By Janet Jacobs
The state of Texas is offering new license plates in “designer” colors including — I kid you not — pink.
There are others, of course. There’s the red, white and blue in various patterns, and there’s also solid red, solid black, burnt orange, and maroon, but the one that freaked me out was pink.
Pink Texas plates?
Our semi-official motto is “Don’t Mess With Texas,” which expresses not only our disdain for litter-bugs, but our tough attitude, and now we’re going for hot pink?
As a state, we’re right there with Mississippi for offering the least help for people who are old and poor, very young and poor, handicapped or sick, and we put the most people behind bars. Individually, we’re kind and generous, but collectively we’re just this side of mean, and we walk that talk.
Won’t pink license plates send the wrong message?
But that’s not the only change afoot. In June, the state announced the new general license plates. The general one is the one I’m most likely to get. You know, the cheap one.
It’s mostly sky blue with a dark silhouette of the Davis mountains along the bottom and a smear of red in the upper left hand corner. It’s kind of pretty, but here’s the crucial thing: It’s made of aluminum and it will have seven letters/numbers. My entire life Texas license plates have been made of steel and had six numbers or letters. These are radical changes in the license plate world.
Prisoners will still make the plates, but they’re going to use a new process that uses digital printing, no more painting and baking them on.
I think I’m more upset about the loss of steel license plates than any design or color changes. What will barbecue joints use to decorate the walls? What will farmers use to patch their barns, pens and trailers? What will bird-lovers use to make roofs for birdhouses? What will budding hunters use for target practice? I speak from experience when I say that using a powerful rifle on aluminum just creates an explosion of shiny metal confetti.
I asked a handful of people what they did with their old plates, and most said they used them for decorations or threw them away.
This is how white trash I am: I used my last set of old steel license plates to make repairs to my gate. Yeehaw.
I wish I were kidding. About a year ago, someone threw a small puppy out on the road and we took it in. The puppy could go through the gap in my cyclone fence gate like a greased pig. I tried various fixes, including putting in a small screen, which the dogs broke off in a day. They also disposed of the 18 colored ties, the metal stake, the wire spiderweb, and a whole bunch of other low-tech solutions I came up with. I live in the country and have a pack of six mutts who don’t care about pretty. They care about fun and food, and not necessarily in that order.
I needed something rugged, and I happened to have those plates that I’d just taken off my car, so I used one to dam up the gap and stop him from leaking out. That ended his wandering ways, and we have never again had to worry about him getting out and dancing under our wheels as we try to park.
Now, of course, he’s been with us for nearly a year, and has doubled his weight. I wish it were because he’s getting bigger, but in fact he’s only gotten rounder. He probably can’t get through the gap anymore, but the plate is still there, tied on with wire and looking as trashy as you please.
At least it looks serious. It’s not like I fixed my gate with a pink license plate, for heaven’s sake.
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Janet Jacobs is a Daily Sun staff writer. Her column appears on Sundays.
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