I’ll Have The Chicken, And The Flood Of Painful Memories. Thanks!

I got word today that the mailer for our 10 year High School reunion is being sent out, and if that wasn’t a scary enough idea, they’re asking for $116.

Per person. Yikes.

I like to think that I keep in pretty close contact to a lot of my friends from High School. We talk online a lot, Facebook helps, and I try to make it back home to hang out when I can. Still I was a little stoked at the idea of getting all of my friends back together in the same place at the same time.

Plus there is a good amount of people who I’ve just plain lost touch with over the years, and who it would be nice to catch up with.

So I was actually warming up to the idea of a big party reminding us that we’re almost 30 and that we should have done something with our lives already, just so long as I got to see some friendly faces.

(Oh and the fact that I have a pretty decent job and a cute fiancee that I can show off, doesn’t hurt either.)

But really, $236 to eat bad food, and spend the night shaking the smiling hands of a whole bunch of people who I never really talked to then, but who want to talk now for nostalgia’s sake?

Couldn’t I just spend it on a X-Box, a box set of Star Trek: The Next Generation, and probably achieve the same level of feeling like a goofy nerd all over again?

Naturally a friend and I started toying around with the idea of throwing the anti-reuinon. We would rent a place, get some food booze and music, and show those money-grubbing reunion organizers what’s what!

Of course the ironic thing is, even after being able to get a discount on a hall to have it in, and a sound system, we probably STILL wouldn’t be able to bring it down below $116 per person.

Plus then you got the set up, getting the word out, and of course the clean up…

Hell man I’m willing to pay $116 right now to avoid all that crap.

Still the rebel in me thinks it would be cool to set up our own part, and even invite the people who we hung out with who were in grades above and below ours. Ah… it will probably never happen, but it would be soo cool…

PS – Oh and one last thing, since I have not received my own invite yet, and was told the price by a friend who did, I have to point out that I obviously haven’t received all the details yet. There could very well be a big flip-side to the mailer that points out that for our money not only will the food be provided in a Iron Chief fashion were Alton Brown oversees a cook off between Mario Batali and Gordon Ramsey (Fuck off, you wooden shoe wearing, donkey dick!), but that we’ll be flown to the Bahamas in a tricked out Airbus A380, while U2 provides the soundtrack.

However I’m pretty sure we’re all expected to make it down to Priceton area so we can eat bland, “safe” food (”Chicken or beef?”), while listening to wedding DJ who still plays “Electric Avenue.”
So, anybody else going?

PPS – I think, “Wooden shoe wearing, donkey dick,” is either my new favorite curse, or the name of my new band.

Both.