For a few, the perfect gift

Stanley - Thursday

As a writer of murder mysteries and a dreamer of dastardly deeds against people whom I dislike, I’m always on the lookout for ways to kill.  And the more horrific the better.

I recently stumbled across something that meets most of my requirements: easy to find; practically irreversible; agonizingly painful; and impossible to trace.  For this, I thank the wonderful publication called Atlas Obscura, which is full of quirky information.  The article in question was written by Dan Nosowitz.

The Apiaceae family contains some of the most common and tastiest of foods, including carrots, celery, cumin, dill, fennel, parsley, anise, parsnip, and coriander.  It also contains a plant that meets my criteria above.  It is called spotted water hemlock (cicuta maculata), and grows almost everywhere in North America, typically in marshy or swampy areas.  It is present in New York City (take note, Annamaria) and the west and everywhere else, except Newfoundland.

cicuta maculata - spotted water hemlock 

spotted water hemlock flowers

It grows a few feet tall and has pretty, umbrella-shaped white flowers not unlike Queen Anne’s Lace.  Its stem and roots look a lot like wild parsnip and, when cut, has a carroty-parsley smell.

You may ask how it differs from poison hemlock – the method Socrates is reputed to have taken to end his life.  Poison hemlock provides a gentle death, with your breathing stopping and your heart stopping.  No fuss, no bother.

Poisonous hemlock

Socrates

On the other hand, death by spotted water hemlock is described in the following way by foraging expert, Steve Brill:

Every single muscle starts firing and contracting, so you have convulsions, you chew your tongue into ribbons, you vomit but then you can’t open your mouth because the jaw muscles are contracting 10 or 20 times as hard as they normally do, and you die a horrible death.

 Yummy.

In a 1941 book on Iroquois suicide rites, the following piece describes death by spotted water hemlock:

There is nothing good about the plant. Those who eat it will die in two hours. It must be a painful death. It twists the arms and ankles and turns the head back. Finally, they die in a last wretching convulsion. They say it turns the eyes back. 

Hmmm.

To quote the article I read: 

The primary toxin in the spotted water hemlock is called cicutoxin, which works on the nervous system as an incredibly potent stimulant. Humans, and other mammals, have a neurotransmitter called “gamma-aminobutyric acid,” which is usually cheerfully abbreviated to GABA. GABA is an inhibitory neurotransmitter, which means it functions basically—apologies to neuroscientists for all of this simplification—like an emergency brake on a car. It serves as a balancing force, stopping stimulants from running rampant and telling your brain to press all the buttons that control your body. Cicutoxin is a GABA antagonist; it turns off the brakes. Without that GABA emergency brake, the brain goes nuts: everything starts firing. Anyone unfortunate enough to ingest cicutoxin starts sweating, vomiting, and salivating violently. Kidney failure is common, as is an irregular heartbeat and difficulty breathing. Muscles start contracting so hard they can dislocate bones.

What is particularly appealing about spotted water hemlock is that the cicutoxin is present in all parts of the plant, with the highest concentration in the roots.  And even a very small portion can kill you.

There is a very small possibility that someone ingesting spotted water hemlock can be saved. This may happen with immediate dosing of various barbiturates and benzodiazapines, which bolster the GABA. So, if you’re going to use it, make sure these aren’t present!

What a Christmas present that would be: plum pudding a la circuta maculata.

Time to dust off my gift list.

With those cozy thoughts, I wish all my fellow bloggers and all readers a very merry holiday season, and a healthy, happy, and fulfilling New Year.

Cheers.  Clink.

Socrates

No, this isn’t about the philosopher. I leave that kind of stuff to our Greek expert, Jeff Siger.

My post of today is about this guy:

Socrates Brasileiro Sampaio de Souza Vieira de Oliveira.

It’s been my privilege to be introduced to some of the greatest stars Brazilian football ever produced, Pele, Rivelino, Jairzinho, Gerson, Tostão, Falcão, Zico, but there was no one quite like Socrates.

We met first on the Lido, in Venice, back in 1983, when he was already a star, and I was still very ignorant about the beautiful game. He was there with a friend of mine. We boarded the same boat to go to the Rialto.

I’d heard of him, of course. In Brazil, Doctor Socrates was already a household name and widely-regarded as one of the greatest midfielders ever to play the game.

He’d been captain of the Brazilian team that played against Italy in the 1982 World Cup, a game of such surpassing skill and spontaneity that no one who saw it will ever forget it.

But I thought Doctor was just a sobriquet.

Not so. That day, in chatting with him, I learned that Socrates actually was a doctor, an orthopedic surgeon. And that he was also a folk singer, an author and a very modest and agreeable man.

Who, surprisingly, didn’t put football first.

The things that concerned him were eliminating poverty and building roads and schools.

And it wasn’t just talk.

In later years, after he retired, he went on to become a political activist. He wrote for newspapers, not only about sport, but also about politics and economics.

Unfortunately, he also became an alcoholic.

The activism was of a kind that could have gotten him killed during the military dictatorship of the 1970’s.

And the alcoholism did kill him.

Take a moment, now, to enjoy the Brazilian Team’s goals in the 1982 World Cup, from the days when Socrates was in his prime:

(C’mon, watch the video. Please! It’s a part of my continuing campaign to generate interest in the sport among you non-football fans. Remember, there’s only a little over two years to go before the event kicks off here in Brazil.)

Socrates died last month at the age of 56, just one day before his old team, Corinthians, won the Brazilian championship for the fifth time.

He was a doctor. He knew what the endless cigarettes and caiprinhas he was so fond of had done to his health.

Nevertheless, on the night he died, he went to a restaurant with a group of friends and overloaded his liver with the same degree of serenity that his namesake displayed when he drank the hemlock.

He was a most extraordinary man.

And Brazil is missing him.

Leighton - Monday