will lead you to an Australian radio program called Radiotonic. They aired The Dislike Club on December 21st, 2014. That is part six, the finale in the series, and you can grab it from their podcast feed or their page. I hope you enjoyed the whole six-part series. Everything that I've always wanted to say about social media is in

there, and it's stuff that I've been thinking about for quite some time now. I think it actually all started about three years ago when I made a trip to Russia. I made a show about that for my old radio program, Too Much Information, and I realized the other day that it's sort of the Dislike Club prequel. So I cleaned it up so I can share it with you here. We'll just call it the Theory of Everything 2014

Holiday Special. I'm invited to Siberia to give a workshop on social media. Two summers ago when I was in Moscow, I met this guy Daniel. He told me he did media training in Siberia. I told him how I've always dreamed of one day visiting Siberia. And well, I must have made an impression, because last month I got an email from him with the subject line, Your Siberian dream vacation. In his email, Daniel explained that he was now working with a group of citizen journalists in a small town

called Berdunsk, about an hour away from Novosibirsk. He wanted to know if I could come and speak to them about social media. I wrote back and explained that while I may play a social media expert on the radio, in real life, I'm just as confused and bewildered by the stuff as everyone else. Daniel wrote me back and reminded me that all those social media experts who blather on and on in the New York Times and on public radio are faking it. Andy added, I already asked a bunch of them to come, and they all wanted way too much money. My journey begins at the Newark airport. They have a TGIFs.

I install myself at the bar and try to order a beer. The bartender points at the smoothie I picked up at the food court. What's that, he asks. It's a mango jubilee, I reply. Is it okay if I drink that here? Of course, he says, turning his back on me. Well, can I order a beer, I ask again. He shakes his head. Aren't you on an international flight, man? Yes, I reply. Where are you going? To Siberia. You know, he says, turning around to face me, you can drink for free on the plane.

If I serve you a beer, I have to charge you $9.75. And you really don't want to pay $9.75 to sit here drinking a beer with your smoothie. But I want a beer, I say. Suit yourself, man, he replies, but you are doing it wrong. Then he pours me a Heineken and walks away. The Heineken and the Mango Jubilee

do taste terrible together, but I drink them both. I only have two $10 bills in my wallet. I don't know what to do about the tip. It seems totally inappropriate to tip a guy who just tried to save me money, even if it is just a quarter. But if I ask for change,

then I'll have to talk to him again. I sit there for at least 15 minutes trying to decide what to do. Finally, he gets called into the kitchen. I put the $10 on the bar, and I run for it. When I order three beers from the stewardess, she doesn't bat an eye. But the woman sitting next to me furrows her brow and snorts in admonishment. I turn and politely point out that since she's sitting in the window seat and I'm in the aisle seat, she won't have to worry about me stepping over her to use the bathroom.

Well, as long as you don't piss yourself, then I guess it's okay, she snorts again. This makes both of us laugh. I'm sorry, she says, putting her hand on my arm. That's just what my ex-husband would do every night when he would come home from his restaurant. He was a big drinker. In fact, at the end, I made him get his own bed. Wow, I reply. If you are willing to tell that story to a complete stranger, you must really hate him. No, no, no, she says. You have it all wrong. I like him. I'm just glad we aren't married anymore. I'm not trying to be mean. Okay, then, I dare her. Tell me something about your ex-husband you would consider to be mean. Hmm. She thinks about it for a moment.

We have two boys, and this summer I took them both to Vermont. And we went camping in the woods. And when I got back, he came over to the apartment, furious, totally enraged. He screamed at me. He said there was no way in hell he was going to let me raise his sons to be bohemians. It made me realize that he's always been and always will be a stuck-up son of a bitch. Does that count as mean? Yeah, I tell her, that counts. Her name is Amelie, and as I drink my three beers, she tells me her life story.

She comes from a family of famous Mexican artists, and she's just now experimenting making art of her own, giant abstract sculptures made out of consumer packaging. When she was young, she was an actress. Well, if you count taking your clothes off and making out with Emilio Estevez in movies like Young Guns 4, she says. That totally counts, I assure her. And then I order three more beers. It took me years to come to terms with my divorce and start seeing other people, she says. Although there was this one guy my girlfriends referred to as the Meat King. I don't ask why or how this guy came to be known by this moniker, but she tells me anyways. Apparently, he would always send her meat,

loins, chops, sausages. The packages kept coming, even after she broke up with him. My current boyfriend, she says, wouldn't let me break up with him. What do you mean, I ask. When I tried to break it off with him, he said I was making a mistake, and I realized he was right. But how could he possibly know what is better for you, I ask. Because he loves me, she replies. At this point, I notice it's pitch black. Everyone on the plane is trying to sleep. I can only imagine how obnoxious we must sound.

But I decide I have to show her something. I stagger to my feet, knocking a number of beer cans into the aisle. I have to show you something, I say, shoving my hand into my front pocket. Eventually, I'm able to get my iPhone out, and I sit back down. I turn it on and scroll through the recent emails until I find the one I'm looking for. Read this, I tell her. It's from an ex-girlfriend of mine. For some reason, out of the blue today, she decided to write me and tell me about how I supposedly broke her heart five years ago, when really, it was the other way around.

I hand her the phone. As she starts to read the email exchange, I shout out, as you can see, I was very nice, even though I had to remind her that she's the one who did the heartbreaking. Her brow furrows again. Wait a minute. Did you ever tell this woman that you wanted to be with her? Of course I did. But she writes here that you broke her heart when you told her that your feelings changed. Yes, that's what I told her when I realized that she was never going to leave her husband. But that's different than saying I want to be with you. She hands me the phone back and then reaches up and turns off the overhead light. I think I need to try and sleep some before we land, she says.

I stare into the darkness for a while and then I click on the iPhone. I try to make it look like I'm just using it as a flashlight and then I'm simply looking for something in my lap. But I'm sure I did that wrong too. When we land in Frankfurt, Amelie gives me a big hug and wishes me the best of luck with my Siberian adventure. You should have slept on the plane, she laughs, as I lumber off to catch my connecting flight to Moscow. For some reason, I can't go five feet without bumping into another person. Every intersection and every interaction results in a collision.

It's like I have no control over my direction or trajectory. I can't even avoid this panzer division of Lufthansa stewardesses. I ricochet through them like a pinball. Somehow, I make it onto the plane. I have an aisle seat again. A Russian couple sitting next to me. They both have iPads and iPhones. And when I take out my MacBook, they smile with approval.

I try to watch a three-part BBC documentary about the gulag, but I keep nodding off and having to rewind. When we land, neither one of them will look at me. At passport control, I end up in line with a bunch of guys from Tajikistan. Now, Russia is currently involved in a big dust-up with Tajikistan. The Tajiks detained this Russian pilot who they say landed illegally, and in return, Russia's put the screws to the Tajik community, expelling and jailing people randomly. One by one, these guys get called up to the guard in the glass booth, and one by one, they all get let off for further screening.

Until finally, there's one guy left. But just as he's called up, he takes his cell phone out of his pocket and makes a telephone call. He hands over his passport as if he's dealing with a coffee barista. The customs officer has to bang on the window to get his attention. But to my astonishment, he's let through. And then it's my turn. And this same guy holds me up for 10 minutes,

scanning and re-scanning my passport, all the while glaring and muttering at my existence. I'm supposed to have a window seat on the flight to Novosibirsk but when I get to my row I find that it and the middle seat are already occupied by two tough-looking guys. I show them my ticket and point to the window seat, but neither one of them moves. Do you speak English, I ask? No, the one in the middle shouts back. He looks around the plane like I've embarrassed him or something. Fine, I say, pointing to the aisle seat. No problem. I'll sit here. I wanted this seat anyways.

But it's not true. I wanted to sleep, and I can't sleep unless I'm sitting in a window seat. I was even going to use my Eskimo coat as a pillow, but now I'm stuck with the aisle. For the next four hours, I toss and turn. My Eskimo coat is a pillow. But now I'm stuck with the aisle. For the next four hours, I toss and turn. When we land, I take out my iPhone to check the time. The battery dies just after the clock resets to the new time zone. It's now 4 a.m. As I put my phone away, the two men start whispering to each other.

Surely they're making plans to rob and kill me in the airport. But when I stride off the plane, there's a man holding a sign with my name on it. I'm safe. I follow him out into the snow-encrusted parking lot. We put my bags in the back seat, and I get into the front. I don't even try to speak English. I just lean my head up against the glass and stare out at the empty road. Siberia is just as cold and dark as I imagined it would be. Verdunsk is about an hour's drive from the Novosibirsk airport. As we get closer,

I notice people emerging from the forest, all bundled up in fur and leather. They congregate on the roadside. They're waiting for the bus. We hit some traffic. This must be morning in Siberia. The driver turns on the radio, and to my surprise, it's the same crap music that was on in the taxi that I took to the airport in Newark. Now, I may have been a guest in his car, but I was also a guest in his country. So when the DJ starts going on and on in Russian about Nickelback,

apparently Nickelback's big in Russia, I can't take it, and I reach over and I switch off the radio. Now, the driver does not like this. He looks over at me and with a scowl slams on the brakes and turns off the highway. We drive down this bumpy road that leads to a lake. I'm sure my face gives away my true feelings, but since he doesn't speak English, I feel there's just no point in me screaming,

what the f*** are you doing? Where the hell are you taking me? I say nothing. When we come to a rickety pier, he stops the car. He gets out and takes my bags out of the back seat and places them on the ground. Then he bangs on my window and gestures for me to get out of the car. He's really mad about this Nickelback thing, and I am totally at a loss at what to do. And so, resigned to my fate, I get out of the car and stand next to my bags. He points to the pier and says something in Russian

before getting back into the car. As he drives away, he turns his radio on. I can hear the booming power jams long after he's disappeared into the darkness. But eventually, all I can hear is the wind. I pull my coat close and rub my hands together, and I stare out into the swirling snow. Thank you. Thank you. It turns out that my hotel was just out for a spin. I don't know why I made such a big deal about it.

I mean, really, I'm only standing there in the dark in the middle of nowhere for 20, 30 minutes before my hotel emerges from the swirling snow. Horns a-blowing, neon a-glowing. The signage is in Russian and English, so as the craft approaches the pier, I can plainly make out the words, Hotel Remix. When it gets closer, I catch sight of Daniel. He's standing on the deck, waving furiously at me. Then Then this big burly guy in army fatigues ties up the ship and gestures for me to come on board. I drag my suitcase up the plank, trying not to slip on the black ice. Sorry about that, Daniel says as I step on board.

Usually the captain doesn't take the boat out in the wintertime, but sometimes he has customers who insist. I just stare at him. I want to ask what the hell he could possibly be talking about, but my mouth is frozen shut. This place is popular with the local gangsters, Daniel continues. They like to bring their prostitutes here, and sometimes if it's a big party like tonight, they'll make the captain take the ship out. I should have emailed you in advance,

but I really thought the boat would be here when your taxi dropped you off. I still can't move my mouth. Daniel takes me to my room. I really don't know how to describe the hotel remix, to be honest. I've never been on a boat hotel before, so I don't know what standard issue and what is not. Like, I assume all boat hotels have life preservers stacked in the closet, but surely the rooms on the hotel remix are unique. Basically, they're little theme parks dedicated to particular countries or regions of the globe. There were Mexico and France rooms, and Africa and Antarctica rooms. Daniel was in the old London room, which was kind of disappointing. All he got was a framed picture of Mary Poppins on the wall. But my room, the Egypt room, was magnificent. First of all, the walls were sloped

like the inside of a pyramid, and everything was spray-painted gold, even the two papier-mâché sphinxes that were on either side of the bed. But as much as I wanted to sleep like a pharaoh, Daniel wouldn't let me. We have to get started, he says. The workshop begins in one hour. We make a pit stop at a cafe that's designed to look like a Starbucks. It's called the Traveler's Cafe. They have good coffee here, Daniel tells me. I feel like I'm going to fall over, so I order an extra large. Next to the cash register is a glass cabinet filled with donuts. I ask Daniel to order

me a lemon one. The woman behind the counter has long blonde hair and long eyelashes. She takes out what looks like a strawberry donut and puts it into the microwave. No, no, I whimper. That's the wrong one. Daniel tries to explain to the woman that I want the lemon donut, but for some reason she just doesn't understand. So I point at the one in the cabinet and jab my finger on the glass. Lemon! Lemoniski! But she just stares back at me and bats her long eyelashes. When she puts the strawberry donut back into the microwave, Daniel turns to me and says,

Does it have to be a lemon donut? I am here to start the lemon revolution, I shout. There are about four guys in the cafe who look up from their coffee. If I can't get a lemon donut, then I can't communicate to my Russian counterparts that the operation is ready to commence. I'm quite pleased with this invention, but Daniel puts his hand over my mouth.

Hey, man, he says with utter seriousness. Chill out. In the taxi on the way to the workshop, Daniel explains to me that it's dangerous to joke about revolution out here because everyone in Siberia is suspicious of foreigners. In fact, he says, there will be some people at the workshop who already believe you're a CIA agent. You mean people might actually think that my social media lecture is just a cover, and that I'm here to start a revolution in Siberia? Well, he says with a sheepish grin, we didn't bring you out here to start the lemon

revolution, but you are sort of a cover story. Daniel isn't joking. It turns out that he and his colleagues are making films about Russian politics. One of these films tells the story of the new mayor of Berdansk. As you may know, Putin's party, United Russia, pretty much runs the country. And even in Siberia, most of the officials belong to his party. But two years ago, here in Berdunsk, a web-savvy communist ran for mayor against the Putin candidate and won. Daniel and his colleagues were here during the campaign,

and they made a short film. And this movie was a smashing success. They've screened it all over the world. And now everyone wants a sequel. But this has turned out to be easier said than done, because every time Daniel and his colleagues come to Berdunsk, the new mayor blows them off. Maybe he thinks you're all a bunch of CIA agents, I joke. Daniel ignores this and continues with his story. There's a group of citizen journalists who are

quite active on an online forum associated with a local Berdunsk paper. These guys played a major role in the mayor's campaign. They're in the movie too. They deserve the credit for getting him elected. They really pushed him and many of the key issues into the spotlight. And this is the group I'm doing the workshop for, isn't it? I ask. Yes, Daniel replies. And we've invited the mayor to come and speak at the workshop as well. Ah, and you'll be filming this encounter, won't you? Yes, Daniel answers. That is the plan. The workshop takes place in a dilapidated mini mall. As we get out of the taxi, Daniel explains to me that one can find these sort of ramshackle business centers all over Russia.

We walk through the building and up the stairs. Most of the stores seem to be selling auto parts. Verdunsk is known for its souped-up car culture, Daniel says. Visit in the summertime, and it's nothing but racing and car shows. I never found out what our room is used for normally, but it's the perfect setup for a workshop. There are 12 PCs with audio and video editing software, and there's a projector that I'm able to hook up to my laptop. And the internet works great.

When we walk into the room, a giant muscle man gestures for us to come over to one of the computers. Danny, he bellows, look at this. I put you on the website. This is Mr. T, Daniel tells me. Apparently everyone in the group of citizen journalists likes to go by their nickname they use online. Mr. T has already made a post about the workshop.

He says he's even mentioned how I've come all the way from New York to talk about social media. I notice there's a comment from someone who calls themselves Ne-Yo. I ask Mr. T to translate it for me. It says, Mr. T reads, Thank God, I don't have to go to that crap. Wow, I exclaim. It's just like it is in America. As I set up my laptop, the other participants start to arrive.

Daniel introduces them to me using their internet handles. A few, like Mr. T, speak a little English, but the majority of them do not. There are only three women. It's a very male group. One of the men who can speak some English goes by the nickname Pinochet. Why do they call you that? I ask him. Well, when I was in the Navy, I had long hair, and so everyone called me Pinochet. Mr. T comes over and clamps his hand down on my shoulder. Be careful with this guy. He is killer. This makes Pinochet blush. Dimitri, the editor of the newspaper, makes an introductory speech. Daniel translates for me.

It's clear that I am not the main attraction, but that most of the people are here to see the mayor, who ever since the election has stopped posting in the forums. One of the women says she tried to visit his office and wasn't even allowed in. Apparently, he's installed security guards. Who does he think he is? Mr. T shouts out. Putin? Then it's my turn. I show them the WFMU website,

and I explain how my program, Too Much Information, is sometimes a blend of fiction and nonfiction. But what does that mean, Mr. T asks. I explain how sometimes I interview real people, and sometimes I talk with people who are not real. But why? he asks again. Because reality, I tell him, can get boring sometimes. Then Daniel asks me to talk about how I and other radio producers in America use Facebook and Twitter. But before I can answer, Dimitri runs into the room shouting angrily in Russian. The mayor has canceled his appearance. He's just called in to say he has a fever and that he's sorry, but he'll have to skip out on this momentous occasion. People shout and argue for almost 10 minutes. I don't understand what anyone is saying, but since my Twitter page is up on the big screen,

I type in, uh-oh, sick mayor, and I hit enter. One of the men in the audience sees this and gives me a thumbs up. But it's a thumbs up that goes up and down and back and forth. At first I think this must be some sort of Russian hand signal, and I try to get Daniel's attention so he can translate for me, but then I realize there's just something wrong with the guy. He must have a palsy or a condition,

so I just smile at him and nod. Some of the participants put their coats on and leave. Daniel gets everyone else to sit back down. One of the older men stands up and asks me a very long, complicated question in Russian. When he finishes, Daniel translates. He wants me to tell him how they can use Facebook and Twitter

to make the mayor come down and do the interview with them. Everyone is staring intensely at me, even Daniel. I feel like I've been kicked under a moving bus. Well, I say sitting down at the computer, has anyone here heard about Occupy Wall Street? Daniel translates as I pull up a few websites with photos and images of the protest taking place in Zuccotti Park. I tell them the story about how the Occupy Wall Street movement has taken on the greed and corruption of Wall Street

and how they've used the internet to get their own message out and how they've inspired other groups of protesters all over the world. I have no idea where I'm going with this, so I'm going with this, so I'm relieved when Pinochet interrupts. So, are you saying we should have camping movement? Yes, I reply, slamming my fist on the table. You can call it Occupy Siberia.

Daniel translates this as if I was making a joke. Then he directs everyone to get into groups of two, and he tells them to start thinking about a story that they'd like to make a video about, and that tomorrow I'll be around to help them put it together. Then Daniel calls a taxi to take me back to the hotel remix, so I can finally get some sleep. That evening, one of Daniel's colleagues, Tolia, takes Daniel and I out to a nightclub called The Bunker. We make it past face control. In Russia, the door policy is simple.

If they don't like your face, you don't get in. Face control. When we get to the entrance, Daniel and Tolia start arguing with the doorman in Russian. I take out my cell phone, hold it to my face, and speaking loudly in English, walk right past them all and into the club. Daniel and Tolia then follow me in. The club is packed.

Daniel gets us some beers and soon we're standing at the edge of the dance floor. Tolia points at a group of beautiful girls dancing in front of us and smiles. Daniel and I launch into a discussion about microphones. After a while, I notice Tolia's edged away. It's like he's pretending that he doesn't know us. He thinks we're total losers, doesn't he? Well, Daniel says, he might be wondering why we're not even trying to talk to girls. At this point, one of the beautiful dancers, the best one, walks by.

I take her arm and ask, do you speak English? Yes, I do, she says. In fact, I study English literature. I walk over to the bar with her. I look over at Tolia. He shoots me an approving grin. Anya is a student at the university. When I tell her I'm from New York, her eyes widen. Paul Auster, she says in a breathy voice. Anya's tried to visit America twice, but both times her visa was denied.

You might not know this, but it's actually quite difficult for an attractive Russian woman to get a visa to the United States. Too many mail-order brides. Maybe you can help me one day, she purrs. We exchange phone numbers. The whole thing is like a strange dream. The first thing I notice when Daniel and I get to the computer center in the morning is the camping equipment. Sleeping bags, tarps, and tents are splayed out on the floor. Then I notice Pinochet. He's sitting on the table at the front of the room, directing the other participants

to pack up various items into bags. Dimitri, the newspaper director, immediately jumps on Daniel. He's quite angry about something. I walk over to Pinochet. Hello, Benjamin, he says. You made very good video about the camping action I want to make one that is same

The newspaper editor throws up his hands and walks out of the room Daniel explains Pinochet thinks you made that movie about Occupy Wall Street And that it's an example of social media Pinochet has decided that the group should go to the mayor's residence and set up tents in his courtyard. So Dimitri, the editor, is freaking out.

He wants us to tell them that they can't do it. But why not, I say. This will make a great movie. Not just for them, but for you as well, right? Yeah, he says. I do have to say that that's the first thing I thought about as well. He starts talking to Dimitri again.

I ask Pinochet if he's got a tent for me. And he says, of course, and I can get you a gun too. My wife, she's going to bring many guns and meet us there. When Daniel hears this, he spins around. Pinochet, I don't think we should bring guns to the mayor's. That might be a bad idea. But how can you have video without guns? Pinochet says.

If there are no guns, no one will think the video is real. Then I notice Mr. T. He's standing off to the side with his arms folded. Hey, Mr. T, I say. What do you think about all this? I like it, he says, but I am also angry. I did not think of it first. Usually, I have the best ideas. Well, I say, this is a group project. There is room for your ideas, too. Okay, he says. Then I have idea.

I want to bring the guys from my club to be in the movie. I turn to Daniel. What is his club? Daniel explains that Mr. T is a member of a bodybuilding club that's supposedly a really big deal in Berdunsk. Mr. T's been trying to get me to visit it for years now, he says. This is a great idea, I tell Mr. T. Okay then, he says. Let's go. Mr. T, Daniel, and I pile into Mr. T's truck. The plan is for us to drive to Chicago, pick up some of Mr. T's fellow bodybuilders,

and then meet everyone at the mayor's residence. For some reason, the bad part of Berdunsk, the part with the gypsies and the drug users and the underground bodybuilding club, is called Chicago. Daniel's on his mobile for the entire ride, coordinating the film shoot with his colleagues. Even though I can't understand what he's saying, the excitement translates. Eventually, we pull up in front of a condemned-looking building covered in the most amateur street graffiti I've ever seen. We are here, Mr. T says.

Watch out for the turtles. He pries open a panel made of corrugated metal, and we walk down some stairs. Now, if you've ever seen Alex Lambert's documentary, The Mark of Cain, the one about the tattooed Russian prisoners, well, when we walk into the room, it's filled with those guys,

and they are all as big as Mr. T. And for some reason, the room is also filled with turtles. There are almost as many turtles as there are barbells. Mr. T introduces me and Daniel. One of the men with a tattoo on his forehead shakes my hand. I ask Daniel what the tattoo means, but he doesn't say anything until the guy walks away. Then he leans over and tells me it means triple murder.

What's with the turtles, I ask Mr. T, trying to sound cool. The turtle is how you say spirit animal, Danny. It's like their totem, Daniel says. They worship the turtle here. Why, I ask. Mr. T picks one off the floor. Turtle has strong shell. And we must have strong shell like the turtle if we survive in Russia.

There are images of turtles all over the walls. I take out my iPhone and snap a picture of a tattooed Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle lifting weights. But when I take the picture, many of the men scatter. Benjamin, Mr. T says, it is not good to take pictures. Many of these guys, they are dead. I don't bother to ask what this means. I just put the phone away. Mr. T then explains to the group about the camping video he wants to make. Daniel translates for me, and as far as I can tell, the word protest is never used. It's like Mr. T is asking them to be in his action movie. About 15 of the guys decide to come with us, including the guy with the triple murder tattoo.

They grab some furs and some tarps, and they all pile into the back of Mr. T's truck. And then we head back into town. When we get back to the main part of town, I spy the traveler's coffee shop. Turn here, I shout to Mr. T. It's going to be very cold outside. Let's get some coffee. He pulls up and Daniel and I go inside. I order 20 coffees to go. The woman with the long eyelashes is working again. I look in the display case. There are at least five lemon donuts in there. Ha ha! I scream out. Lemoniski! Lemoniski for everyone!

She stares out the window. The bodybuilders are stretching in the parking lot. I think she can make out some of the tattoos. Her eyes widen in astonishment. Lemoniski! I say again. The time has come for Lemo Nisky. She snaps out of it and says something to Daniel in Russian. He laughs and turns to me.

She says the lemon donuts are all reserved and that you can't have any. What does that mean, I ask? I think it means she really thinks you're starting the lemon revolution. And she's doing her part to stop you when we get back into the truck I see her in the window with a man from the cafe who's filming us with his iPhone they both look very worried on the way to the mayor's, I decide to phone Anya.

She says that she and her two girlfriends have just walked into their dorm. You should have stayed at the bar last night, she says. I don't understand why you left. I ask if they're still wearing their dancing outfits from the night before. Of course we are, she says. We just got back. Well, I'm wondering if I can get you to come and be in a movie I'm making with some people. Well, what do we have to do, she asked. Oh, it's very simple.

I just want you guys to dance around some tents that are going to be set up in the courtyard. She says, okay. And I pass the phone over to Daniel, who gives her the address and the directions. The mayor's residence is set back in the forest, and it's surrounded by a large stone fence. When we arrive, Pinochet and a few others from the workshop have already set up five tents in front of the iron gate. The bodybuilders get out of the truck and start setting up the rest of them. Pinochet walks over to me with a young girl. Benjamin, he says, this is my daughter. She sings opera, and she speaks English.

Please, speak English with her. What kind of opera do you like, I say. She blushes and looks at her father. She doesn't speak that English. Try something else. Can you sing for me, I ask. She throws her shoulders back and starts singing an aria from Puccini's La Boheme. She has a beautiful voice. As she sings, Pinochet takes out his pocket watch.

It's adorned with Soviet insignia. Attached are American dog tags. I catch the name Adam Green. I got these in Vietnam, he says. I decide not to ask him how. Then a woman with a rifle walks up to us. This is my wife, Pinochet says. He shouts something at her in Russian,

and she points her rifle in the air and shoots off a few rounds. His daughter sings along, belting out crisp staccatos. By the time Mr. T and the bodybuilders have finished setting up the rest of the tents, Daniel and his colleagues have set up their camera. They have it aimed at the gate. I get the impression they really think the mayor is going to come out. Then a cab pulls up, and Anya and her two friends get out. They take off their coats. They look amazing. I position them in front of the gate. I get Pinochet's daughter to start

another song and then they start dancing. The bodybuilder with the facial tattoo tries to dance with Anya but I can tell he's making her uncomfortable. I gesture to Mr. T to do something. He yells something out in Russian, and all the men grab stuff from the ground, stones, logs, trash, and then they start pumping it into the air. But then one of the guys from the workshop screams out, FSB! FSB!

Everyone stops what they're doing. For a brief second, it's totally silent until the tank crashes through the trees. And then it's total chaos. The guy with the palsy drops to his knees, his camera careening back and forth and up and down. I will make movie, he shouts. Go, go. Yes, Benjamin, you must go, Pinochet yells out. Get away, run. I look over at Daniel. He and his colleagues are scaling the wall into the mayor's

compound. The bodybuilders have all miraculously disappeared. But then I notice that all of the tents are quivering. Pinochet's daughter is still singing, but it doesn't sound like Puccini anymore. It sounds more like a young teenage girl screaming her head off. Anya and her roommates are already at the street. Two more tanks emerge from the trees. Pinochet's wife lowers her rifle and starts moving towards them. I start running. When I catch up with the girls, they've already flagged down a cab.

I get into the front seat, and they pile into the back. Go, go, go, Anya shouts, pointing at the road. The driver takes off. He's driving very fast. We almost hit a tree. I grab the seatbelt and pull it over me. But for some reason, this makes him extremely angry. And he starts shouting at me.

He's not even looking at the road. So I'm not surprised at all when we spin into a ditch. If you ever find yourself in a taxi in Siberia, there's one thing you should never do, and that is put on your seatbelt. It turns out that Siberian taxi drivers find this insulting. It's like you're calling them a bad driver. But it was a good thing I had my seatbelt on, because everyone else, Anya, her two friends, and the driver, they all got pretty banged up when we went into that ditch. But we were able to crawl out and make our way back to the main road and hail another taxi.

And this time, I didn't put my seatbelt on. I spent the next few days hiding out in Anya's dorm room. It was really great of her to look after me like that, and I've promised to introduce her to my good friend Paul Oster if she ever makes it to New York. I never went back to the hotel remix. Daniel packed up all my things for me and brought them with him to the airport. Unfortunately, his camera got run over by the tank, so they didn't get any footage. The guy from the workshop, the guy with the palsy, he was able to film the whole thing, but his footage is, as you can imagine, pretty unwatchable. Maybe we can get a computer to straighten it out,

Daniel says to me as we order some beers at the airport bar. He says this over and over again as we drink our way back to his apartment in Moscow. The following morning, Daniel takes me to this fancy NGO summit on internet freedom in Russia. Daniel has to make an appearance because the people who fund his films have all flown in from Washington, D.C. Plus, he says, if you show up, the FSB will realize you're not a real spy and that this whole Lemon Revolution thing is just a stupid misunderstanding. When we take our seats, there's a genuine social media expert on stage

giving a lecture about Facebook and Internet freedom. I take out my iPhone. They have Wi-Fi. It's the middle of the night in New York, but for some reason, my Twitter feed is going nuts. Lots of my friends are online. It turns out the cops are launching their raid on Zuccotti Park. They're going for it.

They are going to evict the Occupy Wall Street protesters. And I am able to watch the whole thing go down on my iPhone, sitting in my chair at this conference on Internet freedom and social media in Moscow. The guy on the stage is speaking in Russian. The speaker in my left ear is giving me a simultaneous English translation. And I have the sounds of police batons and protester screams coming into my right ear out of my iPhone. The way I'm describing it, I'm sure it sounds like a total cacophony of noise. But as I'm sitting there, taking all this in, it all suddenly becomes crystal clear.

I feel for the first time in my life, I finally understand social media. which is quite popular in Twitter trends. There are trending words, trending topics on Twitter. The topics that are the most popular, that are discussed quite dynamically. Last year when in Moscow we had a lengthy time of... Back up! Back up! Back up! Back up! Shame on you! Shame on you! Shame on you! They're taking the park, they're surrounding the park in riot gear. They're taking it and they're trying to block up every street.

Right now they're lining up... Anything you say can and will be used against you. If you've ever had any dealings with the police, this is a phrase you may be familiar with. It's actually a mistranslation from the ancient Latin. The correct phrase is, everything you say will be used against you over and over again until your rotting corpse can fight back no more. This is what I want people to think about when they think about social media. First, you want to set your privacy settings to the absolute minimum. Everything, work history, your relationships, your relationships, relationships,

because when something is marked private, it becomes the very thing that everyone will go to great lengths to learn about. They will friend friends of your friends, and they will friend your mother's friend's friends to find it out. And as far as the officials are concerned, when they come across something

marked private, that is the very thing that they will put into your file. It's important to have as many friends as you possibly can. If you're sitting in front of the computer and you see a friend request come in, you're wondering, should I say yes? I'm not sure. Say yes. Even if you have no idea who this person is or how you could possibly know them, say yes. Seek out people that you don't even

know and friend them. You should be sending out at least two dozen friend requests every time you log on. There are only two activities that you should be involved with. Liking your friend's baby photos and saying happy birthday to your friends. Do not ever miss an opportunity to say happy birthday to a baby. Change your relationship status and your sexual orientation regularly. All of this is even more crucial at the microblogging level.

Use all 140 characters to inform the world that you get up every morning to run and that you do yoga every evening. And then sleep in every day and go out drinking every night. Resist the tyranny of the now. Tweet every time you masturbate. Every week, pick an episode from history and live tweet it, but add in a few details that are historically incorrect. Start conversations

with shamed politicians who've been forced to resign from office using the hashtag hashtag shamed politicians who have been forced to resign from office. Resist the urge to tweet about what you're doing in favor of what you are not doing, or what you did, or hope to be doing,

or better yet, what you are thankful that you will never do. When it comes to location services, first and foremost, become the mayor of a place where you actually never go. Find the mayor of your favorite place to hang out and stalk them online until you frighten them away. Repeat the process with the next mayor. Check into passing ambulances. Map out every adult bookstore, pornography shop, and sex toy boutique in your state and check into each of them in one 24-hour period.

Never, ever check into a place where you physically are, because after all, why make it easier for them when they decide to come and collect you? collection. You have been listening to Benjamin Walker's Theory of Everything. This installment is called Occupy Siberia. Like I said, this program was originally produced about three years ago for my old radio show, Too Much Information, which ran on WFMU. Special thanks to Charles Maines and Bill Bowen. You can find all the information you need about the theory of everything at toe.prx.org,

and that is where you can direct folks to subscribe to the podcast.