Zima. So, it came back this month. Photos posted. Digital ink spilled. For what, a wave of nostalgia for something that was barely a flash in the pan and was barely even consumable?
On my other hand, if people can somehow choke down Monster energy drinks and their ilk, why not tempt their tastebuds with what has been called in THIS illustrative Slate piece “tinfoil soaked in Fresca”.
Here’s the deal; Zima was a weird Frankenstein alco-pop. It wasn’t Donnie Darko or some other piece of pop culture ephemera that was too early to be recognized. It was recognized as bad in a time when there were few good beer choices and failed. It limped along in multiple incarnations only to never catch that momentary spark again.
You can say that I am a killjoy. What’s a few laughs about the past? Well, unless you are rocking a Flock of Seagulls hair style, then please administer your own dose of STFU. You could say I am raising this to a level it doesn’t deserve. True. But this country could use a whole lot more introspection and a lot less, “but it’s fun.”
We don’t need to bow down to beer snobs but we could use a ton of more reverence to the food and drink we consume. I won’t stop anyone from watching Bachelor in Paradise but I will tell those diehard viewers that you could watch a documentary that lifts the mind and soul and still be cool.
So let’s leave Zima in the past with the other historical moments this country wishes it could erase.
Crap, maybe Zima came back because of Trump. Knowing we would need to forget this horrible time like a nightmare.
