I have been negligent with my road journal. While interesting, newsworthy things have been happening on the road, my loyal readers have been left in the dark. Forsaken. Abandoned. Lost. And ultimately forgiving, since there’s no greater excuse for neglecting your road journal than your own wedding. It’s kind of like the Curb Your Enthusiasm where Larry’s mother passes away and he uses it as a opportunity to get out of unsavory dinner dates and such. I get a free pass from all my responsibilities so long as I invoke the fact that I’ve been on my honeymoon. My extended honeymoon in Houston Texas. My extended honeymoon in Tulsa Oklahoma.

So, to address the delicate subject matter of how to delicately address the subject matter of balancing personal privacy and diary-like disclosure, I will take a page from Bill “The Sports Guy” Simmons, the ESPN sportswriter with a readership a hundred times the size of the Guster road journal. When he got married he began referring to his wife as the “Sports Gal” and bringing her up in the context of her taste in movies and her emotional monthly cycles. While I might take the high road and not divulge too much about her here (perhaps a bit ironic considering I’ll gladly talk in great detail about the heat that comes from my farts), I offer you this one wedding photo of the amazing Thunder Spouse in action. The love of my life.

The Thunder Spouse was with us Monday in New Orleans when we spent the afternoon erecting the walls of a house in Lacombe, Louisiana with Habitat For Humanity.

I bring this up not to come across as altruistic or charitable or Born Again Christian, but merely to warn the future inhabitants of the place we were working on. Tread lightly in your new home and never lean against the north-facing wall. We’re not very good with hammers.

I could use this next photo to incriminate Seth and Joe for that artistic board of bent nails, but the truth is we all contributed a little to its aesthetic. Six nails for six people who all thought they could do it better than the person before them.

I remember asking Craig, the professional carpenter on the scene whose job it was to supervise our work, if he and one other experienced builder could do more as a duo than the six of us did that afternoon, and like a true diplomat he said “it sure wouldn’t be as much fun.” We signed our piece of wood, too, because it felt like the right thing to do.

I do like to keep the mood upbeat here at the road journal, but the truth is New Orleans is still a fucking mess, a year after the flood. Driving through some of the hardest-hit neighborhoods breaks your heart, and you don’t get the feeling that there’s any urgency to the recovery effort. Here’s a link to the Katrina Recovery wing of Habitat for Humanity if you’re in the area and feel like doing some volunteer work.

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