One 3.6-mile city ride, without snow, and in contacts. It felt colder than 30, but perfectly manageable.
Lovely. Surprisingly, the movie was as faithful to the book as it could be, as far as I remember from a decade back, and despite my Issues with William Hurt (that I loathe him, aside from "Kiss" and "Children of a Lesser God," neither of which I can watch again).
I don't know what to make of the extensive footnotes, that is, not so many but those few being extensive, going on for pages. They offer this person's and that's theory for the origin of homosexuality, which makes me wonder why Manuel Puig didn't offer similar rambling pedagogies on films and dreams (and dreams in films and films in dreams) and the prisoner's dilemma and other themes in the book.
But it was lovely.