I'm about to head out to my 30th high school reunion in L.A. this weekend. 30 years! Impossible. Seems like only yesterday that I saw my parents off to their 25th. Time flies.
Yep, that's me with the big 70s, part-in-the-middle hair and the stylin' light blue, plaid polyester sportcoat.
The pharmaceutical industry is sometimes accused by critics of inventing medical conditions to create a drug market. Think restless leg syndrome and other problems that are such easy targets for funny commercial spoofs on shows like "Saturday Night Live."
Well, I've got an idea that would either make good fodder for a comedy show skit or, perhaps, offer a steady stream of revenue forever for some bold, innovative drug company.
It's a vaccine or just a four-hour antidote for high-school-reunion anxiety.
I've even got a proposed commercial name: "Reunaphoria."
This shouldn't come as a surprise, but I wasn't Big Man On Campus in high school. I was editor of the school paper and drum major of the marching band. Those are two geeky things that definitely don't make you part of the "in crowd." Sure, I had a strong circle of friends and a good time, but I think because I wasn't a popular BMOC or even a "surfer" that, in one of the strangest psychological phenomena, old insecure feelings immediately wash over me the moment I step foot into the hotel ballroom where the reunion's being held. Surfer, by the way, refers to the coolest clique designation at the time in my little section of the San Fernando Valley. You were either a surfer, a lowrider, a stoner or, for girls, a soche. I'm just guessing how that was spelled. It was a euphemism for stuck-up.
So, some of you might ask why I might subject myself to the emotional torture. Well, I go, frankly, because I want to and also because the ritual is a bit of a family legacy and tradition. My mom was always on the reunion planning committee up until her 55th reunion shortly before she died. And this could probably rarely be repeated in today's transient culture, but three generations of Huckmans went to my high school. Both of my parents, my two siblings and I, and my brother's three kids all went to the same high school. Plus, I won't deny that I'm proud of myself.
No doubt, reunions are strange rituals. Not to mention, they've become a lucrative little industry for reunion planners as most people are simply too busy to sit on reunion planning committees anymore.
In general, it takes about 10 years to develop a new drug. So, I figure by the time my 40th rolls around I might be able to talk to my doctor about "Reunaphoria." Until then, a deep breath will have to do the trick.
Please feel free to share your favorite/worst reunion story with the new Pharma's Market Comment Section.
Questions? Comments? Pharma@cnbc.com and follow me on Twitter at mhuckman