In a couple weeks (less than, actually), I turn forty. This fact always fails to impress those who have passed forty, and particularly those on the golden side of 50, 60, 70, etc. (my dad, 77, is especially insufferable). But let us not underestimate what it means for those who have already begun to endure the Hair Rebellion*: we ain’t no spring chickens. Youth is spent. Under no circumstances can I be confused for a young hipster. The last time I was carded is some years in my rear-view mirror. (Good news: the age at which I have to produce ID to get a senior discount is yet years in my future!)

I realized that my youth was gone a few years back when I realized that I had, to the eyes of the undergrads at the college where I work, turned into a specter. I became not quite invisible–they still dodge around me when we’re on a collision course–but something like a bush or a trash bin. Turning forty merely puts the period to the end of the sentence.

However, I grieve none of this. In compensation for my lack of youth, I have the gathering wisdom of age. Example: 21-year-olds get drunk on crappy beer. But at the ripe old age of 40, I know better. I plan to christen my ruby anniversary with something a little more rare. But what? It’s not a choice I should or will take lightly. I imagine it should have some or all these characteristics: rare, aged, strong, intense.

So, what do you suggest? Got any leads?

Beervana