It is cool that E.B. digs space. Like, when you know him, it is not all going to shock you forever until you can't remember when your brain was not blown, but it is totally not something you think to yourself when you see him or are talking him up about computers and fucking rushing the Norse with a rageful horde of Mediterraneans. It is more the kind of thing where you want to kind of go up to him and say, "Thanks dude. I am almost completely sure you are adding the better karma than crazy, world-free Tibetan monks could possibly add to the whole space thing." We should totally buy a star and name it after him if only cause he is ripped like a fucking athlete, if athletes tucked their shirts in, had impeccable hair, and were big fans of Stargate SG:1. You do not get guys with this good of a hygiene thing that are not gay more than once every couple of full runs of Gilligan's Island. All the other brains who are all about space are balding or smell funny. And most of them are fatty fatty fat fats when they're not being Skinny McScrawny of the Dew Tribe. Not our E.B. Fuck no.
That boy is ready to rumble.
But, y'know, politely and competently and probably in less time than the estimate he gave you... for free.
Nice couches and everything, too.

Ladies, you should do this man.

Oh, and he's totally an artist and he is fucking adorable, too.