Ah, the Starbucks at UCI. There are few better places to score (or, in my case, just scope) erudite chicks.
Right now there's a blonde sitting nearby who could pass for Galadriel: tall, willowy, with eyes like emerald searchlights. Or maybe they're hazel - to find out would require exceedingly creepy staring. But as lovely as she is, that's not what strikes me - it's what she's reading: Plato's Ethics. Darling.
Plato's ethical concerns centered around a virtue-based well-being; the classical ph
As much as I've always loved superheroes, I've always felt there was something just a little off-putting about Marvel head honcho Stan Lee, the person. And it isn't a righteous indignation thing about not giving his collaborators their due credit; Stan has relented on that score in later years, and Jack Kirby's dead now.
No, there's just something about him that feels really cheeseball, from the way he tends to address audiences as "True Believers" and is prone to exclamations like "Excelsior!"
