GEEK BEAT: Can I help you with that bumper sticker?

There are two things every guy wishes he could be. One is a smooth and debonair spy like James Bond. The other is a dark and brooding vigilante like Batman.

Either way, to be truly fulfilled as a man, you need a car that shoots missiles.

Alas, my car falls sadly short in this area.

I’ve tried to install some myself, but that didn’t turn out so well.

I hate to admit it, but I’m really not a car guy.

This is hard for me to say, because I have absolutely no problem taking apart my computer and doing stuff in there.

Recently people have been telling me that should help me with cars as now every car has a bunch of computers inside.

I believe that, but I still can’t find the mouse.

There are three things that every guy wants to be: the star athlete who wins the championship game and gets the girl, the dashing hero who swings in through the window saves the girl and a car guy who can change his own oil and then, somehow, gets the girl.

So I guess that makes five things every guy wants to be.

Well, I guess six if you count the King of Candyland, but that might just be me.

Personal fantasies aside, I really do wish I knew more about cars.

All you non-car guys out there know what I’m talking about. You’ve seen those people who know about cars standing around an open car hood, pointing at things knowingly and occasionally smugly tightening something.

I’ve seen guys who could easily turn my Stratus into Kit, the talking car from “Knight Rider” if they had enough wrenches.

Meanwhile, the most mechanically adept thing I can do to a car is install new bumper stickers.

I’m pretty good at that though. My “My Other Car is a Battle Cruiser” sticker looks great.

This lack of prowess is not because of my lack of trying. I made a serious effort to understand automobiles when I was younger. I remember sneaking into the garage to try and figure out how my dad’s car worked as a little kid.

I never figured out how to transform it into a giant robot.

Normally, this is a quiet, personal pain, the kind that only me and my mechanic/therapist know (and now all of you), but once in a while it can really spill out into other areas of life.

Like sometimes I’ll be driving along, and I’ll see someone stopped on the side of the road. If I can tell they’re not just stuck in the snow or mud, I have to resist the urge to pull over and offer assistance I know I’d never be able to provide.

Still many times, despite my better efforts, visions fly through my head of the stranded motorist getting torn apart by a pack of wild dogs, and I find myself on the side of the road, with no clear indication how I got there.

“You got a problem with your bumper sticker?” I ask hopefully.

“Nah, my #^&$ is #%$#ed up,” the person will generally respond. The second word is missing because it’s not appropriate for the newspaper, the first because I have no idea what it is.

“That sucks,” I say, assuming that it really does suck. I’m not really sure; for all I know, having your #^&$ get #%$#ed could the be the best thing to happen to a car.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask, knowing full well the only way I could help is if he needs a push or the whole problem was some how caused by an extra box of donuts in the back seat. “I have a wrench.”

They soon realize that he or she would have better luck asking the wild dogs for help, so they do the smart thing and just lie.

“Nah, I got Triple A.”

“Cool, they’re good. I used to work for them,” I lie back, figuring that’s what we’re doing. Then I get back in my car and drive away thinking if only I had missiles in my car, I could have helped that poor person.

Geek on.

Steve Shinney is a senior in computer science who has trouble convincing anyone that he did once successfully change a wiper blade. Comments can be sent to him at

steveshinney@cc.usu.edu.