I hate ads

 I hate ads

I hate ads.

There. I said it.

Today I was trying to paint and listen to music on YouTube.

Instead, I spent part of my evening turning off ads.

Political ads. Government ads. Consumer ads. Ads apparently targeted at British Columbians, taxpayers and seniors.

I didn't ask for them.

I don't want them.

I don't want somebody deciding that because I'm watching a video, they are entitled to interrupt my life and sell me something.

And this isn't just about money.

It's about time.

How many hours of our lives are being stolen by advertising?

How many times do we have to stop what we're doing, find the skip button, wait for the countdown, close something, restart something, or switch to another video?

Then another ad appears.

And another.

And another.

We have become so accustomed to it that we've almost stopped noticing how ridiculous it is.

But I notice.

I DON'T WANT ADS.

If I want to buy something, I'll go looking for it.

If I want political information, I'll go looking for it.

If I want to know what the government is doing, I'll go looking for it.

Don't interrupt my music and shove it into my face.

And here's the part that really bothers me:

My attention belongs to me.

My time belongs to me.

My evening belongs to me.

I want to paint.

I want to listen to music.

I want to think.

I want to live.

I don't want to spend my life watching commercials.

There should be a serious public conversation about advertising overload and the right to an ad-free digital experience without being constantly manipulated, tracked or interrupted.

Because this isn't just about annoying commercials anymore.

It's about what happens when corporations decide that every quiet moment of human life is an opportunity to sell something.

Enough.

Give us back our time.

Hard reflective questions

If YouTube earns money from the time we spend watching advertisements, should viewers receive compensation for that time?

If an average person loses 10 minutes a day to unwanted ads, how many hours of their life disappear every year?

If we put a dollar value on our time, how much would YouTube owe us after a year of advertising?

Who decided that our attention is a resource companies can take without paying us?

Is an advertisement really “free” when we pay for it with our time?

If YouTube can calculate exactly how much our attention is worth to advertisers, why shouldn't we be able to calculate the value of our attention too?

Should platforms be required to disclose exactly how many minutes of advertising an average user watches each year?

What would happen if every hour of forced advertising were treated as unpaid labour?

At what point does advertising stop being information and become an invasion of our time?

If our lives are finite, who gave corporations permission to take pieces of them?

10 keywords

YouTube advertising, advertising overload, attention economy, wasted time, digital advertising, targeted advertising, consumer rights, privacy, corporate power, human attention

10 hashtags

#IHateAds #YouTube #AdvertisingOverload #AttentionEconomy #OurTime #ConsumerRights #DigitalRights #TargetedAdvertising #StopTheAds #GiveUsBackOurTime

When technology fails: what two survivors can teach us

 When technology fails: what two survivors can teach us

Two men.

Two very different places.

One in the mountains near Squamish.

One hundreds of kilometres out in the Pacific off the coast of Oaxaca.

Both disappeared.

Both faced days of uncertainty.

And both survived.

Their stories couldn't be more different.

Stanislav Volo spent six days lost and injured in the Squamish wilderness.

Héctor Márquez Martínez, a fisherman from Puerto Ángel, survived eight days adrift in the Pacific.

Stanislav had a mountain.

Héctor had an ocean.

Stanislav found shelter in a cave.

Héctor stayed with his little fishing boat.

Stanislav rationed two bags of gummy bears and ate fireweed.

Héctor survived at sea with the knowledge and equipment he already had with him.

And both stories have made me think about something we don't talk about enough:

What happens when the technology we depend on can't save us?

We live surrounded by technology.

Our phones tell us where we are.

GPS tells us where to go.

Weather apps tell us what is coming.

Maps show us the terrain.

Satellites can locate people.

Emergency services can sometimes find us with remarkable precision.

These things are incredible.

But technology is a tool.

It isn't knowledge.

A phone can tell you where you are.

It doesn't necessarily tell you how to survive there.

A GPS can show you a route.

It doesn't give you the judgment to know whether that route is safe when you're injured, exhausted or caught in changing weather.

And a device with a dead battery is just a piece of equipment.

Stanislav had to go back to something older.

He found shelter.

He conserved energy.

He rationed what food he had.

He recognized fireweed.

He paid attention to what was around him.

And he described something like an “animal instinct” emerging.

Maybe that instinct was always there.

Maybe modern life simply doesn't give us many opportunities to use it.

Héctor had something different.

He had the ocean.

He had his boat.

And he had the knowledge of a fisherman.

That knowledge wasn't something he downloaded before going to sea.

He already knew how to work with his boat and his environment.

And when a huge cargo ship found him and offered assistance, he remained with his own little vessel.

We don't know everything that was going through his mind.

Perhaps he didn't want to abandon his livelihood.

Perhaps he trusted his own boat.

Perhaps he hoped his community would find him.

We shouldn't invent the answer.

But we can appreciate the significance of the choice.

His boat was not just transportation.

It was his livelihood.

His independence.

His fishing equipment.

His way of life.

And perhaps, as with so many tools and possessions passed through families and generations, it was something he trusted because he knew it intimately.

And then there is the community.

This is something both stories remind us about.

Survival isn't always one person against nature.

There are people on the other end of the story.

People who notice you're missing.

People who organize searches.

People who get into boats and go looking.

People who refuse to give up.

In Squamish, search and rescue teams worked to find Stanislav.

In Oaxaca, fishermen, family and authorities searched for Héctor.

The person who survives may be the one we read about.

But behind that person can be an entire community that refused to stop looking.

What can we learn?

I'm not suggesting we throw away our phones and head into the wilderness with a machete and a bag of gummy bears. 😂

Technology can save lives.

Use it.

Carry it.

Charge it.

Know how to call for help.

But don't let technology become a substitute for learning how to observe the world around you.

Learn the landscape where you live.

Learn how to find shelter.

Learn how to conserve energy.

Learn the tools you actually use.

Learn the plants that grow around you.

Learn the water.

Learn the weather.

Learn what your body is telling you.

And most importantly:

Learn before you need to know.

The fishermen of Oaxaca don't necessarily think of themselves as wilderness survival experts.

They are fishermen.

The skills that might save their lives are simply part of their everyday lives.

And perhaps that's the real lesson from these two men.

Survival knowledge doesn't have to look like a survival course.

It can be something your father taught you.

Something your grandfather taught him.

Something you learned by spending years on the water.

Something you learned by walking through the forest.

Something you discovered because you paid attention.

It can be instinct.

It can be experience.

It can be community.

It can be knowing the difference between a safe shelter and a dangerous one.

It can be knowing when to stay put and when to move.

It can be knowing the tools in your hands so well that you don't have to think about using them.

Technology is wonderful.

But knowledge lives in people.

And when everything else fails, that's where survival begins.

Two men.

A mountain.

An ocean.

Six days.

Eight days.

Different cultures.

Different environments.

Different circumstances.

But the same extraordinary human ability:

to keep going.

🙏🌲🏔️🌊🛶❤️

10 Reflective Questions

1. How much do we rely on technology without realizing it?

2. What happens when the battery dies, the signal disappears, or the device fails?

3. Could you survive for days without your phone?

4. What practical skills do you carry with you that technology cannot replace?

5. How important is knowing how to read the land, water, weather, and surroundings?

6. What can instinct tell us when there is no clear plan?

7. Are we becoming too dependent on GPS and digital information?

8. What traditional or hands-on knowledge have we lost by relying on technology?

9. How important is community when someone is in trouble?

10. If technology disappeared tomorrow, what knowledge would you wish you had?

#SurvivalStories #HumanInstinct #DontRelyOnTech #SurvivalSkills #SelfReliance #TraditionalKnowledge #Resilience #WildernessSurvival #OceanSurvival #HumanIngenuity