We just got back from the 13th week scan. On the monitor the baby was flipping and spinning and doing acrobatic things I was surprised by. My wife routinely trips walking down pretty straightforward sidewalks and I have about as much grace as a bull. So I hadn’t been ready for the stealthy movements my tiny offspring would be capable of.

Read more: On Jumbo Shrimp & Becoming a Dad

  Lots of people watched it and admired Doogie, which was sort of the point of the show. And Doogie was cool—don’t get me wrong. He had a stethoscope, and could perform surgeries. He could speak intelligently to adults and treat leukemia all before he could legally drive a car. He was impressive. And when it came time to take the SATS I’m sure I even envied him more than a little bit.

Read more: Doogie Howser, Dust Bunnies and the Common Genius of Vinie Delpinby

Why is it that whenever I’ve just taken a bite of an apple I have a sudden urge to projectile sneeze? If most sneezes are about a factor three or four, these apple sneezes are in several classes of sneeze more powerful than that—a factor seven, at a minimum. It may be that I’m allergic to apples. They are, after all, healthy, and it hasn’t been too long since I’ve been swallowing cheeseburgers and French fries on a regular basis.

Read more: Eden & The Apple: The Bite Heard 'round The World

 On our Second full day in Tunisia we went to the city of Sousse to see the 8th century medina, (the indoor marketplace) where Tunisians haggle for everything from fish to spices to housewares. 

   It is a busy and colorful place where merchants sell everything from live snails to pots and earthenware, silks, candies, and dried scorpions of various sizes encased in glass boxes. I will admit to picking one up and thinking it was pretty cool. Then I remembered that I’m not eleven, and what would I do with a dried insect in a box. 

Read more: So, I Went With The Flow, And It Took Me To Tunisia

We’re all familiar with the scene: a ‘spiritual’ teacher wearing a black turtleneck, and a discreet lapel mic walks onto a well-lit stage in an auditorium full of pre-converted fans who’ve already purchased his seventh book, titled something like, What if God were a Blade of Grass?

He eases into an unchallenging, paternal tone that will carry him from his opening remarks all the way to the book signing at the end of the hour and half presentation. After the signing, in a private breakout room, some who have paid a little extra will be able to have a boxed lunch of tuna and radish sandwiches and speak with him one on one.

Read more: What if Jesus Would Have Had an Agent

Until recently, I’d been hamstrung by a leaden, pointless philosophy—a philosophy designed with one goal in mind: avoiding the discomfort of taking responsibility and making real choices.

But this has been changing. I’ve made movement in a positive direction. I’ve been eating well and have quit smoking. I’ve been playing tennis and writing. I’ve left the 40 hour workweek, and I’ve even started writing a book—a work of fiction—with an actual plot, and a sketched out plan for how I’ll tell the story.

Read more: Fatty Livers, Furniture Moving and the Road Ahead