This morning I managed to unravel a mini-mystery that had been nagging at me since Saturday night. The case began on Friday when I was overwhelmingly hungover from the effects of an open bar coupled with some stressful circumstances onboard the yacting excursion the night before and threw a couple of ibuprofen tablets into my pocket when I was getting ready for work. I was so out of it all day, though, that I spent most of the afternoon wishing that I had some pain reliever handy because I could not drag myself all the way downstairs and over to Duane Reade to fetch some, completely forgetting that I had the necessary relief in my pocket the whole time. Even though I got plenty of rest on Friday night, I still had a bit of a headache when I awoke on Saturday, which I did not care for as I was stepping out on the town that evening. So when I was getting dressed and saw two caplets in the dish atop my dresser that I dump things out of my pockets into at the end of a day, I took them and soon my headache cleared up and I was ready for action. But as the evening progressed I found myself getting drunk a lot more quickly and completely than seemed proper for the relatively small amount I was drinking, and I was unusually talkative, babbling on and on in an inane stream-of-consciousness. Not really that unusual for a drunken night out on the town, but like I say I only had four drinks over four hours and it wasn't like they were big shots of tequila or something. Plus when I got home I just lay in bed for almost three hours unable to fall asleep. I was starting to worry that I was becoming too in tune with the squirrels and their manic autumnal reshuffling, and would soon find myself chittering frantically in an agitated manner while dancing in the middle of the road and then scamper off to leap into the Newtown Creek. A more prosaic explanation presented itself this morning when I put on the same pants I had worn on Friday and felt the two ibuprofen tablets still in the pocket. I had taken some allergy-sinus pain reliver that I had placed in the dish last month just to get them out of the bulky plastic encasement that they had come in, and in addition I'm pretty sure that the recommended dosage was only one caplet. So I was unknowingly mixing a double dosage of pseudoephedrine with alcohol, not losing my mind. The moral here is don't assume or you will make an ass out of you and me, or at least me. Really, I don't know that I was being much more of an ass than usual on Saturday, but it's catchier than don't assume or the next time you have a sinus headache you will find yourself lacking the proper medication to alleviate the discomfort effectively. The event I was all jacked up at, by the way, was a reading of sorts by the editors of Found magazine, who are currently in the midst of a 50 state tour; a link to their website is, as always, over to your left, and readers in other states should check to see if they are coming to your town too. One guy read and commented on some of his favorite found notes, and then his brother sang three songs, the first two of which were surprisingly awful and unfunny in a cloying style reminiscent of a male Jewel, but his third song was a cover of a booty bass jam that completely redeemed the performance. Also, female audience members pointed out that he was rather cute, which I know makes Jewel a lot more bearable for me and my male friends, and ladies may well find the whole set enjoyable. So that is highly recommended if you have the opportunity to check it out. For readers in NYC, I can also highly recommend the restaurant we went to before the show, Rice & Beans, it was very, very tasty. Anyway, I'm feeling rather Encyclopedia Brownish right now, so if any readers have a mystery of their own that they'd like me to apply my impressive deductive reasoning skills to, feel free to send it in to the tipline and I will get cracking on it.