You know that saying that goes “if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem”? It seems a bit simplistic, but sometimes it seems like it’s really true. I also feel like we need an updated version, like “if you’re part of the problem, you’re still part of the problem, even if you call attention to the problem” or maybe “calling attention to the problem doesn’t give you an exemption when you are the problem.”

I started thinking about this when I noticed an article in the Times about the “Dark Side of America’s Thirst for Energy,” as the article title so handily put it. At first glance, I thought it was going to be an article about oil and gas fields in Wyoming, making readers more aware of the fact that once pristine landscapes in the United States are being ruined because their community’s lack California’s clout when it comes to opposing the exploitation of natural resources.

Instead, it’s a tragic sob story about author Alexandra Fuller and her two homes in Wyoming.

I mean, I don’t know about you, but I really feel for someone who has a 2,500 square foot home, and then builds a cabin 60 miles away. Because there’s something about that which just screams “sacrifice” to me. Thank Pete Alexandra Fuller was able to build that little retreat cabin so that she could sit in it and write a book about how terrible the oil and gas industry in Wyoming is.

Seriously?

The book is all about the “vast differences between her two homes and the land they occupy,” according to the Times. Yeah, I’m sure. Maybe there’s even a bit about her angst at having to own such a gigantic home, and her moral dilemma about whether or not she should own it. In fact, maybe she’s even going to give her house to a teen shelter, so that she can do some good in the world. (And before you tell me that I should take pity on her because she has children, take a look at Walter Jeffries’ tiny cottage, built for him and his family in Vermont, and tell me again that parents need huge houses.)

I think it’s been established that I am not impressed by big houses, and that in fact I think they are pretty vile. I’m also an extremely judgmental person, so I have no problem calling bullshit on Alexandra Fuller and her disgustingly huge house. If she really cares about the environment in Wyoming, maybe she shouldn’t be part of the problem. Maybe she should have one house, instead of two, so that she doesn’t commute. Maybe she should be active in her community (and in all fairness maybe she is) and perhaps she should help organize sustainable alternatives for the use of the land around her, rather than whining to the New York Times about it.

But I have to say, I have a really hard time taking any criticism of the American lifestyle from someone who is living it. I’m a utilitarian, and I believe that we all need to make sacrifices if we want to live in a better world. The truth of the matter is that if I was living in my dream house, it wouldn’t be that much larger than my house is now, and it would be a lot more energy efficient. Not because it’s trendy, but because that’s the kind of house I like, and because that’s the tradeoff I make. I live in a small house so that future generations will be able to enjoy some of the things I have, like swimming in the ocean and walking in the woods.

“It is critical, Ms. Fuller said, that people know who to blame,” says the New York Times. And she’s right. We do need to know who to blame, and it’s people like her. People with giant trophy houses who lack the understanding to realize that to make a difference in this world, you have to sacrifice a little.

“It’s something we’re all doing,” says Fuller at the end of the article, but she’s wrong. It’s something she’s doing, and something the people like her are doing. Being enough of a celebrity to get the word out doesn’t excuse you. I’m a firm believer that if you don’t vote and you’re eligible, you don’t get to bitch about politics, and the same holds true for the environment. If you don’t vote for the environment with your lifestyle, then you don’t get to have a say.

Sorry, but that’s how the cookie crumbles.