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I live just and hop/skip/jump from Three Mile Island. At the time of the 'event,' my daughter (who was then a toddler) and I were sitting in the tree house in our backyard having milk and sandwiches, when a neighbor came out and calmly informed us of what had occurred. No hippies were around, taking ghoulish pleasure in the fact that a nuclear meltdown might have occurred. So my memory of that day is much more calm and unmemorable than yours. But that moron appears to have done you a favor in that he steered you to the right. (Did you consider running down to DC last weekend during the anti-war demonstration, seeking him out, and shaking his hand?)

Regarding the parentheses thing ....

In fourteen years, my dog has never jumped up onto the furniture when I am at home. But occasionally, when I arrive home, I will peek through the glass panel in the front door, and there she will be, lying on her back on the couch, feet up in the air. As soon as I put the key in the lock, she scrambles down and meets me at the door with a 'Who, me?' look in her eye.

I guess that's kinda how I am with you and parentheses. When I am writing specifically to you, I avoid them scrupulously (well, semi-scrupulously) <-- as you can see. Yet, when I think you are not looking, I use them with abandon.

Why do I feel like a two-year-old with her hand caught in the cookie jar?