I am out of OIL so have to pick one thus my research
Avocado Oil: Cold-Pressed vs Refined — A Fatty Tale of Triumph and Tribulation of Zeno (alias Dr. Scholz)
If oils were celebrities, cold-pressed avocado oil would be the indie darling with a scarf and a modest apartment, sipping green smoothies while pondering the ineffable mysteries of phytosterols. Refined avocado oil? That’s the Hollywood stunt double: neutral, polished, and ready to withstand fire without flinching.
🟢 Cold-Pressed (Unrefined)
Extracted like a conscientious poet squeezing meaning from life—mechanically, without industrial-grade heat or chemical existentialism. Keeps its vitamins, phytosterols, and that whisper of avocado aroma that says, “I’m healthy, but not trying too hard.”
Appearance & Aroma: Slight green tint, mild grassy scent—like a meadow after rain, if the meadow were also heart-healthy fat.
Smoke Point: 375–410°F (190–210°C) — perfect for gentle sautés, delicate pan dances, and culinary introspection.
Pros:
Nutrients mostly intact.
Minimal processing—your conscience thanks you.
Cons:
Smoke point slightly modest.
Can taste a bit “lawnmower fresh” in subtle dishes.
🔵 Refined Avocado Oil
Filtered, heated, occasionally deodorized—the oil equivalent of a man in a tuxedo: unflappable, neutral, ready for action. Can take the inferno of your searing ambitions without breaking a sweat.
If you already swig extra virgin olive oil daily, congratulations: avocado oil is just your high-heat sidekick, not your daily savior. Think of it as the stunt double in your kitchen action movie.
Friday, 13 February 2026
A web guess by Scholz
So Meta Deleted Me (And No, I Didn’t Post a Cat Meme With a Gun)
Let
me paint you a picture. One minute I’m vibing, posting my latest
musical masterpiece — maybe it’s a ballad about heartbreak, maybe it’s a
protest song about the existential horror of elevator music — and the
next, poof: Instagram yanks me off the platform like I’m some
rogue sock puppet from a Kafka novella. No warning. No “Hey buddy, maybe
chill on the songs about toast.” Just a silent void where my account
used to be.
I could cry. I could rage. I could launch into a
one-person flash mob outside Meta’s headquarters. But I decided
something else: let’s go nuclear with bureaucracy and legitimacy. That’s where the professional appeal specialists come in.
Enter the Professionals (Not Wizards, Just People Who Read Policies)
These are the folks who do exactly what you wish your Instagram notifications did. They read every vaguely threatening line in Meta’s Terms of Service like it’s War and Peace,
they understand “inappropriate content” the way a cryptographer
understands ancient runes, and they know which buttons to press in
Meta’s labyrinthine appeal system without accidentally summoning a
demon—or a permanent ban.
I found three tiers of professionals in this bizarre ecosystem:
Independent appeal specialists
— small, scrappy, caffeine-powered people who live on appeals and
energy drinks. They are cheap-ish, but brilliant. They’re like the
private detectives of Instagram. Odds of success? Better than flipping a
coin, worse than winning the lottery, but at least you’re not shouting
into a void.
Law-adjacent social media whisperers
— they smell like lawyers and coffee, they write memos that could
convince a robot overlord to cry, and if your account is tied to income
or an actual fanbase, they can get a human eyeball on your appeal. Cost:
wallet-mild shock. Success rate: moderate-to-good, assuming your music
didn’t include the soundtrack to a nuclear meltdown.
PR-backed appeal specialists
— think of them as the SWAT team. They bring lawyers, media pressure,
and a subtle threat that if you’re ignored, the story could go viral
faster than a toddler with a TikTok account. Cost: you’ll need to sell a
kidney, or at least an old guitar you don’t actually love. Success
rate: depends entirely on your pressworthiness.
How I Talk to These People (And You Should Too)
You don’t send them a crybaby email titled “Please Bring Me Back!” That’s amateur hour. Instead, I frame it like a Shakespearean trial:
“Dear
Esteemed Digital Policy Wizard, my account was removed for alleged
inappropriate content, despite my song about existential toast clearly
being art. I submit this case not just to recover my account, but as a
testament to the grave injustice of automated content moderation
affecting musical expression worldwide.”
It’s pompous. It’s dramatic. It’s hilarious. And it works because these specialists love when a case has a clear narrative, policy misstep, and a human element.
Costs, Risks, and the Meta Gamble
Let’s be brutally honest. You’re not buying a magic key to Meta’s servers. You’re buying a higher chance of human review. Success is not guaranteed. Sometimes Meta will reverse an error quietly, sometimes they’ll ghost you like a bad Tinder date.
PR escalation: $10,000+ (goodbye, life savings — hello, potential reinstatement)
The
risk? Mostly disappointment, occasional existential dread, and the
horrifying realization that your song about toast might just be too
avant-garde for Instagram’s robots.
The Real Truth
No one has secret friends at Meta. No one can guarantee you’re back online tomorrow. But a professional appeal specialist, armed with policy knowledge, legal framing, and nerves of steel, dramatically improves your odds. And if nothing else, it’s satisfying to know someone is actually reading the notice you got at 2 a.m.
Plus,
let’s face it: even if Meta ignores you, you now have a story. A story
about bureaucracy, absurdity, and music. A story that’s hilarious,
tragic, and very, very Instagram-adjacent.
How I Discovered the “Machine Gun Shot” and Why Reputation Isn’t What You Think
by Doc Scholz
I had this client who didn’t like long shots.
Or rather, he didn’t like the idea of taking a long shot. He said, “I don’t want to try—it might destroy my reputation.”
And I get it. Nobody wants to look
foolish. Nobody wants to fail publicly. But here’s the thing I learned
the hard way: in the creative world, failure doesn’t destroy your reputation. Avoiding risk does.
I realized this by accident. I
wasn’t trying to teach anyone anything—I was just doing my job. But over
time, I noticed a pattern: the clients who got scared and didn’t take
chances? They stayed invisible. Nothing happened. No relationships
formed. No doors opened. And in creative work, being invisible is the
real killer.
Then it hit me. I started thinking about the process differently. I called it the machine gun shot.
The Machine Gun Shot: My Accidental Discovery
I discovered the machine gun shot
concept completely by surprise. I was working on behalf of an artist
client and quietly pursuing an early-stage opportunity—one I hadn’t even
mentioned to them yet.
It was like firing blind, taking a
long shot, not expecting much. But the more I did it, the more I
realized: the hits aren’t the only thing that matter. Every shot that
misses still builds momentum, creates familiarity, and shows you’re
serious. That’s the point. That’s how reputation is built, not by
sitting back and hoping for a perfect moment.
A Real Example: The Shot That Died Before It Began
I had this artist client, and I
quietly pursued an early-stage opportunity on their behalf—because yes,
it was a long shot, and I didn’t even mention it yet.
I bumped into someone working on a
film coming out that year. They were LGBTQ-friendly, into helping young
artists, and they needed music for the film. On top of that, they were
connected to a foundation designed to help young LGBTQ artists get
started.
It was perfect. Exactly the kind of
opportunity you want. A chance not just to place music, but to build a
relationship with people who actually care about your client’s work and
could create doors for the future.
I started pitching my client. Then
we hit a wall: they didn’t have a SOCAN profile. I told them to get one.
They didn’t. Opportunity dead in the water.
From the client’s perspective? Nothing happened. No risk, no embarrassment. But what really died was reputation in motion. No relationship formed. No proof they were serious. Nothing visible to the people who could help them next time.
Even failing wouldn’t have hurt. Submitting, pitching, or even getting politely rejected in this kind of environment is how you show up. That’s what builds reputation. It signals: I’m professional. I’m persistent. I’m serious.
Instead, by not acting, by not
firing the shot, my client missed all of that. The people they could
have impressed—or at least introduced themselves to—never saw them. The
network that could have recognized their seriousness never formed.
That’s invisible failure. That’s the kind that silently eats opportunity
over time.
This is the exact moment I realized the power of what I now call the machine gun shot.
If my client had taken the small, simple steps—got the SOCAN profile,
submitted the music, started a conversation—they might have missed the
placement itself. But they would have
established a presence. They would have started building their
reputation, their relationships, and their credibility in an industry
where those things matter as much as the music itself.
The lesson? Reputation isn’t about never failing. It’s about what happens when you engage, even if the odds are long.
Every attempt is a shot. Every visible effort—even one that
“fails”—creates momentum. Not taking the shot at all? That’s the real
loss.
Falling Builds Reputation: Lady Gaga as Proof
Lady Gaga didn’t just land fully formed. Nobody hits global superstardom without falling flat hundreds of times. Before Just Dance, before The Fame, before the world noticed, she:
Got signed—and dropped—by Def Jam
Played dozens of poorly attended gigs
Was dismissed as “too weird” or “unmarketable”
Reinvented herself multiple times after rejection
Those were public failures. And none of them hurt her reputation. In fact, they built it.
People didn’t just notice her
success—they noticed her persistence. Her resilience. Her willingness to
show up, fail, and adapt. That’s the real reputation. That’s the
machine gun shot in action. Hundreds of misses. One visible hit. And the
hits look inevitable because of all the groundwork behind them.
The Takeaway: Reputation + Machine Gun
Here’s what I tell anyone in the creative world who’s scared of “looking bad”:
Reputation isn’t built by avoiding shots.
Reputation is built by how you get up, adjust, and keep firing.
The only way to create opportunities is to take many, many long shots.
Some miss. Some hit. One hit changes everything.
If you’re worried about reputation, don’t stop taking shots. Take maximum shots. Fire in bursts. Miss publicly. Learn. Adapt. Keep going.
Because in creative industries, the alternative—never trying—is far more damaging than falling ever could be.
Tuesday, 9 December 2025
**Why You Want Me on Your Team:
I’m the Connector Who Turns Networks Into Real Opportunities**
Most people see individuals. I see systems — and I build bridges inside them.
My core skill is simple and rare: I instantly identify who should meet whom, why they matter to each other, and how that connection can unlock talent, resources, or opportunities neither side realized they had.
If you’ve ever wished you had someone who could expand your reach, energize your community, or accelerate partnerships without friction — that’s where I excel.
1. I Map Networks Faster Than Most People Can Describe Them
Some people think linearly. I don’t. I track needs, skills, goals, and context and match them in seconds.
A student needs experience? I know someone looking for volunteers. A creator is missing a tech partner? I know who’s hungry to build.
This isn’t guesswork — it’s pattern recognition. Psychology calls this associative network cognition (Mednick 1962). You’ll call it extremely useful.
2. I Turn Weak Connections Into Strong Outcomes
Organizations waste the power of weak ties — casual connections that carry the highest potential for new ideas and opportunities.
I don’t waste them. I activate them.
Granovetter’s classic research shows that weak ties drive growth more than close relationships (Granovetter 1973). I use that dynamic deliberately:
to find talent,
to open doors,
to move projects forward faster than expected.
If your world feels stuck, I create movement.
3. I See Other People’s Opportunities Before They Do
This is called cognitive empathy, and it’s a major advantage in partnership-driven environments (Davis 1994).
While others focus on what exists, I focus on what could exist if the right people meet.
I don’t “network.” I architect ecosystems.
4. I Build Healthy, Productive Communities
My motivation isn’t transactional. I operate from a prosocial identity — meaning I’m driven to make systems work better for everyone involved (Ryan and Deci 2000). Because of that:
I reduce friction.
I increase trust.
I help people follow through.
Clients often tell me: “I didn’t think these two groups had anything in common until you showed me.” Exactly. That’s the point.
5. I Add Value by Seeing What Others Don’t
Most people take months to realize they should collaborate. I see it instantly.
Most people avoid making introductions because they fear awkwardness. I remove the awkwardness.
Most people work inside silos. I break silos gracefully and strategically.
If your project, organization, or creative ecosystem needs a connector who turns potential into progress, that’s the role I fill — efficiently, naturally, and consistently.
Chicago-Style References
Burt, Ronald S. 2004. “Structural Holes and Good Ideas.” American Journal of Sociology 110 (2): 349–399.
Davis, Mark H. 1994. Empathy: A Social Psychological Approach. Boulder, CO: Westview Press.
Gladwell, Malcolm. 2000. The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference. New York: Little, Brown and Company.
Granovetter, Mark. 1973. “The Strength of Weak Ties.” American Journal of Sociology 78 (6): 1360–1380.
Mednick, Sarnoff A. 1962. “The Associative Basis of the Creative Process.” Psychological Review 69 (3): 220–232.
Ryan, Richard M., and Edward L. Deci. 2000. “Self-Determination Theory and the Facilitation of Intrinsic Motivation, Social Development, and Well-Being.” American Psychologist 55 (1): 68–78.
Wednesday, 19 November 2025
Behind the Scenes By G. Bond with Scholx and Zeno
Let me start with this: landing a GENLUX cover was a long shot—one of those high-risk, low-chance opportunities that almost never go anywhere. Honestly, the odds were tiny. Maybe a couple of percent at best. And yet, this is exactly why I love Sophie Powers: she always goes for gold, no matter what the chances are. She’s deliberate about it, too—strategic, purposeful, and completely unafraid to take swings that might fail. Sometimes she plays for the win, sometimes she plays knowing failure is a real possibility… and sometimes she plays knowing failure might actually teach her more than success. Because in her world, failing and succeeding are both useful. Both push her forward. Both build momentum.
And out of all the avenues her team explored, all the outreach that usually ends in silence, this is the one that hit. The long shot that connected. The risk that paid off. And suddenly, here we are: Sophie Powers on the cover of GENLUX Magazine—an outcome I didn’t even know existed until it happened.
Note for many reasons this is highly fictionalized.
Step 1: Identify the target — GENLUX
Sophie’s team researches which magazines align with her aesthetic and career goals.
GENLUX stands out because:
High-fashion credibility
Luxury-lifestyle focus
Philanthropy and culture cache
Decision: GENLUX = “cover we want, credibility we need.”
Step 2: Gather the assets
Before any outreach, you need a killer package:
Professional headshots & performance stills
Viral clips and social metrics (TikTok/Instagram)
Recent music videos & releases
Bio emphasizing style, culture relevance, and philanthropic involvement
Optional: early mockup of a conceptual cover idea to show alignment
Think of this as “showing GENLUX: here’s why Sophie belongs on your pages.”
Step 3: Direct outreach / connection
Most likely, Sophie’s manager or PR person identifies the right editor or creative director at GENLUX.
They send a personalized pitch:
Highlight Sophie’s rising profile
Connect her style & ethos to GENLUX’s aesthetic
Include curated assets for immediate impact
Optional: include a “why now” angle (upcoming music, tour, viral moment)
The goal: get the editor intrigued enough to respond.
Step 4: Strategic follow-up
Editors are busy—so a polite, targeted follow-up is key.
Could include:
New content (e.g., behind-the-scenes from recent shoot)
Social proof (recent viral engagement, press mentions)
A soft “we’d love to collaborate on a cover story aligned with your next issue”
This is where persistence without being pushy pays off.
Machine Gun Mind: How to Catch a Thousand Ideas Without Losing Your Soul
The streets are empty before sunrise. The air is damp, carrying the smell of wet leaves and asphalt, and my breath rises in clouds that fade too quickly. I run because I have to, but also because running gives me the space to hear the small explosions in my head — ideas firing off like machine-gun tracers I cannot fully aim at.
I’ve learned to carry notebooks like talismans. One in my pocket for sketches, one by the bed for thoughts that wake me in the dark, one in the kitchen for ideas that smell like coffee and oil. Capture is a ritual. If I fail, the spark vanishes. Memory cannot be trusted — it will politely let the important ones escape, leaving only the echoes of yesterday’s fire.
Some ideas are tiny, almost invisible: a word, a gesture, a streetlamp flicker. Some scream. I write them all down. Half-formed plans, unsent letters, inventions that will never exist — I scoop them into my notebooks like picking up pennies in a rainstorm. You cannot hoard them all, but you can catch enough to keep the fire alive.
And then comes the reckoning: what do I keep? What do I let go? The discard is sacred. Some ideas are parasites, some are weightless. I have developed a ritual for this too. I read them aloud. I sleep on them. I show them to no one. Then I mark them: seed, spark, project, or trash. The naming is not arbitrary; it is a way to stay sane while the mind races.
There is a rhythm to it, even in chaos. Ideas are bullets, yes — but not all bullets need to hit. Some are meant to ricochet, some to disappear, some to burn a clean mark across your vision and leave you changed. The goal is not quantity. The goal is the spark that refuses to die, the one thought that will follow you into daylight and make you move differently.
I keep a rule: no more than two minutes of attachment. If an idea cannot be tested, acted on, or written down in that time, it dies. If it cannot breathe in two minutes, it will smother you in two months. This is not cruelty — it is survival. The machine-gun mind is a gift only if you can fire without bleeding yourself dry.
And still, the city waits. The wet leaves glint like dark jewels. Streetlamps throw long shadows. Somewhere, hidden in the static of my running heart, is the shot that matters — the one I will catch and hold without letting it crush me. This is the discipline: to live in the swarm without losing the soul, to chase bullets without becoming one, to run through dark streets and let ideas find their rhythm without becoming prisoners.
At the end of the day, or the week, or the month, I return to my notebooks. I read what I caught, and I smile at the ones I let go. The trash, the sparks, the seeds — they are all part of the forge.
And in this forge, I am learning something vital: that a machine-gun mind is nothing without the slow, quiet part of you that listens, decides, and remembers what is human in all this fire.
