Spent the holiday weekend out in Ashtabula drinking, eating, and hanging with some British ex-pats celebrating the fact we still pay taxes despite our independence from their country. We stayed over at place many refer to as “Camp David”, the home of our pal Dave. Dave was in a rather awesome band throughout the 90s, and on this trip I noticed a new piece of decorating in his kitchen: the damn band poster my boyfriend had over his couch when I was 15 — we used to make out under it all the time! And there’s Dave in the picture, all posing.
While out in the country we visited a fabulous winery in a barn (the wine wasn’t bad actually), and enjoyed a private fireworks display for a party of 60 people. This stuff was insane, and way better that what most cities could pull off. The word “permit” gets laughed at in these parts; all the neighbors compete with eachother as we could see through the trees and hear booming noises echo through the hills. Here are some photos…
Arty Farty 