If you seek a pleasant peninsula, call toll-free today!
It takes a state like New Hampshire to get a person thinking about mottos and license plates. There is something unhinged about a state known for its charming towns and scenic nature leaning completely into “LIVE FREE OR DIE” as a state motto and throwing it on license plates to boot. What it is to be truly “free” is a contested concept, but New Hampshire with its lack of sales tax is — if not free — at least discounted 8.875% for the visiting New Yorker buying wool socks.
New York’s motto is, of course, “Excelsior” — “Ever Upward!” Like New Hampshire, it takes a hard line. To me, it seems a little too east coast — too ambitious. “Ever upward” is probably not all that different from what the architect of the Tower of Babel had in mind, and we all know how that ended. “The arc of the universe is long but bends generally upward” feels less risky, but was probably a tough sell in Albany.
In terms of state mottos, nothing beats Michigan: “Si quaeris peninsulam amoenam circumspice” — “If you seek a pleasant peninsula, look about you.” This is a motto from people who know what’s good for them. There is no promise of eternal growth and no threat of death. The offering is clear and uncompromising: If you seek a pleasant peninsula, here you go. (Look about you! What are you, blind or something?) If you seek a desert vacation or reliable public transit or an island paradise where they give you a lei to wear when you step off the plane, we can’t help you. Leave. See if we care.
State mottos, telling as they are, cannot hold a candle to license plates. While mottos seem to fall into the territory of state constitutions and legislative agreements, license plates (outside of New Hampshire, at least) seem to have been left to the whims of DMV bureaucrats and tourism marketing consultants, which makes them a great deal more interesting.
“Greatest snow on earth!” proclaims the Utah plate, in part because the official state motto — “Industry” — suggests the charisma of a dish sponge. Idaho is “Famous for potatoes!” Many states rest on the laurels of the past, bragging about how soon they joined the union or played some other role in the nation’s history. Uncomfortably, Ohio’s plate declares it the “Birthplace of Aviation” while North Carolina claims “First in Flight.”
The thinking behind all of this energy put into plate designs and slogans, one assumes, is that a motorist stuck in traffic will see a state’s plate and be suddenly reminded of the quality of their snow or agricultural exports, or of their leadership in giving the world the misery of air travel. The motorist, then, will be compelled to purchase a bag of potatoes or go to visit Kitty Hawk.
Michigan, for the first fifteen years of my life, seemed to resist the allure of tacky advertising with blue plates that said “MICHIGAN” in Times New Roman and listed the state government’s website at the bottom. Michigan knows what it is. People know Michigan. We do not need to market ourselves. Seeking a pleasant peninsula? Fine. Something else? Don’t come. The state parks are crowded enough in the summer without a bunch of Land of Lincoln people getting in the way.
Michigan did fall to the marketing consultants under the Snyder Administration when Pure Michigan plates were issued to match the state’s tourism program. The link on the bottom of the plates was changed to a tourism website, thoughtlessly following the crowd with all the class of a late-night infomercial. This tragic state of affairs continued until last winter.
The Michigan Secretary of State is a statewide elected official responsible for the administration of elections and motor vehicles, among other things. The current officeholder — Jocelyn Benson — has successfully administered challenging elections and instituted a system of reservations at offices once famed for their wait times (and uncomfortable folding chairs). None of this, however, could seemingly please the people of Michigan (in an election year, too) as much as her recent reintroduction of the classic 1960s license plate — solid blue with yellow lettering: “WATER - WINTER WONDERLAND.” No websites. No pictures. No tacky advertising. Just the stuff that matters.
Hailed by critics (specifically my parents) as “the best decision to come out of Lansing in years,” the plates already have developed, in my experience visiting, a solid presence on Michigan roads. The McKnight vehicle fleet is set to be entirely re-plated by the end of the month.
The Secretary of State advertises the new plates as being nostalgic. They are, after all, a verbatim copy of a design from fifty years ago. The plate is a correction from a half-century of license plates that should never have existed — an overdue return to what is good and right. Nostalgia, though, is not the proper description. Using your state’s plate to claim the birthplace of a president or mode of transportation is nostalgic. WATER - WINTER WONDERLAND is as forward-thinking as license plates come.
When global warming dries up Lake Mead and the casino fountains of Las Vegas, parches the desert lawns that stand as monuments to the arrogance of man, and makes anything south of Indianapolis generally unlivable, the WATER - WINTER WONDERLAND plate will age like a fine wine. Michigan will be the last state in the union with water or winter, and the plate will grow into its true purpose: not to advertise to potential outside visitors or get motorists to order a little tourist book, but simply to gloat.
Distractions
Things I have been reading, watching, and listening to this week.
The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel on Amazon Prime.
I knew for years that I should watch The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, but I did not get around to it until now. When I finally did get to it, I watched four seasons of television in three weeks. I am not usually a prolific watcher of television and, to be fair, I was sick for one of those weeks. But still. It is — aside from a slow spot when the plot focuses unnecessarily on Florida and California instead of New York — sublime.
“What Banks Don’t Tell You About Online Bill Pay (Or Don’t Want You To Know)” from a mysterious and enraged internet person.
The information in this article will not be interesting or useful to you. I am barely certain of how I came across it in the first place. I think it started with some question about my bank’s bill pay feature and, after a bit of an internet rabbit hole, ended up here.
The website, with its early 2000s background, consists of a 10,000-word diatribe from one person about their bank’s bill pay function. I cannot imagine who the audience was meant to be (aside from me). Produced entirely on spite and petty resentment over a non-issue that might actually be a tiny anti-consumer bank conspiracy, it is exactly the sort of thing I respect.