The wife and I have been painting the apartment.  We've spent the past two weekends painting.  We.  That's code for me.  Whenever Em says "we," I crack up thinking about The Big Lebowski, you know, the editorial "we," because I know she's talking about me. 

Okay, I'm not the only one doing work, it hasn't been all me, she's been helping plenty.  Which doesn't mean I've been behaving myself.  I've been dutiful but sullen.  In fact, I've been jerk about the whole thing. I've been doing the job, but painting is just one of those things that I can't excited about.  I don't even feel accomplished when I've finished, just relieved. 

Today, the bedroom and my little office were on the painting schedule and I was determined to be, if not cheerful, then at least pleasant.  My mom and step-father came down to help out.  When we cracked open the light green paint for the bedroom it was clear that we had made a mistake.  It was too yellow.  After throwing some up on one wall, an executive decision was made and Em headed back to the paint store.

I painted my office and listened to Mike Mussina and the Yanks stink up the jernt against the Rays.  7-1 was the final.  Em returned with a better shade of green and hours later when we called it quits for the night, the Yanks had a 1-0 lead on the Rays in the nightcap.  Then Sidney Ponson gave up a grand slam and Emily started getting the shakes because after all of our hard work, the new green wasn't working for her either.  In fact, it was making her nauseous, sick because not only didn't she like the color but she was guilt-ridden at the prospect of having to do it again, and wasting my time, my parents time, and our money.

"How could this happen?"  she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

I was not a jerk.  When it comes down to it, it takes so much energy to be angry and resentful, isn't it easier and more satisfying to be a good guy?  I soothed her and told her everything was going to be fine.  Yeah, I hate painting but it's just paint.  It's just a weekend afternoon.  It's not that big a deal.  

The Yanks scrapped back.  Derek Jeter had three hits in both games, a fine day that was treated like Reggie Jackson's three-dinger World Serious game by Michael Kay on the YES broadcast (Kay called Jeter's three single, one walk performance in the night game "a tour de force").  Wilson Betemit homered and Xavier Nady singled home the go-ahead run.  The fans were lively once the Yanks got on the board, saving their boos for Alex Rodriguez who made outs in his final two at-bats with runners on base.  

Mariano Rivera, jeez, remember him, allowed a run in the ninth but earned the save and the Yanks came away with a split.  6-5 was the final.

A nice way to end a long day.  Still, looks like I've got more painting to do.