I'm at the Biographers International Organization annual conference here in New York today.
I was there yesterday too.
Yesterday between panels I was sitting at a table diving into one of the two books I'd just bought.
I noticed a gentleman at the next table with the same book.
"Ahoy," I warbled. "We're reading the same book!" I waved the book like a semaphore.
"Indeed," he replied kindly. "I wrote it."
After I picked myself up and dusted off my mortification at not recognizing him, I skedaddled over and had him sign my copy.
Turns out Mr. Atlas had forgotten his own copy and for his talk he'd had to buy another from the on-site bookseller.