I can put you down for some Thin Mints, right? Everyone loves Thin Mints, because we all know "mint" has no calories, and the word "thin" suggests you will gain no weight. The calories expended in chewing the cookie may exceed the calories in the cookie itself. Who knows? All those ads on the Internet -- you know, "Minnetonka Mom Loses 1,238 lbs by following 1 rule" -- could refer to the Girl Scout Cookie Diet, where you eat one cookie per day and solve hunger pains by gnawing on back issues of Bon Appetit. (But not the dessert issue.) No such illusions attach themselves to Samoas, loaded with sinful caramel; eat three and you feel like you should be lying in straw in the State Fair hog barn weakly flicking flies with your tail.
Yes, it's a tradition of the empty months between the start of the year and the first slow stirrings of spring. Someone in the office has a Girl Scout daughter, and out comes the Sheet of Guilt. I make a rather straightforward pitch: You want my daughter to sour on personal initiative, charity, capitalism and the ability of young women to compete in the modern economy, just say so. Say it to my face. That's usually good for a box or two.
Everyone studies the list of cookies as if expecting something new or anticipating the loss of an old favorite. Don't worry. When the Enterprise leaves space dock in 300 years, they will have Thin Mints. (And the news-screens will still run "Peanuts.")
Not to say there's no change -- a few years ago they dropped palm oil from some cookies, and yea, the lamentations were many. People got mad. You ruined my Trefoils! Look, lady, go to the movie store, fill a go-cup with popcorn goop, and use it for dippin' sauce. You won't miss the palm oil. For heaven's sake, dissolve a stick of margarine in some motor oil and drizzle it over your Do-si-dos, if you'll pardon the expression.
It's difficult to imagine people getting torqued over Girl Scout cookies, but there is no matter too microscopic that it cannot be covered in a rich coating of misinformation over a nougat of nonsense.
For example. The local Girl Scouts governing body has sent out a fact sheet about a cookie boycott urged by "a local AM radio station." An unnamed talk show host has told people not to buy cookies, because the Girl Scouts shovel untold quantities of confection-derived money to Planned Parenthood. If this were true, many would consider this relationship when Biscuit Distribution Season rolled around. But it's not. Says the press release:
"Girl Scouts of Minnesota and Wisconsin River Valleys ... does not have a relationship with Minnesota Planned Parenthood, nor do we give or receive any council funding from Planned Parenthood." And there's this:
"We are proud of the wonderful relationships we have with the local faith communities and the Girl Scouts' religious recognitions programs, which includes a positive relationship with the Archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis. They have been a good supporter of Girl Scouting programs and initiatives over the last several years."
Which talk show said this? I don't know, said the dogged, tireless columnist. A spokesperson for the Girl Scouts declined to name the station or program, but apparently it was a nationally syndicated show carried on a local station. Meaning, someone on the air somewhere passed along something they read on the Internet written by someone who heard someone talk about something someone said in another market. If that chain of evidence seems sufficient to you, there are Nigerian spammers who would love your e-mail address. So: There's no reason to boycott Girl Scout cookies. Cookies + charity + great fun for the girls = good idea. And while we're at it: What's keeping the Boy Scouts from an annual jerky drive? Put me down for two boxes of lamb. Three if they come with mint sauce.
jlileks@startribune.com • 612-673-7858 More daily at www.startribune.com/buzz
