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	The Tag Game Published in Cleveland's Plain Dealer Sunday Magazine One of our national pastimes just became more entertaining. If you're a freelance vanity plate critic like me, you were cheered by the recent announcement that Ohio license plates now allow for seven characters instead of six. For those of us unwilling to shell out an extra $35 to make a statement everywhere we drive, that will mean a random combination of three letters and four numbers. For aficionados of personalized plates, the possibilities have been stretched dramatically. But before I go too far in my critique, I must concede that some personalized plates make me glad the owners were willing to ante up to express themselves. One that had particular utility for my family was OH GEE — the plate of my wife's obstetrician/gynecologist. When my wife was ready to move from the labor room to the delivery room to give birth to our first child, her doctor still hadn't arrived at the hospital. Guessing his whereabouts, his nurse phoned a nearby gas station to suggest if OH GEE happened to be there, maybe he shouldn't wait for a fill-up. The doctor got the message and arrived in the delivery room just before our son. A few months ago, I spotted WIL SU U on the road. There she was, just floating along in the left lane, apparently daring someone to sideswipe her. I steered clear of WlL SU U, thankful that she had let fellow drivers know she was cruisin' for a bruisin'. On the Inner Belt, I found myself behind IM LOST. Once again, a helpful plate. It doesn't hurt to know you're in the company of someone with absolutely no sense of direction — someone who is apt to veer across three lanes of traffic in a desperate attempt to exit the highway before inadvertently winding up in North Royalton. Another vanity plate that impresses me is the devoted couple: DON JOY, AL BARB, or, in this age of openness about alternative lifestyles, KEN JIM. Now that's commitment — banking that your relationship is going to stay intact at least until Ohio issues its next batch of license plates. But let's get critical. For openers, let's rate folks who showcase their careers on their license plates. I see a fine line here. When done cleverly, this genre brightens the traffic scene. GEMS 4U could be a jeweler, a fence, or a gossip columnist. BOOKIE is probably a librarian. GASMAN might be a service station operator, utility worker, or anesthesiologist. What I find woefully boring, however, are the unadorned statements of how the driver happens to make a living. Stuff like PLUMBER, TIRES, and ATTY. Come on! How about amusing us with I SNAKE, RETREAD, or I TRY? Lack of imagination takes many forms. Someone in my neighborhood drives REDAUD. The first time I saw that one, I wondered what it is to daud, or, when you do it again, to redaud. Then the deep significance of this plate broke through. It was affixed to a red Audi. Aha! The owner, in case I'm not able to identify the make and color of this automobile, is kindly spending about 70 cents a week to help me out. You see these a lot: BENZ 4, GRN BUG. These plates indicate that some folks worry that their car has an identity crisis. Most common among all vanity plates, of course, are names and initials. These tend to be neither offensive nor amusing, unless the driver has a cool nickname: SNEEZY, GRUMPY, DOPEY (and now BASHFUL will fit, too). Around the corner from us is a two-car family with a curious variation. He drives EDS DAD, and she — yeah, you guessed it — tools around in EDS MOM. Pathetic, huh? This couple's entire identity is tied up in sonny boy Ed. When they bump into friends, their cronies probably don't even inquire how they're doing. They just ask, "So, how's Ed?" What are the most reprehensible personal plates? Second place goes to those who proclaim that their car is just a toy: TOY 4ME or GR8 TOY. Whenever I see these, I imagine some down-on-his-luck guy bouncing along on a bus and gazing out his window at RED TOY. Mr. Lunch Bucket would love to have any jalopy to drive to work, but he has to tolerate Mr. Frivolous, who can afford car payments, maintenance, and comprehensive coverage for his toy — plus the extra $35 to rub it in. And first place? That would have to go to plates containing the word "my" or "mine": ALL MYN or MY JEEP. Gosh, what a sensitive sentiment. And to think some people think Americans are too materialistic. Makes me wonder if Toyota was up to something subliminal when it named one of its models Camry (anagram for MY CAR). Much more could be said about the vanity plate phenomenon, but I'll wrap up with a word about license plate holders. Most are commercial (See Hal Jones at Acme Ford), or inconsequential (I Luv Cats), or — the kind I find heartening — cause-related (VIP Blood Donor). The other day, though, I spotted a holder that cried out for commentary. It said, "Mensa." That one put me over the edge. As if we don't feel accosted enough by plates that shout MY XKE or TOP CEO, now we have to deal with announcements of membership in America's high-IQ club. If Einstein were alive, I don't think he'd need to invest in a Mensa license plate holder. I prefer to believe he'd rather invest in a personalized plate that might entertain us. Something like E MC2.

  
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