Marcella: You know, when you start getting invited to your ten year high school reunion, time is catching up.
Martin Q. Blank: Are you talking about a sense of my own mortality or a fear of death?
Marcella: Well, I never really thought about it quite like that.
Martin Q. Blank: Did you go to your reunion?
Marcella: Yes, I did. It was just as if everyone had swelled.

My 10 year high school reunion is coming up. I won’t be attending.

Not because I’m better than a traditional event like that or anything, my reason wouldn’t be that dickish. It’s that I graduated from a high school/college magnet school and I don’t think we have a reunion?

However, it gets you thinking. Would I go even if there was one? Probably not.

Once again, not because I’m an asshole, or that I don’t care, I just…already know what you fucking people have been up to.

Social media has cock-blocked us all from surprising one another.

• You know how the nerdy kid from high school is doing because he posted a pic of his new BMW on Facebook last week.
• You’ve seen the prom queen’s 2 daughters…one of them is cross-eyed, how come nobody points this out?!
• The captain of the football team is doing good as a broker.
• The old burnouts still…well, I deleted them as a friend. No clue what they’re up to.
• The valedictorian is now a hipster.

The dream of seeing the captain of the football team or head cheerleader and showing them how far you’ve come is now online.

You may not fulfill that dream of sneaking off from the reunion, getting your school-crush alone by your old locker and finally making out…but you can get drunk in your house and send them a message at 3am on Facebook:

No need to rent a fancy car to arrive in anymore, because your 200+ friends online probably know you drive an old Mazda. We glance into these people’s lives every time we open up our homepages. The successful show off their strengths and accomplishments.

We know you bar-tend now.

We know you’re going back to school.

We know about the divorce. Our condolences.

We see you succeed, we see you fail.

We know Steve has a blog. We know who owns their own business. We see you joke, serious, hurt, happy. We see your promotion. We see your lay-off. We see you’re selling your couch. We see your vacation photos.

What have you been up to the past 10 years??

“I’m, uh, I’m a pet psychiatrist. I sell couch insurance. Mm-hmm, and I – and I test-market positive thinking. I lead a weekend men’s group, we specialize in ritual killings. Yeah, you look great! God, yeah! Hi, how are you? Hi, how are you? Hi, I’m Martin Blank, you remember me? I’m not married, I don’t have any kids, but I’d blow your head off if someone paid me enough.”

I have nothing interesting to say, no developments that will astound you.

• I still make dick jokes…like I always did in 2nd period English.
• I’m going back to school full-time at UNR.
• I have a 5 year old.
• I was a television camera man for 6 years and I loved it.
• I have a girlfriend.
• I have a house and a car.
• I sit down to pee way more than I should for being male.
• I’ve gained way too much weight in the past 6 months.
• I still love Green Day.
• I still talk about my boners and masturbation despite the fact that a major portion of my audience is close family and co-workers. It creeps the fuck out of them, and I revel in it.
• I still try way too hard for a punchline, but you know that one will land eventually. Promise.

That’s why we’ve stayed in contact. That’s why we bullshit, share FB links, ‘like’ each others updates, comment on photos, tweet each other. Every now and then even grab a beer and discuss politics.

The high school reunion is becoming an endangered species.

It used to be a magical place where you could fudge the facts a little, put out the best version of yourself for 4 hours and then go home drunk, to your cat, saying you got ‘pussy’ the next day at work.

Now you can have your high school reunion on your laptop, in pajama pants, drinking a Mickey’s wide-mouth and entering an email address and password. Your reunion spams the shit out of your inbox.

High School nostalgia is now backed up on a flashdrive and has a .com address.

We all want the bragging rights during this decade tradition of reintroduction. Sometimes it doesn’t happen.

Mr. Newberry: What have you been doing with your life?
Marty: Uh… professional killer.
Mr. Newberry: Oh! Good for you, it’s a… growth industry.

To me it’s a bad thing, because-

I want to fudge the facts.

I want to rent the car.

I want to lie about my position at work.

I want to charge the whole night on a card with 5% interest and seem like a baller.

I want to tell you about my upcoming non-existent HBO special.

I want to fuck the prom queen.

Instead, I’m okay. I’m updated on everyone. You all make me smile, I hope the sentiment is mutual. I can’t wait to see the pictures and updates from everyone who attends, that’s all the experience I will need. It’s a night of nostalgia. It’s a night of friends. It’s a night of well-deserved gloating and sharing, but…

It’s not me. – Martin Blank