Speaking of body parts researched on farms and discarded in sewers, nothing puts us in more of a mood to enjoy life to its fullest than a 48-hour-straight face-stinging blizzard in March paired with the prospect of checking out old-timey art and film based on human body failures and cadavers in a Victorian box factory. Seriously, it's so fucking depressing it's hilarious, the kind of combo that guarantees an anonymous fuzzy winter lay. So go check out Morbid Anatomy's book release party and film screening at the new space they co-opened with a bunch of other people who like to talk about art in a serious way, and then thank us later when you get to spend tomorrow's snow day curled up with someone who will forever remind you of death.