Today’s Word of the Day is “malapert.” It comes to you not because I find it particularly useful, but because I love the quote at the bottom from P. G. Wodehouse, who puts it to saucy good use.
malapert
adjective
mal·a·pert|\ ˌma-lə-ˈpərt
Definition:
impudently bold or saucy
Malapert debuted in English in the 14th century, was a favorite of Shakespeare, and is still used sporadically today. The prefix mal-, meaning “bad” or “badly” and deriving from the Latin malus, is found in many English words, including “malevolent” and “malefactor.” The second half of “malapert” comes from the Middle English apert, meaning “open” or “frank.” “Apert” further derives from the Latin word”apertus” (“open”), which gave us our noun “aperture” (meaning “an opening”). Putting the two halves together gives us a word that describes someone or something that is open or honest in a bad way, a way that is bold or rude.
Also there’s the related noun, “malism,” which is the doctrine that the world is inherently evil – not something I subscribe to, but there you have it.
My grandmother loved three things in this world above all else. She loved Jesus. She loved ice cream. And she loved to tell stories. In that order. Truth to tell, though, ice cream secretly may have been #1. For my part, the story-telling thing probably had the greater impact. But you get to decide. So read on, gentle reader, if you dare…
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When I was confirmed in the Lutheran church at age 15, my grandma was sitting up front with the rest of The Golden Age Class, beaming. She was a lover of old hymns: Rock of Ages, Power in the Blood, Bringing in the Sheaves – these were some of her favorites. She practiced them regularly on the upright piano in her “front room.” Once a year on Christmas eve, she’d dig out the carols – Joy to the World, O Come All Ye Faithful, Angels We Have Heard on High – those were my favorites. I mean, Rock of Ages may be fine and dandy for the Golden Age crowd. But it was a little too dirge-like for my tastes at the time.
When grandpa retired and turned over the farm to the next generation, he and grandma moved into a nice brick place a little up the hill from the Fire Hall in town. Every fall, we kids used to sit out on the porch roof bundled in blankets watching the Farmer’s Day Parade come down Main Street. We had the best seats in town. That place in town was filled with dark wood banisters, a god-awful flower-print sofa they called a “davenport,” and the old-fashioned kind of vacuum-tube TV that took two hefty guys to pick up and move. Grandpa had a huge model train set in the attic laid out on top of several plywood sheets sitting on sawhorses. In the basement there were cobwebs, Ball Mason jars full of pickled beets, and a coal bin. For all I knew, Civil War dead lay buried under the dirt floor. It smelled funny. I tried to spend more time in the attic than the basement.
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At 15, I was embroiled in the first great love of my life – and it wasn’t with Jesus. Nor was it with ice cream either. Her name was… oh, never mind. Some details are just beside the point, y’know? Suffice it to say, I credit her with introducing me to a healthy life-long enjoyment of calorie-free carnality. Also for giving me, on confirmation day, the stigmata I was grateful were hidden by my tightly buttoned starched collar. After the service, coming out into brilliant tree-leaf patterns filtering down on the church’s front steps, grandma was first to greet and kiss me. “Don’t go back on what you promised,” was all she said, eyes brimming. My face burned where her old-lady whiskers brushed my cheek. But not as much as the skin under my collar… Hey, gimme a break. I was 15, OK? Joy to the World, y’know? Let somebody else be Bringing in the Sheaves. I was a lover, not a fighter – and certainly not destined to be a farmer.
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Every Saturday night, regular as clockwork, mom and dad packed us up and trundled off to town for our obligatory weekly session at grandma and grandpa’s. Most of the evening was spent listening to grandma tell run-on tales about the neighbors. If I were a better mimic, I’d include the little snicking sound she made with her tongue in between phrases, kind of like the conversational space most other people fill with “um” or “y’know.” And of course, being a mimic, I would also include the exaggerated eye-roll mom gave whenever grandma started in on some story-or-other she’d already told the week before. Too bad this all happened before the Internet, otherwise grandma could have had a blog, and we all could have stayed home. Then mom could have done her eye-roll in private – kind of like you’re doing right now – but I digress. <Tongue-snick.>
Along about 9-o’clock when grandma’s story-stream was finally winding down, she’d get up and head for the kitchen. I knew exactly what this meant, and was glad: Ice cream and cake! Grandma had a sweet tooth. She loved to bake. She also had diabetes. So her baking forays were limited to weekends – “just for company.” My take, though? Other than gabbing with her friends in church, this was probably the high point of her week. After serving everybody up a slab of cake (chocolate) and a scoop of ice cream (vanilla), she’d lick the spoon…. Aw, hell, who are we trying to kid here? Let’s be honest: She’d dig deep and savor, straight from the carton. There may be Power in the Blood, yeah, sure. But life’s real sweetness? It resides at the midpoint of lactose and full-strength butterfat, no question about it. Jesus be praised.
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Last year I found out that, along with grandma’s sweet tooth, I had inherited her elevated A1c. I also got her penchant for story-telling too, and as legacies go, I guess there are worse ones to leave behind. Just be glad for the Internet – and for the fact that I’ve got a blog. So y’all can do your eye-roll – and enjoy your ice cream – in the privacy of your own home. <Tongue-snick.>
I like to walk for exercise. I need exercise to control my waistline. And my doctor has told me that weight reduction is part of a sensible plan for managing my Type 2 diabetes. So then, what’s not to like about the 10,000 step rule? Well, for one thing, I rebel against rules. Speed limit? That’s just a suggestion. Golden Rule? “Do unto others BEFORE they do unto you,” that’s what _I_ say. You tell me “No carbs!” and I’ll pig out on pasta just to spite you. Get the picture? Hey, I’m not saying I’m an angel here. I’m just giving you the lay of the land as a backdrop for the following story which caught me eye.
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A recent article in the Atlantic titled “What 10,000 Steps Will Really Get You” makes the case that this health maxim contains more marketing hype than scientific fact. Author Amanda Mull begins this way:
In America, the conventional wisdom of how to live healthily is full of axioms that long ago shed their origins. Drink eight glasses of water a day. Get eight hours of sleep. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Two thousand calories a day is normal. Even people who don’t regularly see a doctor are likely to have encountered this information, which forms the basis of a cultural shorthand. Tick these boxes, and you’re a healthy person.
In the past decade, as pedometers have proliferated in smartphone apps and wearable fitness trackers, another benchmark has entered the lexicon: Take at least 10,000 steps a day, which is about five miles of walking for most people. As with many other American fitness norms, where this particular number came from has always been a little hazy. But that hasn’t stopped it from becoming a default daily goal for some of the most popular activity trackers on the market.
Now new research is calling the usefulness of the 10,000-step standard into question — and with it, the way many Americans think about their daily activities. While basic guidelines can be helpful when they’re accurate, human health is far too complicated to be reduced to a long chain of numerical imperatives…
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I-Min Lee, a professor of epidemiology at Harvard… began looking into the step rule because she was curious about where it came from. “It turns out the original basis for this 10,000-step guideline was really a marketing strategy,” she explains. “In 1965, a Japanese company was selling pedometers, and they gave it a name that, in Japanese, means ‘the 10,000-step meter.’”
Based on conversations she’s had with Japanese researchers, Lee believes that name was chosen for the product because the character for “10,000” looks sort of like a man walking: 万 As far as she knows, the actual health merits of that number have never been validated by research.
But scientific or not, this bit of branding ingenuity transmogrified into a pearl of wisdom that traveled around the globe over the next half century, and eventually found its way onto the wrists and into the pockets of millions of Americans.
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In her research, Lee put it to the test by observing the step totals and mortality rates of more than 16,000 elderly American women. The study’s results paint a more nuanced picture of the value of physical activity.
“The basic finding was that at 4,400 steps per day, these women had significantly lower mortality rates compared to the least active women,” Lee explains. If they did more, their mortality rates continued to drop until they reached about 7,500 steps, at which point the rates leveled out. Ultimately, increasing daily physical activity by as little as 2,000 steps — less than a mile of walking — was associated with positive health outcomes for the elderly women.
So then, getting some daily exercise clearly is good for you – of that there can be little doubt. As for the 10,000 step rule? Don’t take every marketing ploy you come across at face value – that’s my take. Oh, and also this: Ya just gotta love it when it’s the shape of the Japanese character for “man walking” that shapes the received wisdom about public health.
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My grandfather sold apples during the Great Depression. Like the “step rule,” I’m pretty sure there’s little or no scientific basis for the statement “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.” It does, however, rhyme. And as an advertising slogan for sellers of apples in a down economy, you could do a lot worse. As for other slick marketing ploys involving this fruit? Well, you know…
Fruits of all the trees of the garden: Consume at your own risk!
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Now, let’s all go for a walk, shall we? Bring along an apple if you like. But remember this: Marketing ploy or no marketing ploy, the journey of 10,000 steps begins with the first one. And that is wisdom that’ll last you a lifetime.
