Some will argue that Virginia Kerr isn't really a reporter, but rather a performance artist. Then again, people made the same assertions about the late, great George Plimpton and Hunter S. Thompson, both of whom weathered their critics just fine, thank you. While Kerr ain't in the same zip code as that duo journalistically, her early-morning schtick is no less effective. If she objected in any way to subjecting herself to muddy obstacle courses, hoosieriffic race tracks and the swing shift at McDonald's, you wouldn't know it. Peppy and quirky almost to a fault, Kerr could be compared to Carol Burnett, if Burnett were really, really cute. A Southern belle who did stints in Tuscaloosa, Spokane and Missoula before landing in mid-America, Kerr is the telegenic embodiment of the weird-in-a-cool-way hot chick. Whether she's that way in real life doesn't matter. It's the image in the lens that counts, and few locally are as consistently invigorating as hers.