It was a grand time, as usual. Conversation was varied and esoteric, and I got to trot out my tale of getting my wisdom teeth extracted by Doogie Howser. Old Grouch, Shermlock Shomes, and RobertaX were outdoing each other in the recollection of obscure SF short stories. It was an amazingly literate and educated crowd; more than once I almost blurted out "Well, I ain't much on fancy book learnin'." Scotch Eggs were much in evidence, as were Lawnmower Ales and the house Extra Pale Ale. (They were out of the house IPA, and ordering a beer that wasn't brewed on-site when you're at a brewpub is just wrong.)
After the general meeting broke up, Brigid, RX, and I wandered the streets of Broad Ripple, found a whole store full of hippies and Birkenstocks and tofu, and strolled the Monon and the Art Center grounds for a bit. By the time the shadows started lengthening, I had become pleasantly full of good food, good beer, good conversation, and warm sunshine.
A lot of those lucky people will be doing it again next weekend, while I'm off displaying my total lack of skill and talent in front of some of the most popular writers in the gun blogosphere. It'll be awesome!