The XXIX Head of the Charles transpired this typically Bostonian autumnal weekend: one crisp, clear day, the multicolored leaves of the deciduous trees lining the banks of the Charles illumined by the gauzy sunlight, followed by a soggy, dreary mess of a day that chilled to the bone the masses of prepdom that congregate each year to drink hard cider and compare graduate degrees, portfolios, and children's competitive nursery programs whilst the scullers glide insectlike over the water.