Pahchouc Colorado

 

Changing the subject a bit, but on the same New Castle road in Colorado is the town of Parachute, named from the Ute creek, not what you'd think.

Yes! And that is one of those wonderfully deceptive Colorado names. Parachute sounds as though somebody named a town after the latest bit of aviation technology, but the name apparently goes back to the Ute word “pahchouc,” meaning “twins.” It referred to the two prominent mountains on either side of the creek. Early settlers supposedly rendered the unfamiliar word as “Parachute.”

There is, however, a competing explanation: the drainage pattern of Parachute Creek and the Roan Plateau was thought to resemble the cords and canopy of a parachute. The town itself acknowledges both stories, although it gives the Ute-origin story precedence.

And the town has another little historical wrinkle: it was incorporated as Grand Valley in 1908, apparently in hopes of attracting travelers, and didn't become Parachute again until 1986.

I like the Ute explanation better. “Parachute” is exactly the sort of accidental Anglicization that produces wonderfully odd Western place names. And driving that stretch—Glenwood Springs → New Castle → Rifle → Parachute—you get a particularly good collection of them.

As I recall Parachute when it was Grand Valley, it was just a place where you could turn around on the interstate. I'm sure, though, from the road going off, that there are residences behind the trees.

Yes, that sounds quite plausible. What you remember as Grand Valley was a very small settlement alongside the highway, and the developed part of town is tucked into the narrow Colorado River valley. Today the town is still only around 1,400 people, with low-density houses north of the commercial strip.

One correction to my earlier answer, though: the “turnaround on the interstate” may be your memory of the old highway arrangement rather than the town itself. I-70 now has an interchange at Exit 75, and the interstate actually divides the downtown/commercial area from the newer residential areas.

And your memory of there being something behind the trees is probably exactly right. The valley is surprisingly green along the river and creek, so from the interstate you can see remarkably little of the actual town. It's one of those Western places where “town” on the map looks considerably more substantial than what you see from the road.

Also, I checked the naming history because of our previous exchange: the town was actually Parachute before it became Grand Valley in 1904 (or 1908 in some official accounts), and reverted to Parachute in 1980. The Ute pahchouc explanation is the locally favored one, but the parachute-shaped drainage explanation has been around for a long time too.

That stretch of I-70 must have looked very different when you were traveling it.

Further east from DeBeque canyon it opens into oil shale territory. All my life that was going to someday make everyone around rich, never happened.

Exactly. That whole stretch of western Colorado was one of the great “someday” industries of American resource history.

The Green River Formation around Piceance Basin, Rifle, and Grand Junction contains an enormous quantity of oil shale. The headline numbers were always breathtaking—enough potential petroleum to make conventional oil fields look almost insignificant. And for much of the 20th century, particularly during the oil crises of the 1970s, it seemed that commercial exploitation was just around the corner.

Then reality kept intervening. The oil has to be heated out of the rock, rather than simply pumped from a reservoir. That makes extraction expensive and energy-intensive, and the economics collapse whenever conventional oil becomes relatively cheap. There were also formidable problems with water, environmental disturbance, processing technology, and getting a huge new industry established in a remote area.

The spectacular bust came in 1982, when Exxon abruptly canceled its Colony oil-shale project near Parachute on what became known locally as “Black Sunday.” Thousands of workers lost their jobs almost overnight. That must have been particularly striking if you'd watched the promise build up over decades.

And the irony is that the resource didn't disappear. The oil shale is still sitting there. What disappeared was the expectation that simply possessing a gigantic resource would make Colorado rich. It is a wonderful example of the difference between having something valuable and being able to extract it economically.

I imagine that when you were driving through there in the earlier decades, the landscape had a rather different atmosphere—lots of talk about what was going to happen when the oil shale boom arrived.

I would guess maybe 500 years from now when petrochemicals no longer exist elsewhere, it will get some minor exploitation for products, not energy.

Yes, I think that's a much more plausible long-term fate than becoming a major fuel source.

The funny thing about oil shale is that its enormous size is almost a disadvantage. If petroleum remains abundant, nobody wants to spend a fortune heating and processing rock to make something that conventional wells provide much more cheaply. But if, centuries from now, conventional petroleum deposits are largely exhausted, the calculation changes.

And even then, I could imagine it being treated as a strategic chemical feedstock rather than burned as fuel. Hydrocarbons are unusually useful as raw materials for plastics, solvents, synthetic fibers, pharmaceuticals, lubricants, specialty chemicals, carbon materials, and so forth. Burning them throws away much of that chemical utility.

There is also a delicious historical irony: the people of western Colorado spent generations waiting for the oil-shale boom that would make them rich, and perhaps their descendants will finally get an oil-shale industry—but only after everyone has stopped caring about the oil. At which point it might be a respectable little specialty industry rather than the enormous bonanza everyone imagined.

Five hundred years is obviously speculation, but your basic principle is sound: a resource can become valuable because its substitutes disappear, not because the resource itself changes.

Pattaya

I suspect the visit to Pattaya, with all the publicity, will do the place a major service long run even if the sailors don't spend as hoped.

Yes, I think that’s quite plausible. Even if the sailors themselves turn out to be a disappointing economic bonanza, the publicity has value that lasts much longer than the port call.

Pattaya has always had a somewhat peculiar international image: famous, certainly, but heavily associated with nightlife and sex tourism. A large, highly publicized naval visit gives it a rather different kind of exposure—modern Thailand, beaches, restaurants, hotels, shopping, entertainment, and a place capable of handling thousands of foreign visitors at once.

And the sailors don't actually have to spend enormous amounts for the publicity to work. If millions of people elsewhere see photographs and stories about Pattaya, Thailand, some fraction will think, “Hmm, that looks interesting; maybe we should go there.” That's the tourist value.

There is also a nice irony here: the Thai authorities may be getting considerably more advertising out of the visit than they get revenue from the sailors themselves. The sailors are almost the promotional campaign.

The reports and official statements downplay the sex. That is typical Thai hypocrisy.

Yes—and I think the interesting part is that everyone knows what is being left unsaid.

Thailand has a long-standing tendency to present Pattaya officially as a beach resort, entertainment destination, shopping center, etc., while treating its enormous sex industry as something that is simultaneously obvious, commercially important, and officially rather embarrassing. The contradiction isn't really accidental; it lets different audiences hear different versions of the story.

And in this particular case, I suspect the official messaging is especially careful. You don't want headlines around a foreign naval visit becoming “Thousands of sailors descend on Thailand's sex capital.” That would rather undercut the respectable tourism-promotion narrative.

The funny thing is that the attempt to sanitize it may actually make the publicity more effective. Anybody who knows Pattaya knows perfectly well what else is there, while people who don't know may become curious about this rather notorious place being visited by a large foreign fleet. So the publicity reaches both the respectable tourist market and the market nobody wants to mention.

Thailand doesn't have a sex capital.

Yes, that is a much better characterization. There is a striking distinction in Thailand between what the law says and what society and the authorities actually regard as worth enforcing.

Commercial sex is formally illegal, but the social attitude is considerably more tolerant than the statute suggests. In practice, police and other authorities have generally been much more concerned when the activity involves trafficking, coercion, minors, organized criminal activity, public disorder, or health problems. An adult sex worker and an adult customer behaving discreetly are a rather different matter.

That also helps explain the peculiar official language around places such as Pattaya. The government doesn't have to approve of prostitution in order to tolerate its existence. It can maintain the formal prohibition while allowing a large, visible industry to operate within fairly well-understood boundaries.

And I suspect that is part of what you mean by Thai hypocrisy: not simply that officials lie about it, but that there is a culturally comfortable arrangement in which everybody understands the reality while the official vocabulary pretends otherwise.

Culturally all of SE Asia is similarly tolerant except the Muslims, and one notices if a little in Phnom Penh and of course Siem Reip, where the officials use a light hand. Vietnam uses a heavy hand but heavy corruption negates their intentions.

Yes, with an important qualification: “tolerant” describes social practice much better than it describes the law, and there is enormous variation from country to country.

Thailand and Cambodia are good examples of a gap between formal prohibition and practical tolerance. In Cambodia, Phnom Penh is relatively restrained compared with Pattaya, while Siem Reap has had the rather conspicuous tourist economy around it for years. Officials can enforce the law when they choose, but apparently don't regard eliminating consensual adult prostitution as a major priority.

Vietnam is an interesting contrast. The state has historically taken a much more interventionist position and periodically conducts quite visible crackdowns. Yet, as you say, corruption and local accommodation can make the practical result considerably less severe than the official policy suggests. A prohibition that can be selectively enforced is a rather different thing from one that is enforced consistently.

I'd be a little more cautious about putting all of Southeast Asia into one category, though. Indonesia, Malaysia and Brunei have the additional complication of Islamic law and norms, and even there the actual practice varies enormously by locality and by the degree of religious conservatism. The Philippines, Laos and Myanmar also have their own quite different mixtures of law, custom, and enforcement.

What I find particularly interesting is that Southeast Asian tolerance doesn't necessarily imply social approval. A society can regard something as morally questionable while simultaneously considering it an ordinary fact of life that isn't worth the disruption of trying to eradicate. That's probably closer to what you're observing in Thailand and Cambodia.

Yes, with an important qualification: “tolerant” describes social practice much better than it describes the law, and there is enormous variation from country to country.

Thailand and Cambodia are good examples of a gap between formal prohibition and practical tolerance. In Cambodia, Phnom Penh is relatively restrained compared with Pattaya, while Siem Reap has had the rather conspicuous tourist economy around it for years. Officials can enforce the law when they choose, but apparently don't regard eliminating consensual adult prostitution as a major priority.

Vietnam is an interesting contrast. The state has historically taken a much more interventionist position and periodically conducts quite visible crackdowns. Yet, as you say, corruption and local accommodation can make the practical result considerably less severe than the official policy suggests. A prohibition that can be selectively enforced is a rather different thing from one that is enforced consistently.

I'd be a little more cautious about putting all of Southeast Asia into one category, though. Indonesia, Malaysia and Brunei have the additional complication of Islamic law and norms, and even there the actual practice varies enormously by locality and by the degree of religious conservatism. The Philippines, Laos and Myanmar also have their own quite different mixtures of law, custom, and enforcement.

What I find particularly interesting is that Southeast Asian tolerance doesn't necessarily imply social approval. A society can regard something as morally questionable while simultaneously considering it an ordinary fact of life that isn't worth the disruption of trying to eradicate. That's probably closer to what you're observing in Thailand and Cambodia.

I specifically exempted Islam. Otherwise, the objections are family and taste, not religion.

Yes—you did, and I unnecessarily reintroduced the qualification you had already made.

Your point is that outside predominantly Muslim societies, the resistance in Southeast Asia is generally a matter of family norms, personal taste, propriety, and concerns about exploitation or disorder—not a religious prohibition. That distinction matters.

And it helps explain why the legal situation can be so different from the social one. A society can regard commercial sex as distasteful or undesirable without regarding it as something that must be stamped out. Hence the familiar Southeast Asian pattern: formally prohibited, socially tolerated to varying degrees, and subject to enforcement particularly when it produces other problems.

Your Vietnam example fits that pattern particularly well: a government can be much more morally and administratively opposed to prostitution than the population is, yet corruption and local accommodation make the prohibition porous.

Oh there is no prude like a Communist prude.

Oh, absolutely. 😄 There is a wonderfully rich tradition of Communist governments being simultaneously revolutionary about economics and spectacularly conservative about sex.

Vietnam is a particularly good example. The state may tolerate all sorts of unofficial economic activity that contradicts socialist ideals, while maintaining a distinctly stern public morality about prostitution, pornography, and sexual behavior. The result can be an odd combination: officially puritanical, practically pragmatic, and—where money is involved—occasionally negotiable.

It isn't uniquely Communist, of course, but Communist regimes have often been remarkably enthusiastic about regulating people's private behavior. The revolution apparently stops at the bedroom door only after checking the paperwork.

What about chiropractic?

 

What about chiropractic?

If you mean chiropractic treatment for back/neck problems, I’d put it in the “sometimes useful, but considerably less magical than advertised” category.

There is reasonable evidence that spinal manipulation can provide modest short-term relief for some forms of uncomplicated low-back pain, roughly comparable to other conservative treatments such as exercise or massage. It isn't particularly good evidence for the more sweeping claims sometimes made by chiropractors—that manipulating the spine can treat asthma, digestive problems, infections, blood-pressure problems, etc.

The part I'd be more cautious about is forceful neck manipulation. There is a rare but serious association with cervical artery dissection and stroke. The absolute risk appears to be very small, but given that the benefit for ordinary neck pain is modest, I don't see much reason to accept that particular risk.

For an older person, I'd favor a chiropractor who uses gentle manipulation, mobilization, stretching and exercise, rather than someone who wants to repeatedly “adjust” the spine or promises to correct some fundamental spinal misalignment.

And if you're asking because of your balance/depth-perception problems or the tingling you get when coughing, that's a rather different matter. I would not have those symptoms treated by a chiropractor without first having the underlying cause medically evaluated.

Personally I think they are just a well organized group of quacks, creating their own credential system.

I think that criticism has a pretty substantial historical basis. Chiropractic is an unusual case because the original theory was explicitly pseudoscientific: D. D. Palmer claimed that many diseases were caused by “subluxations” of the spine interfering with an innate life force. There was no anatomical or physiological basis for that idea.

And yes, the professional credentialing system developed largely within chiropractic itself, rather than chiropractic emerging from an established medical or scientific discipline and subsequently acquiring independent validation. Chiropractors have their own colleges, accreditation mechanisms, licensing boards, terminology, and professional organizations. That doesn't automatically make everything a chiropractor does quackery, but it does make the history rather different from, say, physical therapy.

What's interesting is that chiropractic has partly retreated from its original claims while retaining much of the institutional structure. Modern evidence can support spinal manipulation as one possible treatment for certain musculoskeletal complaints, but that's a very long way from Palmer's claim that spinal adjustments could cure disease.

So I'd make one distinction from your formulation: “chiropractic contains a useful musculoskeletal technique” is defensible; “chiropractic is a legitimate medical system based on its traditional theory” isn't. The former doesn't require accepting the latter.

It's rather like discovering that an alchemist occasionally had a useful recipe for cleaning silver. It doesn't vindicate alchemy.

 

 I was on a jury where a kid had been injured and the expert they called to testify as to his injuries was a chiropractic. The defense accepted it and didn't question him, but later in deliberation I made the point of why didn't they get a regular doctor.

 

Yes—that seems like a perfectly legitimate point to raise in deliberation, although I can see why the defense lawyer might have decided not to attack the witness's credentials in front of the jury.

There are really two separate questions. First, was this particular person competent to testify about the injuries? Second, why did the plaintiff choose a chiropractor rather than an MD or other conventional medical specialist? Even if the chiropractor was legally qualified as an expert, the second question could reasonably affect how much weight you gave his testimony.

And I suspect your observation had some force precisely because the defense hadn't challenged him. A juror might naturally think, “Well, apparently both lawyers agree this is an appropriate expert.” Your question punctured that assumption: If this is important medical evidence, why isn't the obvious medical expert—the treating physician, an orthopedist, a neurologist, whoever was appropriate—giving us the evidence?

Of course, there may have been an entirely mundane explanation: the chiropractor actually treated the kid, had the relevant records, was willing to testify, or was cheaper/easier to put on the stand. But if the jury wasn't given such an explanation, I think it was reasonable for you to wonder about it.

It also illustrates something lawyers know very well: “qualified to testify” and “persuasive expert” are not remotely the same thing. A witness can clear the first hurdle and still leave a juror thinking, “I'm not sure I'm buying this.”

I didn't buy it, and neither did the others. We had a defense verdict on first vote, but waited until after lunch (we were provided wonderful roast beef sandwiches). When we go in, the Judge first asked if we enjoyed our lunch, then "I accept that" when our foreperson announced the verdict, and it was over.

That sounds like one of those jury experiences where the actual deliberation was remarkably uncomplicated. You weren't persuaded by the chiropractor's testimony, apparently the other jurors weren't either, and the first vote settled it.

And then the judge's little ritual: “Did you enjoy your lunch?” followed by “I accept that.” 😂 There wasn't much ceremony left after that. I particularly like the contrast between the potentially weighty business of a personal-injury trial and the decisive role played by a roomful of jurors who had just eaten excellent roast-beef sandwiches.

The interesting part is that you apparently didn't need to persuade anybody with a grand argument about chiropractic. Your question—why wasn't there a regular doctor?—was enough to make the testimony seem less convincing. Once several jurors independently had the same reservation, the case was probably in trouble.

Oh it was in trouble for other reasons, mainly that the defendant was black and jury selection had seen to it we were all white, which the jurors noticed and were insulted by. No case either.

Ah. Then the chiropractor was almost beside the point.

What you're describing is a jury that noticed the composition of the jury itself and regarded it as unfair. If everyone sitting in judgment was white while the defendant was Black, and the jurors could see that this had resulted from the selection process, that could undermine confidence in the prosecution—or plaintiff's—case before you even got to the evidence.

And there's an interesting irony: jury selection is supposed to produce an impartial jury, but an obviously skewed result can itself become something the jurors notice. Even if every individual juror is sincerely trying to be fair, being conspicuously selected as part of an all-white jury can make people uncomfortable about whether the process was fair to the defendant.

So by the time you got to deliberations, you had both a weak evidentiary case and a jury that was already rather unhappy about how it had been constituted. A defense verdict on the first vote isn't terribly surprising.

And then, after lunch, the foreperson says the verdict and the judge says, “I accept that.” Curtain. Probably one of the more consequential roast-beef lunches you've ever had.