Blow your own whistle

Whistleblowing is really trendy these days.

A whistleblower is someone who works at an institution like the government or a corporation and who reveals secrets about the institution to expose, as the great philosopher George Bush terms them, evil doers.

Whistleblowers use to do their business in secret. I refer, of course, to the famous Deep Throat, a la Watergate, who only did his business in underground parking garages in half light and had the gall to always be standing in the handicap space.

We all know Deep Throat helped expose Richard Nixon, who I would accuse of having had narcissistic personality disorder, except it's hard to assign him any personality at all.

The current whistleblower of the month is Edward Snowden, a young guy who I don't think even has to shave yet. He did not meet in parking garages, probably because he doesn't have his licence yet, or only has the licence that lets him drive with an adult, and he couldn't find anyone else who wanted to expose the NSA and then move to beautiful KGB Headquarters in Moscow.

Snowden made sure the first thing everyone knew was his name and face. I have mixed feelings about what Mr. Ed did. It certainly is startling that the NSA tracks how many junk emails I get on penis enlargement technology. This technology doesn't even work. On the bright side, I can add some NSA office spies as readers of this blog. Especially this article. Right now.

Anyway, who am I to judge Snowden and what he did? I just think that he might not be the brightest guy in the parking garage, if he chose to meet in one. Virtuous, yes. Bright? Well, let me see. He exposes the U.S. government for tracking everyone's every move, then moves to a country whose expertise lies in tracking everyone's every move, has been for many decades, and has resulted in many, many people disappearing throughout its history.

Life is all about priorities, I guess.

Now to my point. It's not to preach or give a history lesson. It's to express my outrage at the whistleblower in my own home. My daughter.

My wife was away this weekend at the cottage for a girl's weekend. On the topic of spying, I would have loved to go up there and track their every movement, but I didn't have the technology, a car.

Saturday night my daughter calls the cottage to speak to mommy. The conversation is very sweet, adorable, gosh darn cute. Until my daughter felt the need to reveal that the house is clean, except for the kitchen, which is a disgusting mess. This is a direct quote taken from my tapes of the conversation. Daddy has turned the kitchen into a nightmare.

That mess is called cooking, girl. No, you didn't save the world by revealing Kitchengate.

I am now sleeping in our parking garage.