Sunday, March 25, 2007
A license plate doesn't make you special
Christian Trejbal
Recent columns
- Making sense of local elections
- Voters have only themselves to blame
- Money flows freely to local candidates
- Candidates contemplate a little big-box store
From the RoundTable blog
Years ago, when my parents piled the kids into the van for an interstate vacation, one of the games we played was spot the license plates. It's a common enough game, but its days are probably waning now that many family vehicles have back-seat DVD players to keep the kids entertained.
The premise was straightforward: Try to find a car from each of the 50 states. We'd check off states on a list as we found them.
No one ever won, of course. Those Alaska and Hawaii plates are devilishly difficult to find in the Midwest.
Perhaps it's just as well that video entertainment has supplanted hunt-and-search games. Children in Virginia could take things to a maddeningly complex level.
Like many states, Virginia offers more than just a tactfully discreet, basic license plate. Virginians can choose from more than 180 alternative plates, with more in the works. Imagine trying to spot all of those during an eight-hour car ride to the beach.
Vehicle personalization always struck me as a bit silly, but it's none of my business what people stick on their cars. Indeed, custom plates and bumper and window stickers can actually be helpful. Particularly funny or insightful ones, which are rare, can brighten up a grumpy drive.
They can reveal a lot about drivers, too. People clinging to their Nader 2000 stickers are either too lazy to clean their car or so die-hard they cannot move on.
At the other end of the political spectrum, stickers for failed Republican candidates such as George Allen and slogans of blind support for the president or the war in Iraq reveal much.
The nice thing about the political ones is that they encourage a marketplace of ideas on the highway. When I see a car plastered with stickers promoting candidates or views with which I disagree, I treat them just like the gas-guzzling, road-hogging sport utility vehicles I find equally morally bankrupt: I don't yield to them.
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I assume people of all political persuasions follow similar driving maxims, even if subconsciously. One of the reasons to wear politics and religion on the sleeve -- or in this case the bumper -- is to evoke a reaction. Perhaps if enough motorists refused to yield to SUVs, their owners might reconsider their automotive choice.
Yet as handy as specialty plates are, does Virginia really need nearly 200 of them? It seems like a bit of overkill, especially given that many of the plates have nothing to do with the commonwealth.
Consider colleges. The University of Virginia, Virginia Tech, College of William and Mary and a bunch of other schools have one or more plates for boosters and alumni. Fair enough.
But so many out-of-state schools? Georgia Tech, Ohio State, Auburn, Florida State and many others have Virginia plates. Not only does purchasing one display a disdain for Virginia's excellent institutions of higher learning, but it also reveals misguided devotion to inferior sporting rivals over the Hokies and the Cavaliers.
Then there are the downright strange plates.
Bicycle enthusiasts? What are you doing in a car?
Freemason? See, they really do control everything.
Internet C@pital? The Internet has no capital, at least not in the physical world.
Parrotheads? Good idea. Let's mix margaritas, bad music and driving.
And, in about two weeks, a U.S. Army plate goes on sale, complete with a recruiting Web address. Has the Army become so desperate it must search for recruits on Virginia roads? Maybe the military will order some of those plates for the pimped-out cars teenagers for to associate with military service, as opposed to dying in Iraq.
In some sense, feeling special is what vanity plates are all about. I'll stick with the basic model.
Christian Trejbal is an editorial writer for The Roanoke Times based in the New River Valley bureau in Christiansburg.
