Dear Tom Riddle's Diary...

Yesterday was superbly uneventful. Other than having received a letter denying my brutally honest philosophical methodical letter contesting my first parking ticket - first ticket of any sort for that matter - I pretended to vegetate in front of my computer for the most part. I left my room for a second time to whip up some delicious bell pepper, broccoli, onion, and beef szechuan stir fry. By the time I hit the sack, I kept myself up with the usual idiotic mental meanderings. Is Rogaine applied by hand, and if so, doesn't that result in hairy palms? And slightly more cogitative inquiries such as whether we are plagued by the world or simply by our perceptions.

Today was somewhat more interesting as I ran amuck at lab feigning productivity when in reality, I was furiously twiddling with those metal puzzles that you have to take apart, como estos:Dinner consisted of shrimp primavera and a delightful subtly effervescent glass of lambrusco at Olive Garden (yes, I have gotten over my fear of shrimp since the last incident from BJs). Not long after finishing my glass of wine, they asked us to leave as the customers complained of the brilliant radiance of my asian glow, but Santa took me in since Dick Cheney apparently shot Rudolph too (how's that for ethanol as fuel?).

In other news, I had an epiphany that I absolutely must go into management. Michael Dell could've been a great doctor, but made a better CEO. I hope to be a great doctor, but a splendiferous CEO as well. As Warren Buffet says (to his kids), focus your resources on needs that would not be met without your efforts. I think that management and logistics are my fortes, and hopefully I can make the best of them whether in government, private, or non-profit sector.

Now Voldemort will take my soul. G'nite. Lest I not wake from my slumber, be a pal and pierce this diary with the Basilisk's fang.