Take a look at my last name. Have you seen it before? Probably not. As much as it is unique,… Take a look at my last name. Have you seen it before? Probably not. As much as it is unique, it’s also quite a conundrum when it comes to pronunciation.

Now, I don’t know the entire lineage behind it. I know it’s Irish — I’m a whopping one-eighth Irish. Yet most people don’t ask about its ethnic origin. They favor a more basic question: How the hell do you pronounce it?

Too often people with frequently mispronounced last names gripe about their situation. Yet I refuse to succumb to this pessimistic outlook. Save the blossoming bachelorettes out there, there’s no hope for a new surname. So learn to live with it. Better yet, appreciate it.

I consider people with impossible-to-pronounce and very unusual last names, like me, the lucky ones. While I’ve always wondered what my life would be like if my last name was Smith or Jones, I’m glad it’s not. Perhaps it’s a strange, guilty pleasure of mine, but I find it downright amusing to hear all the different pronunciations. And I’ll be candid, listening to hapless victims struggle with the pronunciation is most of the fun.

I’ve the chance for some entertainment when I’m before someone new reading off my name. After seeing my name, the speaker’s brow inevitably furrows. At this point I should provide the correct elocution in a cheery voice and reassure the perplexed individual of my name’s insurmountable difficulty. Nope.

Instead I adopt a resolute reticence. My expression beckons the speaker: “C’mon. I dare you.” The braver ones attempt a few syllables. Usually, the speaker eventually gives up. “Err … how do you say your last name?”

As much as I enjoy hearing the array of pronunciations, there’s a point between amusement and horrendous butchery. Some instances make me wish people would just ask. One time a woman I recently met introduced me to her coworkers as “Keith Jill-oo-jlee.” Jill-oo-jlee? Sounds like the name a 2-year-old would give to his favorite kind of Jell-O. I struggled to keep that warm, nice-to-meet-you smile on my face after hearing this one. The woman didn’t even hesitate or stutter — what a killjoy. Yet her rash assumption proved a cacophonous misstep. In cases like this, the amusement-factor becomes lost in the jarring phonetic train wreck.

But believe it or not, there’s a practical side to having a unique and often-garbled last name. With every new person, I’m allowed a brief introspective glance, a more insightful first impression. Usually it’s the reserved, sensitive ones that surrender their attempts out of sympathy. They don’t want to offend me with their gaffes.

Then there are the slightly bolder variety, the kind who like a challenge. Some give up halfway. Some endure. All proceed with caution. Most are wrong, but hey, thanks for playing. I’d say this is the most common group.

And then there are the ones all too sure of themselves, even headstrong. They blurt out whatever pronunciation first pops into mind without so much as a twinge of doubt. Of course, they never bother to ask if they got it right.

Not all of the pluses are limited to face-to-face interaction, however. As anyone with an impossible-to-pronounce last name knows, the ability to screen telemarketers is an incomparable benefit.

“Hello. May I speak to a Mr. or Mrs. (long pause) Gi – Gi …” Click. Never even gave the poor sucker a chance.

And I love Googling myself even though the results never turn up anything interesting. If I had to sift through a thousand other Keith Gilloglys just to find a webpage with the real me, boy would I feel cheated and frustrated. When those with common names attempt this semi-narcissistic act, they’re usually met with a harsh truth: Looks like there are hundreds of others with your name that all happen to be much more accomplished and famous than you. If they weren’t, maybe your Facebook page would be a top hit. Lucky for me, I don’t have to compare to the standard of masses.

Well, I suppose I should provide the proper pronunciation. It’s … hey wait, if I did that, I’d ruin all the fun. But keep guessing. Maybe you’ll get it right. Eventually.

E-mail Keith at [email protected].