What does it mean to be poor in Sprite?

Ah, it's the end of the year again. Quarantine Thanksgiving is past. COVID Christmas is over. Now time to sit at home, binge The Mandalorian, and try to stay awake for the new year. 2021. The year we all secretly have placed our hopes in but don't admit out loud for fear of provoking an invasion of Kaiju.

Usually there is hope and celebration this time of year. A chance to briefly think about all the hardships of the past twelve months and then vow to never mention them again. To be with friends, or acquaintances, or family, eat nachos, wear silly hats, and sip some punch.

The punch, in particular, is why I write to you this festive day. New Year's Eve parties are notorious for punch. Perhaps some Sprite, fruit juice, slices of orange, some ice cream, maybe a little rum. But this New Year's Eve will not be like any others. Instead of raucous parties of people we kind of know randomly quoting When Harry met Sally, it's a quiet house—or apartment—the slippers, and the remote control.

I beseech you, if you choose to attempt to recreate a little bit of normalcy and whip up a bunch of punch, do not be poor in Sprite. Sure, the year has been depressing. That doesn't mean it's a good idea to spend the evening with a half-gallon of Ben & Jerry's, a spoon, and a fifth of rum. This is one year we must meet soberly, with clear eyes and clear heads. If you feel you must indulge, try out the cherry flavored Sprite. If your tummy's a little queasy from too many nachos, try the ginger. It's okay to feel the weight of the year—remember, the poor in spirit will inherit the kingdom of heaven.

So, this New Year's Eve, set aside the rum and the champagne and the mulled wine. Walk into the year strong, ready to face whatever 2021 has to offer. Hangovers will not be helpful when Grogu calls for our aid in his battle against the Kaiju.

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