Van Gogh, Bourdain and unknowable urges

In town to cover a conference on rheumatology, I ended up in the most appropriate of Amsterdam’s museums a few hours after my plane landed: the Van Gogh museum.

With the suicides of Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade still haunting our consciousness, there I was at ground zero of one of the most famous suicidal artists in history.  Continue reading “Van Gogh, Bourdain and unknowable urges”

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A rendition of bliss written while slightly intoxicated in Madrid

I should preface with this: My job as a freelance medical writer, while perfect much of the time, letting me work at home and see my kids a lot, sometimes  involves a feeling of despair when travel abroad is imminent. This might sound ridiculous or phony. Continue reading “A rendition of bliss written while slightly intoxicated in Madrid”