Plated up

As you know, I love sussing out stories from my surroundings. And as a fourth-generation Californian, I look to motor vehicles as extensions of people’s personal narratives. Whether it’s stating practical capabilities, asking the big questions or going Mitty, your vanity plate is more than just an tag. It’s like a DMV equivalent of a hashtag, actually.

In the Old Dominion, of course, people are somewhat less inclined to be, um, freewheeling than on the west coast. Long after Californians had been pushing the envelope for raging against the Man (or whatever), Virginians were spending extra to have their initials on their plates. If they were making long-term bets on their marriages, they’d have his-n-hers initials.

These days they’re opening up some, as I’ve noted before. And you're more likely to find sweetness and light, as in this nature lover:

But here’s someone living on the edge:

And I’m thinking that the guy who let this one get out of the state pen didn’t know anything about Aleister Crowley. Probably thought it was the applicant’s mama's name.

Even so, the award for taking the piss goes to this person back in my home state:

That’s what I call making a statement.