LIFE IN America in the 21st century affords everyone the opportunity to be a hypocrite, especially in the environmental sphere. It also affords some greener-than-thou goofball the opportunity to point out your flaws, though those green-jeans folks usually have flaws of their own. (For every bit of recycling you do, you're no doubt violating some other carbon-offset credo by breathing too much.)

As insufferable as the green crowd can be, and I know because I sometimes flash my membership card and correct people for their environmental slights while ignoring some of my own, we're light-years ahead of the dopes who are committed to nonsensical waste.

I encountered some of these types at the grocery store recently when I tossed aside my manhood and brought canvas shopping bags to get Sunday dinner.

Though no one actually said anything to me about my choice to eliminate the use of plastic and paper to take my goods home, I felt the disapproving eyes of more than one fellow shopper. I'm secure enough in my manliness to ignore the silent derision, but it's hard to ignore the impact that our 50-year throwaway culture has had on society - it's American to waste, plain and simple.

We cherish our right to create trash, fill landfills and do things just for the sake of doing them, regardless of consequence. And this is really different from every generation that went before us.

Like other misguided measures of American progress, many people consider it a right to continue to use and toss plastic and paper grocery bags. But the campaign to keep up the ridiculously high use of plastic and paper fails the Grandma Test.

We all know that Grandma is the bellwether for everyday conduct. Grandmoms, especially those from the Depression era, eschewed plastic and paper bags and could be seen walking to the store with their reusable bags. Their generation knew that useless waste was not the American Way. They grew up frugal, and never succumbed to the laziness inherent in store-bagged groceries. It was anathema to American self-reliance and sacrifice.

Much of America acts like we passed a constitutional amendment after World War II that reads:

"We had a depression, saved the world, so we're just going to use up everything we can. If you don't buy into this, you obviously hate America."

According to the stares in the checkout line at the market, I hate America. That's not true, but I do hate the consumption-driven America that sneers at bringing a reusable bag to the store.

Earlier this year, several City Council members sought to reduce Philadelphia's plastic-bag use via a 25-cent-a-bag fee. A critical mass of waste-friendly groups got together to sack that effort. What seems like a no-brainer - reducing the use of nondegradable, litter-increasing items - actually stirred enough passion to support a slew of Web sites, including the dueling savetheplasticbag.com (seriously) and its archenemy, reusablebag.com. Each makes a compelling case for its side, though my waste-hating sensibilities lean toward reusable bags.

So I support a tax on what I consider easily changed irresponsible behavior. No doubt I would be subject to this tax when my lazy rear forgets to bring bags to the store. (Ireland imposed a tax on plastic bags and reduced their use by 90 percent.)

Though the defeat of the Philly tax lay more in the intense lobbying by plastic-bag enthusiasts, I can see why some in Philadelphia would scoff at yet another tax. With that in mind, perhaps Philadelphia should use good old-fashioned shame to curb the use of plastic and paper.

Since we've already imposed ing regulations on fast-food outlets to tell us how much fat is in the food we eat there, maybe we should also tell people in checkout line at the market what effect their disposable bags have on the environment.

We can not-so-subtly remind them that Americans consume about a 100 billion plastic bags a year (an estimated 4 billion end up as litter) or that paper grocery bags require the harvesting of more than 10 million trees a year. Maybe it's a sign at the end of each line, or a reminder on each bag.

If we can cut our plastic-bag habit by half, there would be a lot less litter, and it would be a terrific lesson for today's waste-saturated youth. While we all have a long way to go to becoming less wasteful, reducing this item from the grocery list would be a good start.

You can reach A.J. Thomson

at ajthomson7@gmail.com.