So maybe this is my sixth thing:

Growing up, my father was a big fan of The Weekly World News*. Okay, actually, I was, too. This is, of course, in the late eighties, early nineties.

When I was a youngster, through part of my teenage years, when Elvis sightings at Burger King were popular, my dad and I would go have our own Elvis sightings. We'd take the J-Spot roller skating in Paul, Idaho and while hanging out, we'd scan the place for Elvis. We found him everytime! Talk about the master of disguise. In any event, we had our own little private Elvis jokes.

Growing up, we always went to Portland, Oregon twice a year to go see my mother's eye doctor. We had our other rituals, too, like going to Dan-&-Louis' for shrimp stew and to Jantzen Beach to ride the merry-go-round, which is a story in itself. Of course, we'd hit the coast, and the science museum, and the undersea gardens, etc., etc. and have a fabulous time.

But we never hit the Church of Elvis. Dad and I always meant to. The thought of the Church of Elvis tickled us to pieces. But whenever we were in the area, the place was closed or we didn't have time -- had to get to the eye doctor, or... you get the idea. We always said we'd go. Well, maybe we can peruse it together online.

*And actually, the second story I wrote after starting writing fiction was partially and ode to the love for The News. It's a good story. I like it. I don't know if anyone will ever want it, but it's sweet, fun, and I dig it. Baen's recently said that it was "on the right track", so I thought that was a nice thing.