Don't be sad at me! The Flyover Zone thing was somebody else's comment. :) I'm actually kind of bummed my grandmother eventually sold the farm after my grandfather died. Nowadays, I'd love the idea of having 100 acres in the middle of nowhere to which I could escape occasionally. But at age 12, 100 acres of dry grass and cowshit lacks that certain something -- namely shopping malls, video games, and other such silly pubescent forms of entertainment.

There's no excuse for the Versailles pronounciation though. Or the Goethe. There's a Goethe Park in Sacramento where I grew up, and it's pronounced "GATE-ee". I didn't learn to pronounce Goethe until my mid-20s when a German biochem prof of mine insisted that I read some of him. I still probably don't pronounce it *exactly* correctly. But at least I know it's not GO-eth or GATE-ee. Sheesh.

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"Life is too short for grief. Or regret. Or bullshit." -- Edward Abbey, Vox Clamantis in Deserto