A couple of weeks ago, I had my “TRUMP EATS POO” sign with me again. Perhaps I should have come up with something more topical. Then again, news comes at us pretty fast. Timely in the morning is old hat by the afternoon. I figured the sign was good enough. I was not holding it above my head like I did in the last No Kings march. My enthusiasm may have waned, but it was also cooler weather I did not have to use it to keep the sun out of my face. As a result, I kept it at fig-leaf level for most of the march.

For being as out of shape as I am, I held up reasonably well. Granted, this was a walk down Market Street from the Embarcadero to Civic Center, hardly the Bataan Death March. The cool breeze helped. So did being able to go at a steady clip. Having to move at a stop and go is a lot harder on my creaky carcass.

I managed to get through it, and I guess I am proud. Still, I have some reservations about its efficacy. Was I engaging in substantive protest of performative bullshit? A little of both is the most honest answer.

On one hand, my disdain for Donald Trump is sincere. One could argue its level puts me in derangement-syndrome territory. I hated the smug rich bitch in the 1980s and I hate the authoritarian pathological liar today. I wish no violence upon him of course, but if God decides to step in and do what God does best, I am not about to complain.

That said, I know that protests alone do not guarantee results. Real change happens elsewhere, often in the courts, in elections, or if necessary, by throwing a monkey wrench or two into the abusive-power machine. The closest I have come to direct action was canceling my Hulu membership after Jimmy Kimmel got fired.

Also, I do not fit in with many progressives. I am way too suspicious of groups. Mine is a worldview shaped by privilege. I admit that. I may not be able to get away with a Chappaquiddick, but I can make it through an Alabama traffic stop and end up with nothing more than a speeding ticket. If I were actively being fucked with by those in power, I would hold the idea of community in higher regard. With the luxury of safety, I am free to observe collective human behavior and cringe.

That is not to say my individualism is entirely toxic. The right to live as one sees fit does not only apply to me and my demographic. This comes more from my disdain for authority than unbridled love for my fellow human being.

In the end, I am happy to take partial credit for any good that happens after No Kings 3. I did the bare minimum, at least in my weight and age class. When the earnest busybodies of the left are back in full swing, I can return to my regularly scheduled nihilism.