My name is Brittany, I am fifteen, and I want to read the entire Encyclopædia Britannica.

As you may have noticed, "brittanica" is a cheesy, intentional misspelling of "Britannica" to fit my name. Incidentally, this journal is Friends Only, so you'll have to comment to be added and see the rest of the entries.

Perhaps I should first attempt to explain said desire. I am currently in the middle of AJ Jacobs' wonderful The Know-It-All, a journal of the author's quest to - you guessed it - read the Encyclopædia Britannica, while dealing with the rest of his busy life. I heard about the book months ago - November 02, 2005, actually, which I remember because I blogged it with due amazement and respect. I was so enamoured with the idea that I vowed to do the same . . . as soon as I had the time.

Now, ten months later, I've finally picked up Mr. Jacobs' book thanks to a fateful Kroger visit, and I am again confronted with my desire to follow in his footsteps. I've also come to realize that in this, there's no time like the present. Though I may be out of school in twenty years, I'll then have a job (God willing I won't be a wife - and I won't), and other responsibilities like taking care of my home and buying groceries. I also plan to have a friend or two by then, so there will be that to deal with.

So, I say, why not start now? A thirty-something has already done this - AJ Jacobs - so why not be different and do this as a teenager? A major motivator for Mr. Jacobs was his desire to sharpen his, he felt, out-of-shape brain. So I suppose I also need a better motive than, "Hey, that'd be fun." So I came up with this fun little tale instead.

You see, I rather follow the bookwork stereotype in that I am socially inept. Making friends does not come easily. I can be found commonly debating whether to go to a peer's party or rip out my fingernails. As it stands, I'm finding it slightly difficult to type with so many bandaged fingers.

My . . . "love life," as my peers are fond of calling this game of kiss and break up, is virtually non-existent, as I believe I prefer it. I am no "renowned local beauty," though I do flatter myself in entertaining the idea that if I finally beat acne, lost around ten pounds, had my hair highlighted, and then switched bodies with someone attractive, I might look all right.

I am a fair athlete, but I am only judging myself against the rest of my basketball team. At my small private school, everyone makes the team. Everyone. Not very versatile? No problem. No experience? You'll fit right in. Quadriplegic? You'll probably start. So let's just say I'm not banking on an athletic scholarship.

We won't even go into music, drama, and art. Let's suffice it to say that the teachers for those electives pause a long time while thinking of compliments for me in front of my parents. After this pause, they typically come up with something like, "She arrives to class in a very timely manner."

So, now that we can safely mark out social skills, a love life, looks, athletics, and music-drama-art, what have I left? Reading and writing, my friends. Knowledge. Brains. This is one area where I may at least say I have an advantage over the average high school sophomore. I'm no prodigy, to be sure, but there's no denying the fact that I'm taking all Junior-level classes, and that those juniors often come to me for help. If they found out about this endeavor, I do not think it would surprise them in the least.

To get into a private school I thought about attending this year, I had to take the SSAT, a sort of watered-down SAT. I turned out to be in the 99th percentile in Math, 98th in English. Still, as I said, it was a wimpy test. And now that I sound as conceited as [insert pop culture reference here], I'll get to the point.

My Junior class at my high school represents such a tiny fraction of America, of the world, that I can hardly judge my intellectual worth by my ranking amongst ten students. I look at actual smart people, philosophers, scientists, poets, etc., and realize that I have nothing on them. I need something to set me apart from the average better-than-average student.

How many fifteen year-olds have read the ol' Britannica, I ask myself? A few must have, I reason. There are always the freaks (that fill me with envy) that've done these sorts of things before being taught how to ride a bike. But I don't know any of these freaks. I don't even know any sort-of-freaks, the adults who have done this, not personally. I know plenty of people who are smarter, people prettier, more athletic, and sickening combinations thereof. But I know none who've read the Britannica all the way through. This can be entirely my own. My one claim to . . . er . . . private fame. Or glorified obscurity, depending on whether or not anyone ever reads my musings on all of this.

And I don't feel that this would be a waste of time. There are a thousand "unique" things I could do that would benefit me in no way whatsoever, but would still earn me distinction, such as the good folks who made the World's Largest Pizza. Nice, but worthless. That pizza probably tasted horrible. Or at least just average. But no, reading the Encyclopædia will be a fascinating venture into the intricacies of human knowledge.

It seems that Mr. Jacobs retained much more than expected from his reading, and just reading his book I am convinved I couldn't retain half so much as he does, but I should be very content with around half. At the very least I would come out knowing a great deal more than I did before. But here, during the preparation, the walk to the starting line, I've already run into an obstacle, and it's a doozy.

I lack the Encyclopædia Britannica. At least in this, Mr. Jacobs had two more advantages than me in the face of ridicule - money and a car. A third might be his separation from parents to control these commodities. Mr. Jacobs had the financial ability to purchase the $1400 leatherettes. I have no such freedom. At $56 a month for allowance, I'm at worse than minimum wage. Far worse. And I buy much less than your average grocery-bagging teen. I don't even have enough to go on Britannica's $83-a-month for 15 months plan.

So to the parents it is. They are, to put it lightly, amused. A guy who's read the entire Britannica? they ask, laughing. What a crackhead! Hasn't he heard of the Internet? My parents clearly don't understand the difference between the unreliable, ever-changing entity that is the Internet and the solid tomes of knowledge that are the Enclyclopædia Britannica. And even if Wikipedia is good for looking up some things (such as OTP or OBHWF), books that you hold are just so much more pleasing. It's a difference worth paying for. In hundreds, even.

As it stands, my parents remain in the laughing-at-me stage of incredulity. But I believe they will soon realize that I am dead serious about this task. My birthday is on October 28th. I predict that things might get a bit ugly over the next two months.