Many years ago, while living in San Diego, there was a young man who would visit an occult shop where I was working about once every two or three months. He lived over a hundred miles east, in the infamous "middle of nowhere," and rarely had a chance to meet and talk with people of a like mind. But he did read books! He would tell us of how he was doing rites from a certain book. Unfortunately, he had never heard anyone pronounce the word "rites" and he would say the word so it sounded like "ritz," as in the old song, "Putting on the Ritz." He was such a nice and friendly guy that nobody bothered to correct his use of language. I have no doubt he would have been highly embarrassed to learn