[Effervesced by guest poster See-Dubya]
The Oldsmobile of sodas. What Gray Davis is to politicians, what Bud Lite is to beer, Sierra Mist! is to soda. A yawn in every glass. It’s like Sprite, but for when contractual obligations forbid the serving of Sprite. Lymon? No. UnCola? No. Just a focus-grouped name that sounds like a Rite-Aid knockoff of Mountain Dew. It’s soda for losers without the self-confidence to order a 7-UP.
What sort of unjust world do we live in, in which Peach Nehi has almost faded from the memories of old gray-beards like me (okay, I’m clean-shaven but never mind) and is only available over specialty internet sites, yet Sierra Mist! is ubiquitous? Oh, yeah, that’s progress, amigos. And hey, how about that NAFTA and all its promised benefits? Sure, you can get cocaine and illegal labor on any street corner in America, but if you’re looking for cane sugar and interesting sodas that will really Lift your Manzanitas outside of a few bodegitas in LA, you’ve got to change countries. Sure, that’s worth it.
Free trade is a crock.
Alas, all this talk of soda has excited my baser passions. As I mentioned below, I have forsworn carbonated beverages for Lent; but I fear that Eastertide will pass and leave me in an orgy of wretched excess, guzzling a crate of tamarind Jarritos (the Salma Hayek of soda pop!) before I even let them properly chill, and then belching forth my fury at the wretched soul-smothering corporate soda masters who keep me from consummating my carbonated fantasies. It ain’t gonna be pretty.
FULL DISCLOSURE: As reported below, I once received a modest scholarship from Coca-Cola. Cathy Seipp seemed good-naturedly satisfied with my transparent blogging ethics, but I figure repeating the disclosure will keep me on the safe side of getting Fumento’d.