This seems to be déjà vu from last weekend, because it is.

October has arrived, and some cold days leading up to it has made it deceitful. We thought to ourselves once more that we could write something even partially witty about our memories of autumn months so grey and wet that they reminded us of something straight out of The Notebook. But this ain't it, people: The future—the immediate future, anyway—is looking hot and humid enough to stop packing up those cut-offs and mesh tops.

Funny enough, this weekend seems to know it, too. We can't remember the last time we had a lineup this stacked (though it was probably right in the heat of early July). There's more than you can shake a stick at—but hey, you've got yourself a copy of the Bulletin, so you know which general direction to shake that stick in.

This seems to be déjà vu from last weekend, because it is.

October has arrived, and some cold days leading up to it has made it deceitful. We thought to ourselves once more that we could write something even partially witty about our memories of autumn months so grey and wet that they reminded us of something straight out of The Notebook. But this ain't it, people: The future—the immediate future, anyway—is looking hot and humid enough to stop packing up those cut-offs and mesh tops.

Funny enough, this weekend seems to know it, too. We can't remember the last time we had a lineup this stacked (though it was probably right in the heat of early July). There's more than you can shake a stick at—but hey, you've got yourself a copy of the Bulletin, so you know which general direction to shake that stick in.