Speaking of driving, I’ve had a fascination with people’s license plate frames recently after finding out, with a well placed inquiry, that the license plate frames with “KA 4993†on them are not flashing CB call letters nor some secret Mormon code as I had previously deduced, but instead indicate that the driver is a family member of a CHP officer.
This got me thinking of other area specific car adornments, and, by far, I find the most annoying to be the “Harrold Ford since 1911†license plate frame. Why, you ask? Because, Harrold Ford, if you’ve been around since 1911 then you have had time to fix the stupid license plate frame you have where the numbers 1-9-1-1 run up into the corner of the frame like it was designed by some 6 year old who started with letters that were too big and still tried to cram everything in at the end of the line. Have some pride for Chrissakes. If your logo doesn’t fit on your advertising medium then maybe it’s time to find a new logo or a new medium, not to fit your oh so catchy logo on the back of a Focus that’s cluttered with “Mystery Spot†and “Keep Tahoe Blue†stickers. For the love of God, just put your name on the frame and leave it at that. Is that so hard? Maybe I should start taking the Light Rail.
The Sac Rag 
Which reminds me of a license plate holder I saw on December 22 as I was pulling into the Lowemann’s Plaza: “If you’re going to ride my ass, at least pull my hair”
Really, what’s the thought process of someone when purchasing this crap at an Arden Mall kiosk? I mean, who really thinks this is funny, AND who thinks it’s funny enough to identify yourself with it to the rest of the driving public.
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The only stickers you have to endure on the light rail are the over-saturated Andre The Giant stickers. I mean really, aren’t we over those by now? They were going out back when I used to kind of cool, so unless they’re around again as a sort of retro thing I can’t figure out how they’re still hanging on. No, I won’t “Obey.”
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I recently saw a license plate frame that actually said, “I f**k on the first date, wanna go out?” And the f-word was spelled out. She was driving north on Morse near BevMo. Gentlemen, start your engines.
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