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self_made_human

Kai su, teknon?

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joined 2022 September 05 05:31:00 UTC

I'm a transhumanist doctor. In a better world, I wouldn't need to add that as a qualifier to plain old "doctor". It would be taken as granted for someone in the profession of saving lives.

At any rate, I intend to live forever or die trying. See you at Heat Death!


				

User ID: 454

self_made_human

Kai su, teknon?

10 followers   follows 0 users   joined 2022 September 05 05:31:00 UTC

					

I'm a transhumanist doctor. In a better world, I wouldn't need to add that as a qualifier to plain old "doctor". It would be taken as granted for someone in the profession of saving lives.

At any rate, I intend to live forever or die trying. See you at Heat Death!


					

User ID: 454

In India, and I didn't expect the trial by fire would be quite so literal, with how abominably hot it is. It's been consistently in the middle 40s in Celsius, and it's only April.

Trust me, you have no idea the depths of depravity traffic can stoop to, I'm modestly grateful that I'll only be here long enough to become semi-competent at the whole not running people over thing, and thus not have the worst habits ingrained in me. If I can navigate a busy road here and not die on the highways, I'll consider the UK to be a paid vacation.

Whether I'll be a menace to the other people on the streets? Too early to tell, but at least I know they're not that keen on sending me to the ER, my ex works there.

And here I am, stuck in the middle.

Honestly, it's a miracle more people don't die, but apparently you can get used to anything. Not that I want to get used to this, it seems to give everyone a terminal case of road rage.

Missives from Indian Streets

I've had two learners licenses expire on me so far. I'd like to argue, if pressed, that I was too busy to give the driving exam at the end, with other, far more important medical exams pressing. The truth is I was simply too lazy.

But now, finding myself in actual need of one, since the NHS accepts "sorry boss, dunno how" as a poor excuse for showing up late to an emergency, I paid a good chunk of my own salary to one of the driving instructors at one of the more reputable companies around (they own a car brand, though they were mildly put out because I made it clear I wasn't a prospective customer).

The last two times, my dad coughed up the change, but this time, both actual enthusiasm and hard cash were transferred from my far more empty wallet. You'd think his modestly justified annoyance at me having wasted the money before would be outweighed by paternal pride and affection at his son adding more alphabet soup behind his name, but alas.

Up till this point, my instructors had been bad, to put it lightly. And the extent of my experience on the road was driving through quiet suburban streets and doing my best to weave through parked cars and avoid the odd cow or pedestrian.

This time, well, I got what I paid for. Far better tutors, 5 whole lessons in a simulator running Windows 10 but using software probably written in the early 2000s. Unfortunately, today I braved the midday sun in an exceedingly long walk to the motor training school (for obvious reasons I can't drive there) , I can't call myself an Englishman quite yet, but mad dog? The heatstroke left me panting.

To my chagrin, it turned out that my last simulator class was supposedly a two-in-one affair, and they expected me to hit the road again, for the first time in several years.

At high noon. On the main road carrying half the city's traffic, a fucking arterial line spewing motor oil and NO2 emissions, a far cry from the sedate streets I feel quarter comfortable in.

I didn't let on that my inner self was kicking and screaming, and followed the instructor to the awaiting training car with barely repressed terror.

It wasn't that bad. The car, that is. No obvious dents, the air conditioning and power steering worked, a far cry from the broken down beater they'd seen fit to hand me at the previous place.

The driving? Talk about being thrown in the deep end. I swear I don't feel that level of hyperfocus even the odd time I'm dragged in for a surgery. Because after all, what's the worst that could happen there? The patient doesn't make it. Whereas I'm too cute to die, and I have a lot to live for.

Miraculously, despite hitting 55 km/h on some of the busiest roads I've had the misfortune of seeing, I made it through mostly unscathed, even if the gearbox didn't.

That's it. I'm buying an automatic. I modestly hoped that self driving cars would be common enough that I could always procrastinate learning to drive to the distant future, or preferably never. Sadly the distant future is today, and the odd car that can plausibly be said to drive itself is far outside my budget.

Instead, I'm buying a Porsche, a Mustang, nah, a plain old horse. Runs off renewable energy. Confuses the meter maids enough that I might get away with it if I can't find free employee parking. Fully self driving, or good enough cruise control and lane keeping to make sure my sorry ass makes it home from the pub.

I saw God, today. He was wearing a seat belt. So should you.

There's addiction and there's addiction. I know plenty of patients who were addicted to drugs and no longer are, in the sense that they have no more physiological and psychological cravings.

There are, of course, many different kinds of drugs. Getting over a hankering for coffee or nicotine is a whole different kettle of fish compared to meth or strong opioids, or benzos.

My condolences. It sucks to meet someone you really like, and then have circumstances drag you, or them, away.

I find myself in much the same position as she does, in that I'm about to uproot myself from all I've known, loved and hated and fuck moving states, I'm moving States.

That bodes poorly for things with the several really nice women I've encountered while running Bumble and Hinge's unpaid psychiatry services, some of whom I genuinely wouldn't mind getting serious with, were that an option. (The long list of absolute crazies deserve their own post).

But hey, I made it clear I'm here for a good time, not a long one, and make it a point to remind them not to get too close because soon enough I'll be gone; and I doubt that 3 months is nearly enough time for someone else to also decide to drop everything and move for someone they met on a few dates.

But in your cases, all you should feel is mild regret. You didn't do anything wrong, nor did she, and you'll find someone not inclined to wander away sooner or later.

I fucking hate it. They removed the anime cartoon style and replaced it with something that is NOT Pokemon. Now I just look like some kindergartener who bites people at school

My gut hurts from laughing, but to be fair, I think the kind of 10 year old willing to go engage in dog-fights and clobber wild animals senseless probably did bite people at school.

Hold down or slide on the notification to go to the notification controls for that app. There, you should ideally have an itemized list of notification categories and you can switch them or just disable all of them for that app.

You can look for the app in the notification manager of the android settings too.

Fish's Clinical Psychopathology, and the Oxford Handbook of Clinical Psychiatry.

The latter, while still quite dry, has informed me that the piccolo gene is implicated in depression, which given what I remember from watching DBZ as a kid, is quite accurate.

The former is indeed about humans, my concerns about how to apply an MSE to a fish are dispelled, though it took a while. I'd be very concerned unless it was a talking bass, or a very particular kind of sushi place, but then again, I don't eat fish.

Seconded. It really is a hoot. If the guy had been alive today his YouTube channel would be popping.

Undoubtedly, but that would only make his YT spicier.

While I can't empathize with either gay or trans people (in the strict definition of empathy), I certainly sympathize with the latter and mildly envy the former.

You know how, for many men, the ideal girl is "one of the guys"? Well, gay men are living the dream in some ways, such as showing up to a random park or club and being nigh-guaranteed a quick fuck in a toilet stall. Straight men have to work for it.

Ah, women, can't live with them, can't live without them.

As for trans people, particularly the ones with body dysmorphia/gender dysphoria, I happen to be a transhumanist and so approve on principle of any change or improvement one might desire to the prison of one's flesh. I mean, I'm not a 6'9" 42069 IQ ubérmensch, so there's room for improvement within mere biology.

But that doesn't mean that the universe, or the rest of us, are obliged to indulge your desires, especially when it comes to how we accept your self-expression. Trans people, I'll consider them women/men when they are biologically indistinguishable from the average natal man/individual of their desired sex. Until then, well, I'll shake my head and use preferred pronouns mostly because I'm polite.

That is a cheque that medical science as it exists today simply can't cash. No amount of hormones, surgery or makeup will get you there. I still sympathize and empathize with them simply not being happy in their bodies, I think the correct solution is to change the body, when that's feasible.

You are allowed to dream. So do I. But the universe isn't obligated to make it come true, or easily. Simple self-identification is suitable only for football clubs.

As for AGPs? I agree that they're a large fraction, potentially even a majority. I have even less desire to indulge them, but I hardly think they're wrong for being sexually aroused by the idea of femininity.

I MADE IT

FUCK THE HATERS

Ahem. Sorry. Got a bit too hyped up, but I've gotta be my own hype man, it's 11 pm at the hospital.

@Throwaway05, @TheDag, @AhhhTheFrench, @faul_sname, @whoeveritmayfuckingconcern (there's a lot of people who've egged me on over the years, I'll get to you all):

I got a match offer in psychiatry! While Scotland might be a little bit on the dreary side, well, endless exams are even drearier.

I was in an awkward position. If I'd done a lot better, I'd be confident in an offer. If I'd done way worse, I could have washed my hands of it and resolved to grit my teeth to prep yet another year of my short life. But I did well, but not so good that I wasn't on tenterhooks.

Most British doctors don't match on their first try, barring the least craved options like GP.

But psychiatry went from having a competition ratio lower than 1, to 9:1.

The exam got ten times harder since I began planning for it. Doubled in the span of a year. Yet I beat it. Beat all the bastards.

No more wannabe psychiatrist, upgraded to shrink-in-training. Then, barring an act of Satan, a bona fide shrink and not a LARPer

I might hold the current offer in the (mildly vain) hope that I get an upgrade to somewhere less rural, but I'll still take it. (Hmm, it seems that the hold window is already over, it seems to be take it or leave it, but I'll still ask around)

Fuck yeah. Gonna drink a lot of scotch and fuck a lot of bitches. I'm getting out.

Now, it's shame I've got 9 hours left at work, and while its going to be a slow night, I'd rather not lose my Indian license by drinking on duty. That can wait till the morning.

I don't know enough about the American legal system, until it's my headache, but how much does seniority matter in the SC?

Are the new "young" judges put on the back bench (metaphorically)? My understanding is that they're all nominally equal, so what does it take for one to establish themselves like Thomas did and get taken seriously. How much does their opinion matter, and how is that sausage made?

Hmm.. I do kinda agree with you.

I just spent a while speaking to a suicide survivor. Well, he's hardly out of the woods yet, given that he was in the ICU. But he wasn't my patient in the first place, and I might not be done with psych training, but by god I was the best one I know available at that time, and I walked the dude through a very bad place. And then made sure the cops didn't make things worse, while probably doing better than the poor bastard actually responsible for that particular HDU.

And I talked a suicidal girl I met on a dating app out of it, back to back.

Maybe I do like psychiatry because I see so many psychiatrists doing a fucking terrible job, and I'm confident I can do better. I actually probably can, but perhaps that's only true in India where standards are lower. But I'm heading abroad to learn my shit.

And you're absolutely correct that I wrote my novel because I was pissed at perceived inadequacies and flaws in otherwise decent ones, and thought I could do better.

So, going back to whether adderall causes anxiety--I'm not sure. To me, the anxiety is already there, and adderall just helps me channel it.

I've heard of much worse. If it's not obviously making you anxious, then it's likely a better drug than methylphenidate/Ritalin. And when Scott did a survey on the topic, users ranked it higher, though it's been a long time and I can't remember what the post was.

Biological experiments? Hardly. It's not like there's a One True Guide To Parenting, so everyone has to figure it out as they go. It's no bigger a deal than getting them glasses, feeding them plenty of leafy greens and so on. It just sounds unusual and strange to you, but you're not a decoupler.

I have their best interests at heart. I wouldn't do anything to them I didn't want done to me.

I wish I could say that every parent wants the best for their kids, but in my case, it's true as far as I can tell.

Blonde women are rated hotter. Hence so many fake blondes. Women with bigger breasts are more attractive, hence boobjobs. Taller guys are the same, and well, at least their height won't be "fake". So it goes for athletics, education and everything else a parent thinks is optimal for their child.

I don't expect my kids will work for a living. I don't expect anyone will. But to the extent that I'm not nearly 100% confident in that hypothesis, well, it's my job as their future dad to do everything I can for them.

Shame their parents weren't willing to indulge in a little HGH before their bones ossified.

It worked wonders for Messi.

I always have a mild hangup about dating girls who are significantly shorter than me (and of course, most are, unless you're Nordic, 6' might not be quite as remarkable in the West as it is in India, but it still falls into tall). If I'm serious enough to want kids with them, as I was with my ex, I am scared shitless at the possibility of my son(s) coming out short. I know being tall has been incredible for me, I have my charms regardless, but even average men are often hard countered by women setting 6' in their bio, or even implicitly in person or social settings (though women are certainly not the best at gauging it, hence so many guys who are 5'10" getting away with, they just recognize "tall"). And I've read research to the effect that taller men are trusted and respected more, and even paid better (!), just look at the heights of successful politicians versus the average male in their locale, or the average height of CEOs.

Now, if I had a daughter, that would hardly be a concern, but if it's a boy and he's not looking like he'll turn out at least as tall as I am, well, if I can't prescribe the HGH myself, I know someone who knows someone and so on. I guess the genes for height were there all along in our family, looking at me and my brother, though my dad probably spent at least half his adolescence malnourished. But knowing firsthand how much that matters, no way am I going to let my sons turn out short. I'd rather lop my legs off at the heels and give it to them as platforms.

Redacted: Bad faith posting: main intent is clearly holocaust denial Redacted: quality-contribution Redacted: Single issue poster

Sigh. This post was entirely unobjectionable till you made it obvious that you clearly wanted to use a modestly interesting prelude about recent events to lead into yet another screed on how improbable the Holocaust was.

Despite having AAQCs, you've been warned repeatedly for single issue posting, and you were doing better on that front too, until, well, this.

While I'd have been inclined to just warn, for now, I'm going to send you to the cold, uncaring Outside for 48 hours, so you know that the warnings aren't just a rap on the wrist you can evade by being better for a bit, partially because this doozy is in your mod log:

more Jew-posting, trying to be sneakier about it, admitted he deliberately posted as a reply in another thread to avoid catching a ban. Recommend ban next time.

Enjoy the timeout, and please for the love of Yahweh find something else to post about on more occasions.

This one caught another report for "disguised Jew posting", but frankly, even I can't find any connection to them. Congratulations?

This kind of petty antagonism is unbecoming of you.

I know there are plenty of regulars here who are fond of noticing, and working that into the conversation, however, George doesn't seem to be like that, but regardless, accusations such as:

I have never figured out for sure whether people like you are just liars, or your brains wisely do not distinguish copes and object-level world modeling, for reasons of preserving memory capacity and behavioral fluidity. Either mechanism is enough to make conversation quite hopeless.

are unacceptable.

You're a valued poster, but please, the angry nihilistic Russian trope can get old, as does lashing out at little provocation.

Ozempic. If you can afford it. Nothing easier and simpler, or trendier.

There's nothing wrong with wanting your wife/husband to take care of themselves. Like, sure, being eye candy and a good lay aren't everything in a marriage, but goddamn if someone's letting themselves go, there are polite ways of telling them it's not making you happier.

Getting buff yourself? Not the ideal way, IMO. Sure, that's worth it for its own sake, but you're better off whispering to her that you think you're gaining weight and need to diet, and hoping she takes the hint. But I while I don't know her, or you, my experience is that when a woman self-conscious about her own looks sees her husband working his ass off at the gym all of a sudden, she's more likely to think he's trying to look better so leaving her is easier. Ignore if you guys are so happily married that this isn't a concern, but I would not recommend this route myself, unless you make it a point of hitting the gym and then do your level best to convince her to tag along, so she knows it's not like that.

It mostly confuses me. Like, unless you strapped me down to a dildo machine that boofed me with oestrogen and sissy-hypno at 120 decibels on shrooms, I struggle to think of any situation where I'd want to be the other sex, or even simply have sex with men.

If my medical malpractice gets me locked away in prison, I'm going to be sitting in the corner jerking off rather than being tempted by a bussy. Or a skirt.

Oh dear. I am really not an endocrinologist or paediatrician.

This is incredibly far outside what I can reasonably consider my expertise, and you have asked a complex question to boot.

Growth plate fusion is very important, and given your age, you'd need an xray to very carefully examine your growth plates to figure out how safe it is.

To put the difficulty of your question in perspective, I'd be barely more at ease if asked by someone if they needed open heart surgery.

I could ask you to elaborate and provide reports and so on, but I'm still not remotely comfortable with the topic, especially at that age, it would entail me cracking open textbooks and research papers and feverishly reading, and it's not laziness that makes me wish to avoid it, it's the fact that I still wouldn't be sure if my advice was sound in your case, especially with the risk of acromegaly.

You absolutely need a different kind of doctor, not a psych trainee, this is genuinely above my paygrade and I would have to be crazy to comment without significantly more experience in the subject, which seems rather unlikely to come about.

My apologies, while I'm not one to gatekeep medical advice, this isn't something I feel qualified to speak about, especially with so many confounding factors. My innate reaction is "probably not a good idea, if the plates are almost fused" but even that isn't a statement from confidence.

You're in the acceptable range for girls when it comes to height, especially the petite ones.

Much shorter, and it becomes a turnoff, much taller, and well.. Whereas for you, it's roughly just neutral.

And while I can't comment on the particulars of who you've dated or fell for, I can assure you that there are plenty of women for whom being short is a deal breaker. Obviously not all of them, note I never claimed that at all. It's a tautology that half of men are shorter than average, and believe me 50% of men aren't unable to find a partner and settle down. It isn't that bad. But unless they're exceptionally rude, most girls won't say to your face that your height isn't good enough, so you might well be missing out on those, especially since you say you've only dated the ones shorter or just very slightly taller. Believe me when I say that I have plenty of female friends, and I've heard them dismiss tons of guys for not being tall enough.

And even if someone is short, they might be handsome. Rich. Be a comedian, or famous. But it's a handicap nonetheless. Simply not insurmountable.

However it is incontrovertibly true that height helps, the more the merrier until you end up in the NBA or die young from back issues.

Now, I don't think I'd be utterly fucked if I magically lost 3 inches, but I know for a fact it would sting, and I want what's best for my kids. If they're a boy and not making the cut, then HGH it is, unless we have something better. I'm confident my height has enabled me to do more than I otherwise could, such as be taken more seriously as a doctor, or land women who demand that in men.

I am certainly doing my best to ensure my kids have the other advantages you mention, such as being at least (hopefully) UMC when they're born, seeing someone cute so that there's a chance they're born with decent looks (not that I'm ugly, just average, 7/10 on a good day), and I demand my partner is smart, which is also genetic.

You won't see me knocking up a 10/10 bimbo, let alone wifing one. But height is something that's done a lot for me, and I'll go to great lengths to ensure it advantages my kids.

This why you get no bitches

Ignore me, I'm mildly salty because despite having the dubious distinction of being the first to apply the Secretary Problem in the context of dating, at least on The Motte, I lack the patience or mathematical astuteness necessary for such an in depth analysis. It's highly appreciated, what else can I do but hit AAQC?

Whatever surgery she got (rhinoplasty and a chin lift?), it made her go from homely to Girl Boss Tiger Mom.

I think she'll let him off the leash for a bit.