2008 Woodie Awards
It's hard saving the world
Ryan Kathman
Issue date: 1/30/08 Section: Features
So I woke up this morning to the sound of my alarm clock blaring talk radio chatter.
Since I'm trying to be more environmentally conscious, I immediately hit the snooze button so as to limit the amount of noise pollution it was causing. Of course, about 10 minutes later, the petulant alarm mocked my efforts, seeming to return with increased fervor and force. Man, it's not easy saving the planet.
After I finally managed to quell the din of morning show banter coming from my dresser, I stumbled out into the harsh morning light spilling through my kitchen window, only to realize that part of the light was from the tiny bulb that hangs above my stove.
I'd mistakenly left it on last night. With a sigh that drained my energy almost as much as my carelessness had drained the bulb for eight hours last night, I mentally added to the tally: wasteful behavior: 2, Earth: 0.
Next, in a partial attempt to wash off my guilt, I hopped into the shower. As I stood there, it occurred to me that the more eco-friendly I tried to be, the higher my stress level climbed.
In fact, that term eco-friendly is deceptively positive, considering how intense adopting that kind of lifestyle can be.
Suddenly, I ceased my musing and realized that I'd been standing there for several minutes, allowing gallons and gallons of water to spill down the drain, like the tears of the guy in a 1980s littering commercial. "D'oh!" I blurted and slapped my forehead, which had wrinkled.
Once I'd dressed and attempted a penance by brushing my teeth without water (oh, so bristly), I decided to take my mind off things by checking my e-mail. Soon I was greeted with another electronic guilt trip courtesy of the World Wildlife Fund, a group whose e-mail list my friends blackmailed me into joining.
If there's any doubt as to the intimidation powers the WWF possesses, witness its successful bid to force the World Wrestling Federation to change their acronym to WWE (I'm assuming the "E" stands for "Ever-so-scared-of-WWF").
Anyway, this latest message gently encouraged me to "Make it a Wild Valentine's Day" by adopting an endangered animal and giving my special someone a plush snow leopard in an adorable little red bag.
Of course, I've been receiving these e-mails for years now and have never taken them up on their offer, which exponentially increases my shame every time.
"Is anyone really going to miss the snow leopard?" I grumbled to myself. "If it was meant to survive, maybe it shouldn't try to live in the snow."
As soon as I'd thought it, the familiar feeling of remorse immediately started creeping up my throat. But this time, I quickly stifled it with a gulp. I looked at my half-empty can of Diet Mountain Dew, which I would dutifully dispose of in a trash can reserved solely for recyclables. This is despite the fact I hadn't yet signed up for recycling at my apartment.
I looked at the paper in my printer and realized, although I pay all my bills online to save paper, I never use both sides of a sheet when printing out Mapquest directions.
And shortly, when I drive to school, I knew I could feel good about using cruise control whenever possible to conserve on gas, but that feeling would inevitably be negated by the guilt of not buying a hybrid car in the first place.
What is the point? Why do I make tiny attempts to be a good steward of the planet when it's just a drop in the proverbial bucket and won't make much difference in the long run?
Why make my life more inconvenient when Al Gore keeps telling me that we're going down the pooper unless my government takes some big initiative?
Then, just as I'd resolved to not properly dispose of my next empty toner cartridge, I looked outside my third floor window. The early morning sky was a stunning blend of blue and orange. Off in the distance, I could see barren cornfields stretching across the horizon.
Just below me, a squirrel skipped and frolicked across the busy street, narrowly evading a gas-guzzling SUV that was seeping exhaust fumes and blasting rock music out of its windows.
With a sigh, I shut down my computer properly and turned my thermostat down a couple of notches.
I guess if my meager efforts help counterbalance people like that SUV driver, a couple of more worry lines are worth it.
Ryan Kathman is a graduate acting student. He can be reached at ryankathman@dailynebraskan.com.
Since I'm trying to be more environmentally conscious, I immediately hit the snooze button so as to limit the amount of noise pollution it was causing. Of course, about 10 minutes later, the petulant alarm mocked my efforts, seeming to return with increased fervor and force. Man, it's not easy saving the planet.
After I finally managed to quell the din of morning show banter coming from my dresser, I stumbled out into the harsh morning light spilling through my kitchen window, only to realize that part of the light was from the tiny bulb that hangs above my stove.
I'd mistakenly left it on last night. With a sigh that drained my energy almost as much as my carelessness had drained the bulb for eight hours last night, I mentally added to the tally: wasteful behavior: 2, Earth: 0.
Next, in a partial attempt to wash off my guilt, I hopped into the shower. As I stood there, it occurred to me that the more eco-friendly I tried to be, the higher my stress level climbed.
In fact, that term eco-friendly is deceptively positive, considering how intense adopting that kind of lifestyle can be.
Suddenly, I ceased my musing and realized that I'd been standing there for several minutes, allowing gallons and gallons of water to spill down the drain, like the tears of the guy in a 1980s littering commercial. "D'oh!" I blurted and slapped my forehead, which had wrinkled.
Once I'd dressed and attempted a penance by brushing my teeth without water (oh, so bristly), I decided to take my mind off things by checking my e-mail. Soon I was greeted with another electronic guilt trip courtesy of the World Wildlife Fund, a group whose e-mail list my friends blackmailed me into joining.
If there's any doubt as to the intimidation powers the WWF possesses, witness its successful bid to force the World Wrestling Federation to change their acronym to WWE (I'm assuming the "E" stands for "Ever-so-scared-of-WWF").
Anyway, this latest message gently encouraged me to "Make it a Wild Valentine's Day" by adopting an endangered animal and giving my special someone a plush snow leopard in an adorable little red bag.
Of course, I've been receiving these e-mails for years now and have never taken them up on their offer, which exponentially increases my shame every time.
"Is anyone really going to miss the snow leopard?" I grumbled to myself. "If it was meant to survive, maybe it shouldn't try to live in the snow."
As soon as I'd thought it, the familiar feeling of remorse immediately started creeping up my throat. But this time, I quickly stifled it with a gulp. I looked at my half-empty can of Diet Mountain Dew, which I would dutifully dispose of in a trash can reserved solely for recyclables. This is despite the fact I hadn't yet signed up for recycling at my apartment.
I looked at the paper in my printer and realized, although I pay all my bills online to save paper, I never use both sides of a sheet when printing out Mapquest directions.
And shortly, when I drive to school, I knew I could feel good about using cruise control whenever possible to conserve on gas, but that feeling would inevitably be negated by the guilt of not buying a hybrid car in the first place.
What is the point? Why do I make tiny attempts to be a good steward of the planet when it's just a drop in the proverbial bucket and won't make much difference in the long run?
Why make my life more inconvenient when Al Gore keeps telling me that we're going down the pooper unless my government takes some big initiative?
Then, just as I'd resolved to not properly dispose of my next empty toner cartridge, I looked outside my third floor window. The early morning sky was a stunning blend of blue and orange. Off in the distance, I could see barren cornfields stretching across the horizon.
Just below me, a squirrel skipped and frolicked across the busy street, narrowly evading a gas-guzzling SUV that was seeping exhaust fumes and blasting rock music out of its windows.
With a sigh, I shut down my computer properly and turned my thermostat down a couple of notches.
I guess if my meager efforts help counterbalance people like that SUV driver, a couple of more worry lines are worth it.
Ryan Kathman is a graduate acting student. He can be reached at ryankathman@dailynebraskan.com.
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