Plastic is advancing up the food chain. A seabird hundreds of miles from the nearest shore swoops down on a floating lighter tossed off a freighter. The bird thinks the Bic is edible and swallows it, taking up space in its stomach meant for real food that could be regurgitated for its young. We know this from autopsies performed on albatross’ stomachs by researchers in the Northwest Hawaiian Islands. If we were there, we’d know it by the plastic washing up by the ton on what should be pristine beaches. We respond to this news with plastic awareness. The question in the checkout line now is paper, plastic … or what? Except, invariably, you have left your earth-friendly cloth bag in the back seat, out in the parking lot. It doesn’t matter. I’m now a no-bag guy, like a balancing clown in a circus, zigzagging with my precarious pyramid of stuff, looking like someone flunking a DUI test, trying not to drop anything en route to the truck. Recycling is habit forming. My neigh