Good mornin' from the crack of dawn. She says hi.

Aside from early morning lameities, I'm preparing to head into the office pre-8am. I'm workin' on some concepts for some cool flash 'eyeblaster' ads (the kind that temporarily take over your screen) that involve a celebrity spokesperson. I hate that I can't say more, because for once in my life I'm finally working on cool projects.

During biceps last night I noticed a slightly overweight, extremely over-sweaty, middle-aged man examining his face in one of the mirrors. Not a big deal, until he got closer and closer... then reached up to POP A ZIT on his cheek. He didn't even try to do it quickly or inconspicuously... he struggled with it for a good thirty seconds. I made no effort to mask my disgust at his in-gym acne treatment.

I decided there're other forms of "hags" aside from the clings-to-gay-men assortment. Last night I observed a Muscle Hag (I know, not as catchy). There was one huge, rather attractive muscle guy doing his workout while a smaller, more-fat-than-muscle, less attractive, probably socially awkward and low luck with the ladies havin' guy followed him everywhere with a big grin, and constantly asked him questions -- laughing at every response and undoubtedly saying things like "Right on, Ace" or "Haha... man, that was funny!"

And then I questioned whether or not I was The Heartbreaker's Muscle Hag. My conclusion was no, since I don't laugh when his jokes aren't funny, and I defintely don't want to be him. I don't really follow him around, either. I don't think. At least I'm not trying to convince myself.

Speaking of THB, after the gym he came over to dine on Helper and watch Cellular. Decent movie... Kim Bassinger was lame and unconvincing.

Seriously. At the gym. Both hands. Inches from the mirror.