So I turn 61 tomorrow. Big friggin’ deal.
Of course, you could argue that still being alive at 61 is milestone enough, but, really, it’s nothing to get excited about. It’s not like one of those post-Super Bowl commercials:
- VOICE-OVER: “Mark Hallen–you just turned 61. What are you going to do next?”
MARK: “I’m going to breathe!”
The problem is, being 61 doesn’t let you do anything for the first time, like when you turned 15 and got your learner’s permit, or the first time you voted at 18.
I think every age should be the legal age for something. Each birthday should deliver the same thrill you got when you turned 21 and used your actual ID in a bar for the first time.
A legal adult child eviction age might be good, although based on personal experience, I do not know what age that should be. Seventy-one could be the legal age for white belts, while you should have to be 77 to be allowed to eat dinner before 5 pm.
Pharmacies should demand proof of age before selling Just for Men (“I don’t care how gray your beard is, sir. You have to be 48 to paint it.”), and I don’t think people should be allowed to have children before 22 because you really need at least a year of heavy drinking under your belt before having kids.
I think 83 is a good minimum age for watching the CBS Evening News.
You could also designate certain birthdays for subtle reminders or pep talks. How about 29 for the “Remember When You Swore You’d Have Your First Million By Now” Birthday? That could be followed two years later by the “Face It, You’re a Failure” Birthday. But don’t worry–39 is the “Don’t Worry; Stan Lee Didn’t Create the Fantastic Four Until He Was 39″ Birthday.
My “something every year” concept could work the opposite way, too. We could prohibit things after a certain age, which would make the year before that a frenzy of “getting it out of your system.” No binge-watching of Nickelodeon shows from when you were a kid after age 26, for instance. No mini-skirts or bikinis after 53. No painting your face in your team’s colors after 41 could be another. And 72 should be the limit for rock n’ roll reunion concerts, either going to them or playing in them (especially if your lead singer has been dead for decades).
Also, I believe that 69 should be the “Oh, Just Give Up, Already” birthday, after which no cosmetic surgery is allowed.
All of that, however, does nothing to alleviate my immediate problem, which is my dull, “nothing-happens-at-61” 61st birthday.
So here’s my proposal, which should be put into effect at once: upon turning 61, you need only present proof of age to purchase medical marijuana. No illness is necessary. The philosophy is, “hey, you’ve lived 61 years, you’ve earned it. Go ahead and light up.”
Happy birthday to me.
See you soon.