Tuesday, April 25, 2006

My Arch-Nemesis!

Since my last post, I was speaking to one of my youth members (the irreplaceable Simon Hicks) about the shocking state of a society that could spell Glyn with two 'n's. He proceeded to tell me about his golf coach who has the same name as me but spells it with two 'n's. I vaguely remembered, at this point, about a year ago when Simon's mum first told me that Simon had started golf lessons and that he was quite taken aback to discover that his personal coach was a Mr Glyn Harries. I remember thinking that this was quite funny although it did hurt slightly discovering that I did not have as unique and exotic a name as I had once believed. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for the shock that was to follow.

Simon, feeling the need for some form of visual aid to illustrate the anecdote, produced his wallet and got out this golf pro's business card. I sat there for what must have been a good couple of minutes (it felt so much longer) staring at this card in silent disbelief. This golfing instructor did not go by the name Glyn Harries as I had previously thought but did, in fact, call himself Glynn Harris. I thought there has to be some kind of mistake. Some horrible printing error that has caused this man some disgusting mis-labelling. But I've just found this guy on the internet and it is in fact what he is choosing to be known as.

Can you believe that? Not only has this man (pictured above along with the golfing establishment to which he belongs) taken a fine name, he has practically vandalised it beyond recognition. Harris for goodness sake. Where's the 'e' man? Look at him with his smug look of self-satisfaction. He could at least have the decency to look slightly ashamed (if not completely guilt-ridden) as opposed to that inane grin that's stamped across his face.

I have set myself a mission. I will meet this man. And I will tell him that he is wrong. And if he disagrees... then... well... i guess I'll... just have to...erm...steal his golf balls?


Friday, April 21, 2006

This Blog is Brought to You by the Letter N and the Number Flippin' 1

Seeing as I'm pretty new to this whole blog malarkey, I was extremely grateful to have Matt White introduce me to everyone else in his latest post. Not only did he let the masses who regularly read his blog know that I'm here, he was also kind enough to recommend my humble site ("it's worth a read" is, I believe, the phrase he used). What I was less thrilled about, however, was the deliberate and malicious use of the second 'N' which he took great delight in adding to the end of my name. Now this is a mistake made by many I grant you. But this was no mistake. If you pay close attention to his previous post in which he lists his top three findings in my shop (holla to the WO crew - big up to your sand-wedge), he makes mention of my name not once - but twice. You will also notice that the right honourable Mr White has had the courtesy to spell Glyn with the appropriate use of the single "N". "So why," I hear you cry, "if he knew how to spell your name correctly, did he not do so when introducing you to others?" The answer is simple: because Matt White knows how much it winds me up. Put another way, Matt is an online bully. It's the cyber equivalent of volunteering to show the new kid round the classroom and then introducing him to everyone as the kid who was transferred here because his last school didn't tolerate habitual trouser-wetters (by the way, that was just an analogy. It never actually happened. And even if it had happened I got him back later that year by actually wetting myself and then swapping trousers during P.E. anyway so...).

It seems absurd to think that someone with such spiritual maturity could get such kicks out of spelling it Glynn. Why do we do these things to each other? I've decided that it's a universal flaw shared by all human beings. We like to see others getting upset if we don't understand why they're so worked up by something that, to us, seems so trivial. We mock the feelings of others if we can't comprehend their pain. In much the same way as I (as an insensitive 14 year old) laughed at the death of my brother and sister's pet rabbit (mauled by a fox - apparently the neighbours could hear the guinea pig screaming), so others take delight in spelling my name with two n's.

If they understood, maybe they wouldn't do it. Well I have a blog now. And I have a voice. I am no longer meek and mild "Glyney Glyney Wet Pants" (seriously though - just an analogy). I will be heard. And all those reading will know why it is spelt G-L-Y-N:

For starters, an extra 'n' on the end of Glyn is entirely unnecessary. It adds nothing to the pronunciation. I have never heard anyone read my name when spelt correctly on a piece of paper and say "er... Gleen?...Gline? How do you say this?". No. Of course not. It's Glyn. It doesn't even need a phonetic confirmation. It sounds exactly like it looks. Glyn.

An extra 'n' is sheer extravagance. Glyn is a single syllabled word. It's not even a single syllable that you have to take your time with such as "Carl" or "Kyle". It's a quick and tidy Glyn. Straight to the point. No mucking around - Glyn. You could deliver it in about as much time as it would take you to hiccup. No word or name of such directness should be spelt with 5 letters. My sister, Lisa, manages two whole syllables with a mere 4 letters. To spell Glyn with 5 is to make a travesty of everything that makes the English language great.

I think what upsets me most, however, is the blatant disservice an extra 'n' does to the aesthetic of the word. Glyn is a good looking name. I mean just look at it for a second. Take a moment to really take it in. The curve of the G, the dip of the y... It's beautiful. Everything you need is right there in that tight little package. Glynn on the other hand is grotesque. It's like taking Brad Pitt and adding an extra 5 stone or putting a fist-sized wart on the neck of the beautiful Amy Smart. It turns my stomach. Glynn is alphabetical proof that you can have too much of a good thing.

So there it is. I hope you now understand why it rubs the wrong way to have my name spelt with that hideous unnatural extra appendage. And I hope you will, from now on, have the sensitivity to grant my name the respect it deserves. At the end of the day, spelling my name correctly truly does benefit everybody. For a start it saves on ink. It also saves on time and energy. What if everyone, instead of wasting time writing or typing an extra 'n' at the end of my name, were to use that time to listen to a friend or to help a child realise that everything they've wanted comes from within? Surely this world would be a better place.

Think about it.

Next week: why it's spelt Harries but pronounced Harris.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Ultimate Showdown

I found this last weekend. It is nothing short of utter brilliance. My first impression of the video was that it looks a bit rubbish but upon reflection I think that just adds to the genius of the song. Check it out.


Thursday, April 13, 2006

What the heck is a Glyn Harries?

Just for jokes (and this is the kind of crazy guy I am), I decided to type my name into a google image search - ya know, just to see what I look like through the eyes of the internet, I tried it at first with quotation marks and got nothing, I took away the quotation marks and got this:

Now I'm not entirely sure what it is but apparently it is called a Glyn Harries. At best guess, I would say that it some form of kryptonite or other super-human debilitating artifact. I would advise that if you ever see a Glyn Harries that you stay clear of it. If you have a jacket or picnic blanket handy then try to use it to smother whatever rays it might be emitting but otherwise get as far away as possible and call the proper authorities who will probably not know how to handle the situation but should know someone who does.

Once again - Stay away from the Glyn Harries!

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

The slightly less dramatic confessions of an innocent man!

Ok so I discovered today that Confessions of an Innocent Man is already an autobiographical book about a man called William Sampson who was tortured in a Saudi prison. If anyone chooses to visit this site on the back of it's catchy and apparently unoriginal title expecting to be inspired by tales of bravery in the face of... well of a Saudi prison - then my guess is that they will be sorely disappointed. You are more likely to be notably uninspired by tales of stupidity in the face of unparalleled triviality. I apologise for any confusion.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Blog Number One

Ok. So here goes. I'm blogging.

But why?

I spent most of my day today at work (shout out to all my Wesley Owen peeps from the W1U - big up to your nine-iron) slowly coming to the decision that yes. Yes I was going to start my very own blog. "It's about time" I said to myself with a suggestive wink. "But what would be the point?" I answered as a customer looked on and slowly edged her way out of the shop in a subtle fashion so as to not startle the unhinged yet dashingly handsome sales assistant who was laying spread eagled on the shop floor talking to himself.

I came up with several possible answers, each one, to a greater or lesser extent, unsatisfactory.

I've been told a couple of times that I should keep a web-based journal as I don't often share my feelings and that some kind of online forum would be a positive outlet for all the emotions I'm bottling up. And while it did make sense to keep my secrets locked away from my loved ones just so I could then publish them on a public domain, I decided that I wasn't going to use this particular medium to expose my deepest and darkests.

I then figured that I would be able to use this as an opportunity to jot down all the great ideas I keep getting for plays, songs, sketches, films, radio dramas etc. Due to a healthy mix of perfectionism and utter laziness, I get an idea and then rarely see it through to completion. "I'll work on it later in life" I tell myself (still lying on the floor - the shops now empty) "when I have developed the artistic maturity to really nail it". But then that artistic maturity comes and the ideas have all been forgotten. I have new ideas but they're all silly and should be left for a time when my artistic maturity suddenly disappears and I realise that it wasn't artistic maturity after all - just wind. So this would be a great opportunity for me to keep a record of all those ideas so that I could come back to them later on. But then the "public domain" thing came up again and I realised that none of these ideas would be copyrighted. Now I don't mean to sound arrogant but my ideas are (oh my, how do I say this without betraying my inspiring humility) utter genius. If I tell you that one idea I've had for an inter-denominational conference involves a collection of nationally recognised church leaders and a giant vat of strawberry jam (I've already said too much) then you begin to understand why I would be less than happy with the best my brain has to offer being bandied around the internet for anyone to pick up on and exploit, claiming that they thought of it first.

I then thought that maybe I could use a blog to share my wisdom with the masses. Use my blog for good as thousands of millions from around the globe log onto this web address to experience my habitual profundity as it spews from my fingertips onto the computer screen. Some kind of exposé on the darkest netheregions of the human soul. But just as I was completing this thought (still on the floor except now there's a crowd) it occurred to me that I'm about as profound as an egg sandwich. It also dawned on me that, despite my previous reservations concerning idea stealage, I don't actually expect anyone to visit this site - ever. This will probably always be just for me.

Which led me to my next reason for having a blog. Why not just use it as a diary? Something to which I can look back on and think "oh yeah - I did that". But then the final and most conclusive occurence dawned on me. Apart from today and possibly tomorrow, I will most likely never visit or update this site again. It will just stay like this I should imagine, floating aimlessly about cyberspace until some technologically advanced virus in 2009 will wipe it out completely, making the past hour or so of my life (that being the time it took to set this all up and post this entry) utterly and depressingly pointless.

So why, after having come to that apocalyptic conclusion, did I decide to go ahead and start up a blog anyway? The answer's simple. Because everyone else is doing it.

Oh, and why "Confessions of an Innocent Man"? I'm open to suggestions.