I made fun of Beth yesterday because she went out and bought a document shredder. I told her there was no way I'd ever have use for something like that.
  And today, right on cue, one of my new clients asked me to shred her credit card number after I wrote it down. Ponderous.

   There has been an unexplained rash of people hitting themselves in the nuts lately. It happened to Matt the other night and it happened to me twice in the past couple of weeks. And, of course, all three incidents could have been avoided.
  Matt gets the award for the Strangest Way To Rack Yourself. He was diving for a ball in centerfield in one of our Reston games and he somehow spiked himself in the crotch. Gonk. Quite a feat, Mr. Matty (uh, no pun intended). My first accident happened because I was jacking around. Between batters, I was slapping my glove against my thigh (kinda like Ricky Henderson does, only not quite as cool) and I missed a couple inches to the right. Gonk. And the third--and worst incident--happened when Barney and I were golfing. One of Barney's clubs was laying on the green and trying to be a nice guy, I stepped on the club's head in an attempt to pop it up into my hand. Of course, the dang thing hit me square in the balls instead. Gonk. That one had me crawling on the green in pure agony (while Barney laughed so hard snot shot out of his eyes).
  I hope it's true that Bad Things Come In Threes. Otherwise, I may be in trouble.