One Upon. The Inversion. Revelation.

Kaisa no? That flash of insight on a lazy Monday afternoon?
There you are, headphones on ears, listening to streaming radio and not doing that amazingly interesting chart with the squiggly lines that will count as your next project.
There you are, Wikipedia and varied blog sites open in front of you.
Not reading 'em, not doing your job, and janrally whiling away the hours.
When the flash strikes.
The slouch goes, the hairs stand on end and you get that brand new insight into your life.

Which is when Kulkarni starts typing out the new blog. And if you're reading this on a lazy afternoon when you wish the wiggly lines would go and stuff themselves in their homes, you'll thank me for this.
You're welcome.

No but seriously. Dawdling, dilly-dallying apart. Spiritual revelation has just tingled the undersigned's spine.

And what caused the tingling was this:
Anish and Noel (two biraadar log, and that's all you need to know if you don't know who they are) had come over here for the weekend.
And in that proud, time-honoured tradition that seems to define my closest buddies - we did two days of nothing.
And on Monday - we're all back to vacuum. Waiting for the next weekend when people of our tribe meet, beer consumption goes up, Knopfler and people of his ilk strum in the background, and nothing happens.
And that time too will fade away, and we'll hug each other and say good bye, and slip into our Monday afternoons, waiting for that next magical time.

Arre but! Bhaisaab Phancy Dress!

What a bloody waste of time no! How can we be doing this to ourselves - bright, intelligent peoples like us? So many years to realise this seemple leetle insight?
Chya!

What on earth are we doing in far flung corners of the planet - slaving away on cool little laptops to draw squiggly lines that we know are total crap? Or designing chips, or figuring out default rates, or managing some company's accounts systems or whatever.
Pretending to like it for five days of the week so that a magical mystical oasis of a weekend can arrive?

Invert the damn thing, I say.
Apply our formidable intelligence, I say, to figuring out a way to stick in one corner of the planet - and there are no prizes for guessing which corner is being referred to - and make every day a weekend.
Figure out a business where the squiggly lines make sense.
Because they're made by us.
C'maaaaaaaaaaaan.

Let me know if you have a light bulb above your heads.
I'll be waiting in a far flung corner of the planet, drawing squiggly lines.

Pretty plis now. A treat at Pecos for the first viable idea.