Brainiac: Adventures in the Curious, Competitive, Compulsive World of Trivia Buffsby Ken Jennings
One day back in 2003, Ken Jennings and his college buddy Earl did what hundreds of thousands of people had done before: they auditioned for Jeopardy! Two years, 75 games, 2,642 correct answers, and over $2.5 million in winnings later, Ken Jennings emerged as trivia’s undisputed king. Brainiac traces his rise from anonymous computer programmer to/i>
One day back in 2003, Ken Jennings and his college buddy Earl did what hundreds of thousands of people had done before: they auditioned for Jeopardy! Two years, 75 games, 2,642 correct answers, and over $2.5 million in winnings later, Ken Jennings emerged as trivia’s undisputed king. Brainiac traces his rise from anonymous computer programmer to nerd folk icon. But along the way, it also explores his newly conquered kingdom: the world of trivia itself.
Jennings had always been minutiae-mad, poring over almanacs and TV Guide listings at an age when most kids are still watching Elmo and putting beans up their nose. But trivia, he has found, is centuries older than his childhood obsession with it. Whisking us from the coffeehouses of seventeenth-century London to the Internet age, Jennings chronicles the ups and downs of the trivia fad: the quiz book explosion of the Jazz Age; the rise, fall, and rise again of TV quiz shows; the nostalgic campus trivia of the 1960s; and the 1980s, when Trivial Pursuit® again made it fashionable to be a know-it-all.
Jennings also investigates the shadowy demimonde of today’s trivia subculture, guiding us on a tour of trivia hotspots across America. He goes head-to-head with the blowhards and diehards of the college quiz-bowl circuit, the slightly soused faithful of the Boston pub trivia scene, and the raucous participants in the annual Q&A marathon in Stevens Point, Wisconsin, “The World’s Largest Trivia Contest.” And, of course, he takes us behind the scenes of his improbable 75-game run on Jeopardy!
But above all, Brainiac is a love letter to the useless fact. What marsupial has fingerprints that are indistinguishable from human ones?* What planet has a crater on it named after Laura Ingalls Wilder?** What comedian had the misfortune to be born with the name “Albert Einstein”?*** Jennings also ponders questions that are a little more philosophical: What separates trivia from meaningless facts? Is being good at trivia a mark of intelligence? And is trivia just a waste of time, or does it serve some not-so-trivial purpose after all?
Uproarious, silly, engaging, and erudite, this book is an irresistible celebration of nostalgia, curiosity, and nerdy obsession–in a word, trivia.
* The koala
*** Albert Brooks
- Random House Publishing Group
- Publication date:
- Product dimensions:
- 6.60(w) x 9.40(h) x 1.10(d)
Read an Excerpt
Adventures in the Curious, Competitive, Compulsive World of Trivia Buffs
By Ken Jennings
Copyright © 2006
All right reserved.
What is Ambition?
Here's some trivia for you. The red rock country of southern Utah is red for the
same reason that the planet Mars has a pinkish tinge when you see it in the
night sky: both are loaded with iron oxide, a.k.a. ordinary household rust. The
shadows of these red desert crags are lengthening toward our car as it pulls
into a dusty gas station on the Utah-Arizona border. The air smells of diesel
fumes and sagebrush when I open the passenger-side door. My friend Earl Cahill
unfolds himself from the driver's seat, relieved we've made it to this, our last
chance at gas for fifty miles.
Earl is my old college roommate, and though he's a remarkable six-foot-nine in
height, he's one of those giants who hope that by holding their head and
shoulders at just the right dejected angle, they may somehow-if not disappear
completely-at least give the appearance of being only six-foot-four or
six-foot-five. He blinks into the setting sun through the shock of floppy brown
hair hanging over his face, a face that bears the perpetually disappointed look
of an English foxhound or a Cubs fan.
As I pump gas, we re-enact the ritual of all road-trippers since the days of
Jack Kerouac, and try to figure out how we're going to divvy upthe trip's
costs. Unlike our beatnik freeway forefathers, however, Earl and I are both
computer programmers, and we're driving down to Los Angeles not to hear jazz or
harvest lettuce or watch the sun set over the Pacific, but to try to land spots
on Jeopardy!, America's most popular and most difficult quiz show.
Appropriately, geekily, we are squabbling about the most elegant algorithm to
calculate and divide up our expenses.
"How about this?" I offer. "There's two of us, so that vastly improves our
chances that one of us will make it on the show, right? And, as we know, that
person is guaranteed at least a thousand dollars, even if he finishes in third
place. So here's what we do: we split all expenses when we get back, but if one
of us makes it on the show, that person pays for the other's share of gas and
other expenses from this trip."
Earl's brow furrows, suspicious he's being conned.
"It's no-lose," I persist. "If you get on the show, you pay for all expenses,
but you still turn a big profit from your winnings. The one who doesn't get on
"Deal," he finally agrees. We shake on it as we switch spots and climb back into
the car. It is a no-lose scenario, but I'm guessing that I'll end up being the
beneficiary of my own plan. Earl, I figure, is exactly the type game shows look
for. Besides being incredibly smart and, as he likes to put it, "sideshow-freak
tall," he has a booming baritone voice and an eccentric way of speaking-an
inside-joke-rich patois of computer-hacker lingo, Simpsons references and,
mysteriously, quotes from Merchant Ivory movies. He's exactly the kind of
larger-than-life personality Jeopardy! needs-a lock to get on the show. I figure
I've just negotiated myself a free trip to L.A.
But, I admit to myself, I'm not just along for the ride as Earl's road-trip
buddy. For as long as I can remember, I've dreamed of being on Jeopardy!, and
Earl knows it. "You know," he says, "I keep telling myself that even if I fail
the test, at least I can tell people I was the guy that got Ken Jennings on
Jeopardy!" We pull back onto I-15 and drive off into the sunset.
* * *
I've been meaning to try out for Jeopardy! for twenty years now, but I've loved
trivia for even longer. My generation tends to think of trivia as an eighties
craze, something we cherish nostalgically in the same neurons of our brain
responsible for remembering Members Only jackets and Ralph Macchio. The
watershed trivia year of my youth was clearly 1984, the year that the Alex
Trebek version of Jeopardy! debuted on the airwaves and Trivial Pursuit sold
twenty million copies, supplanting Pac-Man as the game craze of the era. But ask
someone ten years younger what year trivia peaked, and her "final answer" would
probably be 1999 or so, when Who Wants to Be a Millionaire became so explosively
popular. Someone of my parents' generation might associate the word "trivia"
with the vogue for college campus trivia contests in the late 1960s, while my
grandparents would certainly remember America holding its breath as contestants
sweated it out in isolation booths on the high-rated (and highly rigged) TV quiz
shows of the 1950s. A scholar in the field might even point you back to 1927,
when the best-selling book Ask Me Another! ignited the very first
question-and-answer craze in America. If trivia is a fad, in other words, it's
certainly a pesky one. Like the Terminator, Halley's Comet, or genital herpes,
trivia just keeps coming back.
And it's still around. In fact, though trivia isn't necessarily faddish at the
moment, it's still somehow omnipresent. America plays hundreds of thousands of
trivia games every day-in urban bars, on suburban coffee tables, on FM radio
stations, on cell phones. Trivia appears on our beer coasters, under our Snapple
caps, on our Cracker Jack prizes. It clogs our e-mail inboxes and magazine
article sidebars. It fills the blank space at the bottom of columns in the phone
book. It pacifies us while we watch the cola-sponsored advertising on movie
screens. It's the bumper that takes us to commercial on cable news and
entertainment shows. It's such a familiar part of American life that we don't
even notice it anymore, and yet there it always is. We live surrounded by
"Trivia," the word itself, pre-dates 1984 and Trivial Pursuit, of course. In
fact, it goes back millennia. Originally a Roman name for the goddess Hecate, in
her role as guardian of the crossroads, "Trivia" derives from the Latin
"trivium": a crossroads where "three ways" met. Centuries later, English writer
John Gay named his most famous poem, a 1716 description of a walking tour of
London, "Trivia," in honor of the same goddess. (Gay is better known for his
satirical The Beggar's Opera, the musical work upon which Brecht's Threepenny
Opera was based, which means he's also responsible for the pop song that was the
#1 Billboard hit of 1959.)
The Latin word "trivium" is also our source for the adjective form "trivial,"
meaning unimportant or ordinary. It's generally believed that "trivial" came to
mean commonplace because a "trivium" or public crossroads was, literally, a
"common place." Others claim that the adjective "trivial" derives from another
use of "trivium"-in medieval universities, the course load was divided between
the three-subject trivium and the four-subject quadrivium. The trio of courses
in the trivium was always grammar, rhetoric, and logic, while the quadrivium was
composed of home ec, driver's ed, wood shop, and band (oh, all right:
arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music.) The trivium contained the easier,
more elementary subjects, thought to be less important than the advanced
quadrivium, and, hence, "trivial."
In the 20th century, the noun form "trivia" first began to be used as a
derivative of "trivial" to refer to trifles, or things deemed unimportant. As
early as 1902, popular essayist Logan Pearsall Smith (the brother-in-law,
incidentally, of philosopher Bertrand Russell) published a bestselling
collection of brief philosophical musings under the title Trivia. But the word
didn't adopt its current usage-"questions and answers about unusual bits of
everyday knowledge"-until the mid-1960s.
I've always felt it was a shame that the "trivia" moniker stuck to trivia so
firmly. Referring to your hobby with a word that quite literally means "petty"
or "insignificant" doesn't strike me as the best way to popularize it. Would
football ever have caught on if gridiron fans insisted on calling it "that
stupid sport with the weird-shaped ball"? Do philatelists call postage stamps
"little gummed squares that we pointlessly collect and pore over when we really
should be out meeting girls"? And yet trivia fans happily adopt the language of
the oppressor, tacitly but cheerfully agreeing that, yes, their tendency toward
learning and knowing lots of weird stuff is completely valueless. Completely
I first heard the words "trivial" and "nontrivial" in their scientific usage in
the math and computer science classes I took in college. To math and computer
nerds, a trivial problem is one with a ridiculously easy solution, one the
teacher probably won't even bother to put up on the overhead projector. Science
is, instead, about the pursuit of the unusual, elegant solution-the nontrivial
one. For example, I remember learning once about "sum-product numbers," numbers
equal to the sum of all their digits multiplied by the product of all their
digits. There are an infinite number of numbers, said the instructor, but only
three sum-product numbers. The number 1 is the trivial solution, the boring one:
1 × 1 = 1. The interesting solutions are the nontrivial ones-135, for instance
(though there's one other):
((1 + 3 + 5) × (1 × 3 × 5)) = 135
Ever since I can remember, I've had the idea that trivia, despite its name, is
elegant, complicated, fascinating, worthy of study-that trivia is, in a word,
1 Bobby Darin's "Mack the Knife"
2 144 is as well
Excerpted from Brainiac
by Ken Jennings
Copyright © 2006 by Ken Jennings.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Meet the Author
Ken Jennings was born in Seattle but spent much of his childhood in Seoul, South Korea. A graduate of Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah, he worked as a computer programmer until becoming an unlikely celebrity due to his unprecedented record-breaking streak on the television quiz show Jeopardy! He lives outside Salt Lake City with his wife and son. For more information, visit www.ken-jennings.com.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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Ken Jenning's Brainiac is a great read. Personaly I liked getting insight from agenius all throughout the book. The book contains the story of how ken made it to JEOPARDY! As well as other trivia events he has been to. If I were you I would buy the book right now!
In this wonderful, very cleverly put-together book, Ken Jennings talks about his Jeopardy! experience, his nationwide travels to meet some big names in the trivia world (including the long-elusive Fred Worth, author of the 1970s cult classic Trivia Encyclopedia). But, most importantly for his writer, he articulates why trivia is 'not so trivial' (and deserves a much more 'significant' name) better than anything I have ever read on the subject--and I've read plenty in the past 30 years. Ken does just as lucid a job in describing the different kinds of trivia, what makes good trivia, and other stuff like that, that will make you appreciate the well-written question all the more. There's never been a book on trivia like this. If, like me, you've got bookshelves groaning with trivia books, this is a MUST HAVE.