I'll admit, it's an interesting piece of work - better than most of the other theoretical pudding-drivel I was forced to read, ponder and "reflect upon" by my Educational Philosophy Teacher-Educator who hadn't seen the inside of a classroom since the Pre-Cambrian era.
Gardner, however, is a neat-o guy. With him, everyone's smart, we're all just differently smart.
No matter how sorry your existence may be, Gardner is there to give you a little blue ribbon on at least one piece of intelligence pie... except perhaps it you're one of those anti-social, self-loathing mute and illiterate non-computing, tone-deaf klutzes with a black thumb and no sense of direction. All that's left for them in life is to become one of those norons on their insipid little scooters who hands out parking tickets.
So the deal is that we all get some gold-star areas in the Multiple Intelligence chart. I took a little test eons ago, turns out my top two were: Word-smart and Music-smart. No surprises there.
Problem is, the test, without meaning to, also indicates in which areas you are err... less-smart. Although I can draw a half-decent picture and manage to dance pretty well, I rank (on the Harry Potter scale) somewhere just above a "T" in terms of my kinesthetic/spatial intelligences.
At first, I was taken aback by the results, until I stepped back and took a look at the big picture (and tripped over the coffee table in the process).
Here is the big picture:
- I routinely bump into and trip over stationary objects including: desks, bedframes, doorways, doors, tables and chairs. And the cat*. Oops.
- Unless I have a map and written directions including landmarks, I will get hopelessly lost going somewhere ridiculously simple. In other words, I couldn't win an Amazing Race to my own belly button.
- I pick up objects and, if I'm not paying specific attention to them I might:
- a) Drop them
- b) Put them away again (even if I intend to use them)
- c) Flail them about as I talk with my hands
- d) a and b only
- e) all of the above**
All this has come to a head this morning in the shower. I looked down at my legs and gasped in horror. Not because they are particularly hairy, but because they are particularly bruised. I counted 3 bruises, ranging from toonie-size to fist-size on my left leg, and one on my right. I look like I've been beaten.
This has got to stop before summertime. I have a rubbermaid bin full or shorts and skirts in the crawlspace that are begging to be worn. I must gain control of my senses and develop the peripheral awareness of a panther. Wax on... wax off...
So if any of you happen to know of a Ninja that trains ungainly students in the Victoria area, let me know. I am, however, less interested in taking on swarms of angry asians armed with bamboo poles while blindfolded than I am in just being able to wear that cute Gap tennis skirt.
* Technically not a stationary object, but has a tendency to nap where I'm trying to walk.
**Good guess, but only Peter flails things about as he talks with his hands. The correct answer is d.