Today I received a care package in the mail courtesy of one of my best friends, Nate McDonough, who now resides in Pennsylvania. Nate had been doodling slice-of-life comics even before I met him in high school, but since moving to Pittsburgh for college he has started collecting his stories and musings into a serialized publication entitled GRIXLY. It’s kind of like an American Splendor set in Pittsburgh, except that I have no idea if it’s anything like that since I’ve a) never read American Splendor and b) never been to Pittsburgh. If you need a more concrete analogy, I can say that some of the longer stories found in GRIXLY remind me of Adrian Tomine‘s portrayal of the bittersweetness often found in everyday life encounters. Nate’s work is different in that the universe (Grixlyverse?) his comics are set in is not seen through rose-colored glasses; many of the people glimpsed within are portrayed unflatteringly, and much of the humor of the comics derives from this.

Other stories present brief slice-of-life scenarios or musings, such as a two-page spread depicting Nate buying a ticket for the film Kick Ass from an old woman at a movie theater. She seems offended by the title of the film, and this leads Nate to contemplate the change in what is considered taboo from one generation to the next. Just as the stream-of-consciousness dialogue turns into a serious commentary on the downfall of decency in modern-day society, the strip ends with Nate laughing hysterically as he watches the film.

In the time it’s taken you to read this blog post, you could have probably have already read at least half of an issue of GRIXLY, so I recommend heading over to the official GRIXLY Facebook page and checking it out for yourself. Nate also offers the comic in a nice little photocopied paper edition, which harkens back to the days before the internet destroyed the market for self-made zines. I personally treasure my “first edition” copies of GRIXLY, and they hold a special place on my bookshelf in the company of Adrian Tomine and Osamu Tezuka.

But there is a first time for everything.

My esteemed colleague Matt (whom you may know from his acting career in short films or from certain podcasts) asked to borrow my mixing equipment for a school project, so I walked down the street to his apartment, expecting to stay for only an hour or two; after all, I still had homework to finish before the next day. While I was over, another friend texted me, certifying the unthinkable: We were going to have a snow day. Now in a celebratory mood, and with newly extended deadlines to finish that homework by, Matt and I cracked open some beverages from Point Brewery and enjoyed an absolutely terrible film starring Dolph Lundgren (I know, I know, it’s redundant to put the words “Dolph Lundgren” and “terrible film” in the same sentence) entitled Dark Angel (alternatively I Come In Peace). It’s basically an early ’90s action film about an alien from outer space who comes to earth and says “I come in peace” before injecting random innocents with a lethal dose of heroin and then sucking endorphins out of their head. It’s almost as good as Showdown in Little Tokyo, another Dolph Lundgren classic. After the credits rolled on that cinematic masterpiece, we decided to hit the snow-filled streets at midnight on foot.

The weather, although inclement, was unusually comfortable for a Wisconsin winter; it was not too cold outside, and there was almost no wind. Although the streets were eerily quiet and devoid of life (even for midnight on a Tuesday evening), it didn’t take long before we stumbled upon a group of strangers crafting large snowmen in the parking lot across the street from my apartment building. We observed right away that the snow already on the ground was perfect for packing, easily allowing for the creation of perfectly symmetrical snowmen and giant snowballs.

While the atmosphere of camaraderie felt good, we decided to move on, as 1) people were only marveling at the snowmen they had already made, not creating new ones, and 2) no one was talking to us anyway. So we headed up towards the lake and onto Langdon Street, the “Greek row” of the campus. Before we had even gotten close to the epicenter of action, we could already hear the sound of people yelling, cheering, and just making noise in general. As we got closer, we saw large crowds on either side of the street hurling snowballs at each other.

It almost felt like a war zone. People did not seem good-natured about their artillery firing, but instead rather malicious, as though they really wanted to hurt someone on the other side of the street. This impression was confirmed when a guy emerged from the crowd and ran up to Matt and I. He tried to sway us to his cause with this utterance: “Look, I don’t know if you guys hate Sigma Chi or not, but FUCK THEM! Help us hit their flag!” After we feigned interest and told him we would help him, he seemed appeased and quickly ran away, probably to “persuade” more neutral parties. Sigma Chi is best-known on campus for things other than philanthropic work, but I myself am neutral in my opinion of them, because I don’t really care about Greek life – unless, of course, we’re talking about PCU (great movie, by the way). Since the environment was so hostile, we decided to move on and head towards the center of campus. Neither of us had experienced the traditional snow festivities on Bascom Hill, and there was no better night to see what it was all about.

Luckily, Bascom Hill was a lot more fun to be at than Langdon Street, as everyone was just out to have a good time, not pelt a frat house with tightly-packed snow projectiles. All along the hill people were engaged in a light-hearted snowball fight, and thankfully, sticking to the sidewalks on either side of the hill ensured you wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire. I decided that this was the perfect opportunity to try that college tradition of tray-sledding for the first time, using an abandoned tray Matt had picked up while we were on Langdon. In spite of Bascom Hill being frighteningly steep, there was too much friction on the sidewalk for the tray to slide effortlessly, and I ended up doing that pathetic motion where you try to give yourself momentum by scooting on the “sled.” But still, I can now at least say that I tried tray-sledding.

My fingers started to get bitterly cold, so we made our way away from campus and back home, but not before stopping for some Silvermine Subs at 1:30 in the morning, which were delicious, as expected. It was especially entertaining to watch people pelt each other with snowballs right outside of the restaurant the entire time we were eating. Matt and I got back to his apartment at 2 AM, and, after watching some episodes of QI and Look Around You, finished a successful evening up with warm apple cider and Christmas music courtesy of Pandora Radio. We also went outside again to help a girl park her car in the snow. Since her car battery was dead, however, there was more pushing than parking going on, and even though the car was still sticking out into the street when we were finished, one of the other good Samaritans who helped pointed out, “if someone manages to hit your car in this weather, they’re just a douchebag.” I can think of no better situation to illustrate human kindness than a couple of dudes helping a damsel-in-distress with her car troubles at 4 AM on a snowy Wisconsin street. Even after witnessing incident after incident that evening of hateful snowball throwing and gratuitous use of homophobic slurs, this philanthropic act left me with hope for the human race. Snow days help bring people together.

Side Note: Although I am often very critical of The Badger Herald (as I am with other student newspapers), writer Carolyn Briggs penned a nice front-page article today about the annual snowball fight on Bascom Hill, which is written as though the fight were an epic military battle. It’s amusing, and worth a read.