See you in '10...

The championships feature competition in a variety of categories that include everything from the delicate Dali moustache to the outrageous full beard freestyle. The competitors appear before a panel of distinguished judges charged with the responsibility of awarding the coveted world titles to the best of the best. This facial-hair celebration is open to everyone and spectators are welcome.

  

  

OK. I exaggerate. More like a VW. But a great keyboard nevertheless. Also available via Amazon.


  

Anybody wanna get narced?

The following risky activities, decadent foods, and otherwise foolhardy indulgences are detrimental to your health. You will, however, not perish in vain.

  

Apparently, chocolate labs prefer the real deal...


  

George Brett's yarbles might be easy on the eye, but Tim McCarver's generalist's approach to baseball has made him an easy target behind the mic.

Here's how Tim McCarver might go about explaining the central premise of this feature: "See here, Maxim.com is writing about bad baseball announcers, a group that includes the baseball announcers who aren't good. What Maxim is doing, I think, is compiling a list—a series of names or other items written or printed together in a meaningful grouping or sequence so as to constitute a record—of the announcers who are lousy, poor, or inferior, if you will. So essentially, what they're trying to do is 'list' baseball's 'bad' announcers, in a list-like format."

  

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See also, Kuzmak Home Movies (Part1), Kuzmak Home Movies (Part2), and Pop, and Pop (Reprise).


  

Although both men and women look at the image of George Brett when directed to find out information about his sport and position, men tend to focus on private anatomy as well as the face. For the women, the face is the only place they viewed.

  

A must for all Wisconsin cyclists...

This is a small rear-view mirror, meant to mount on your bike helmet (or glasses, or baseball hat...) so you can see behind you with just a little turn of the head. It's made from a bottle cap, a bike spoke and nipple, acrylic mirror, and glue.

  

He drafts 18-wheelers with the engine off and takes "death turns" at 52 miles an hour. Maybe I'm missing the point, but the king of the hypermilers seems more like an accident waiting to happen than a hero in the post 9/11 era.

"I'm not just doing this for myself," Wayne told me before we met. "I'm doing this for my country and the world."

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