DAY TWO AND THREE: My daughter made her first attempt at selling cookies herself and walked around the neighborhood. The result: 18 boxes sold and $72 raised. Meanwhile, I’m still dealing crack, I mean cookies, to the addicts at work. Here’s the total so far: 79 boxes sold, $316 raised. My daughter already has earned the light-up compact mirror and is well on her way to the glitter backpack.
The breakdown: Thin Mints still kicking ass, 21 boxes. Samoas (18), Tag-alongs (14). Of the new flavors, Lemon Chalet Creme are in the lead, nine boxes. Nobody wants All Abouts or sugar-free chocolate chips. The problem with the sugar-free chocolate chips is there is no catchy name. How about Eat-The-Whole-Box?
The big surprise is the Trefoil. This is the flagship of the line, but it’s the worst seller so far: just three boxes. Trefoils are Commodore 64 to Thin Mints’ Wii.

That collective groan you may have heard Monday morning was every kid in my town waking up, looking outside and realizing they had been totally screwed over. There was no six to eight inches of snow. There was no school cancellation. There was no pack of snow-booted grade schoolers plodding over to the sledding hill.
Parents, like me, had assured their kids that school was going to be cancelled and there would be plenty of snow to play in.
“See, the weatherman is showing snow graphics! Inch-depths! Commuter warnings!”
All our promises did was once again prove to our kids that we don’t know squat.
“Sure, dad, study hard and get into Yale.”
“You bet, mom, Jager shots and piercings are a bad idea.”

That’s right, it’s Girl Scout cookie time. My daughter, who sold the most boxes in her troop last year, is going strong out of the gate. I’ll be tracking sales daily and posting totals here, because I know there’s only so much news about pregant celebs to keep you busy. Will she top last year’s totals? The tension is unbearable. “24” has been delayed because of the writer’s strike, so get your cliffhanger fix right here.
DAY ONE: Ka-ching! Good father that I am, I brought the order form to work. My colleagues are like voracious ants. Boxes sold: 40. Cash earned: $160. Most popular: Thin Mints (12), Tagalongs (9). Least popular: All-Abouts (1)

So I’m at the library with the kids, and of course they’re making Britney Spears and the San Francisco zoo tiger look well-behaved by comparison.
Therefore, I only have a few precious seconds to flip through the CD stacks for good records I’m too cheap to buy. (Oooh, Ryan Adams. Hello, Hold Steady.) That’s when my hand comes to rest on something so shocking, so brutally nostalgic that I quickly look around to make sure no one has seen me linger on this record.
Ted Nugent. Double Live Gonzo.
Two thoughts enter my head. “What is this doing in a place of learning?” and “God, I loved this album.”
So I don’t care if somebody sees me. I’m borrowing this record. My original vinyl copy is long gone, tossed after bands like The Clash and Gang of Four made Ted Nugent seem hopelessly lame. Also long gone, three other icons of the 70’s double live oeuvre: Kiss Alive, Frampton Comes Alive and Sknyrd’s One More From the Road. (I still have The Tubes’ What Do You Want From Live”)
Later that day, for the first time in nearly 30 years, I put “Double Live Gonzo” on my stereo. Suddenly it’s 1978 and I’m in my bedroom, cranking up the volume. How did my parents put up with this? Ted screaming “Anybody wants to get even a little bit mellow can get the &*%# outta here!” and “This is for all that fine Nashville %^&*#”
It makes me realize how little leverage I have as a parent when my daughters start listening to gangster rap or some other awful genre that hasn’t been invented yet. I listened — no, reveled in — the worst of the worst. Worst, as in best. And I turned out alright. Sort of.
I now have to return “Double Live Gonzo” but two impressions will stay with me. Some band should cover “Great White Buffalo.” And right now, thanks to the USA Patriot Act, the federal government knows I borrowed DLG from the library. And to them I say, “Yank Me, Crank Me!”