I have always loved a good protest .

Growing up, I’d protest pretty much anything. It had less to do with any social or political ideology and more to do with the fact that I enjoyed making rage-fueled, pun-filled signs and screaming in unison.

My passion for protest started early. I’d wave angry posters and yell in my grade school’s gymnasium during volleyball games to protest cuts to the art program, then protest not being allowed to carry bagels out of the cafeteria.

During my college years, my protest dance card was often so full that I would forget which cause I was protesting. Did I want the student union to provide students with better access to biodegradable forks ? Or was I anti-disposable fork? In the end, it really didn’t seem to matter to me. It wasn’t like anyone expected me to solve the fork problem, for God’s sake, I just protested it! All I had to do was show up with my sign and be ready to yell.

Protests were much easier for me than parties. I was tall and awkward and lacked basic young-person party skills like dancing and smiling for no reason. Because of this, raucous college parties felt particularly pointless.