YMMV

Note:  Every word of this post is literally true.  That's part of why it is so explosively boring. There is nothing here that did not happen.  All facts have been verified.  Enjoy your history lesson.

I think that stands for "Your Mileage May Vary,"  but it might be God's name in anglicized Hebrew, but horribly misspelld. [ sic ].

Few people know the origin of the catchy little phrase "Your mileage may vary."

Ask most people and they'll tell you it's something to do with cars or horses or something.

By the way, to the rest of the world except for those limey bastards like Sir Francis Harry Hinsley, the phrase is, "YKMV" (Your kilometerage may vary).

The phrase "Your mileage may vary,"  was first coined to describe the children's design drawing game, Spirograph.  Because the commercials are/were so deceptive.  I don't know if they still make Spirograph or if they still have commercials for it, but they used to.  I don't remember the details of those commercials but whenever I try to recall what a Spirograph commercial was like, the "Lite-Brite" song pops into my head.  It goes like this:

"Lite-Brite, makin' things with li-i-ight.  What a sight, makin' things with Lite-Brite."

I'll explain that in a minute, but I'm getting off track.  Which is to be expected, because that (getting off track) ALWAYS happens with Spirograph.  Your mileage (kilometerage) may vary.


Back in 1970 or so, I saw a commercial for Spirograph.  It was a Saturday morning not unlike (like) just about any other Saturday morning.  I was sitting on the hardwood floor of the living room.  I was watching Bugs Bunny or Bozo the Clown (Kidding - there was no Bozo the clown) on the 19 inch television.  It was not a console TV exactly.  It stood on four thin wooden legs.  The box was a textured silver aluminum material.  It seems to me like the TV sat against the North wall of the Living room, but what do I know from direction?  Oy!

I was wearing my favorite footy pajamas.  They were blue and I liked to keep them zipped all the way up and secure the zipper in place with the flannel fabric flap snapping mechanism.

A couple of my toes had broken through the fabric that made up the foot covering part of my comfy pajamas.  The sole of the PJs was a brittle plastic that scratched the breaching toes. In my lap was a green plastic bowl.  In the bowl were a few Apple Jack loops floating in roughly 6 ounces of orange milk.  Apple Jacks was my favorite cereal.

A little bit of orangish milk had dripped onto my pajamas from the spoon.

When the Spirograph commercial came on, I knew I had to have it.  I could think of nothing else until Christmas.  It was obvious to me that the Spirograph would make me millions.  It was my ticket out of that shithole.  I could finally get me a good pair of footy pajamas with no milk on them.

Watching the miracle of the complex plastic gear things, guided by colored pen, I knew.  I pictured my drawings adorning the walls of the great art museums of the world.  I was going to improve on the Mona Lisa by giving her some big fancy Spirograph hoop earrings.

To say that I was disappointed with Spirograph would be the mother of all understatements.  It was even more disappointing than the etch-a-sketch.  Mostly because even though I was only about 6 years old, I understood the etch-a-sketch issues were due to operator error.  I knew that with time and patience, I would never turn the dial the wrong way.  The only thing disappointing about the etch-a-sketch was the ghost images.  No matter how much you tried to shake it away, there would always be that trace of past failure glaring at you.  Mocking you.  Stupid etch-a-sketch.

But compared to the etch-a-sketch, Spirograph's functionality was literally* criminal.

Spirograph was a neat idea.  A bunch of plastic template parts notched with teeth to guide other parts around.  There were several holes in the wheels that went around the stationary pieces.  The user would select a hole to stick a colored pen into and track the wheel along the other plastic piece, making intricate, beautiful colorful designs by the irregularity of the pen mark based on the hole selected for the pen.

Spirograph also came with a booklet of sample designs and the pieces you'd need.  The holes for the pen were numbered, so you could  know which one to use for a specific design.

This was my favorite part of spirograph.  The instructions.  They worked better than any of the rest of this piece of shit.

They would say something like, "For this pattern, use wheel 7 in loop B14 and hole 110."

But the problems began before pen was set to paper.  First of all, the stationary piece was to be pinned to the paper.  Yeah.  A couple of holes right next to my design.  There was a piece of cardboard that the paper would go on.  Once you got everything set just right, it was time to nudge the pen around.  But it never ever went smoothly.  There would always be a point were the wheel would skip some teeth.  I came close to perfection a few times.  Only to have the Mona Lisa's earrings ruined by a stray jagged red pen mark made from when the wheel lost its traction.

I worked at it with increasing frustration for several days.  There were piles of crumpled paper on either side of my workstation.  Mother beckoned for me to retire for the evening.

"Not until my opus is complete!" I'd scream as she cowered away from the coffee cup I'd flung in her direction.  "And don't let my cup get empty again!!" I'd shout.  Boy, I was a handful.

After days of failure, gallons of coffee and teeth yellowed from chain smoking (I was 6.  It was the 70's), I heard from the other room what was to become my emancipation.

It was a happy little song that changed my life.  It was soft at first, but grew in volume as I was tugged from my concentration to the siren call of "Lite-Brite, Makin' things with li-i-ight.  What a sight, makin' things with Lite-Brite!"

Oh yes.  We got the refills.  I made the rooster.  I made Bugs Bunny. I made Bozo the Clown.  I then created my true master work.  Free hand.  See, Lite-Brite came with blanks too.  No pattern.  Just your very own creation. Mine was a brilliant rendering of a little boy gathering all the Spirographs in the world and making a huge bonfire outside Spirograph Corporate HQ.  All the Spirograph execs were out on the lawn choking to death on the toxic fumes from the epic holocaust.  Their wives and children screaming and clawing at their own faces in utter torment.  A crowd of unruly onlookers is held at bay by police.  The crowd cheers the fall of the Spirograph execs who once stood so tall and mighty.

I'm proud to say, that particular work stands to this day next to the Mona Lisa in the Louvre or something.

* Literally no longer means literally.  The impact to our language is literally devastating.