Our freind, Peter Itskovitch. (On zhe Petya, On zhe Peka, On zhe Petrovich)

"Your friend is the man who knows all about you, and still likes you."
-- Elbert Hubbard (June 19, 1856 – May 7, 1915) an american writer, publisher, artist, and philosopher

"One who looks for a friend without faults will have none."
-- Hasidic Saying

"Have I ever been wrong?"
-- Peter Itskovitch
(I have a strong feeling that this last quote is a rhetorical question.)

Peter was a man of science. He got his degree in physics from Moscow's Institute of Physics and Technology, and his PhD from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Before we lured him out to LA to work with us, he was performing experiments in molecular physics at Chapel Hill, and enjoying himself immensely. He was trying to explain to me the complex algorithms of determining the trajectory of atoms in boiling water...or something like that...but he pretty much lost me at "atoms." And I'll be honest with you: I'm not even sure it was "boiling water." But he was so passionate about it that I couldn't bear to cut him short.

Besides that, I liked listening to Peter. He always had this twinkle in his eye when he spoke, and the corner of his mouth was constantly curling up in a pregnant smile. I was therefore often under the impression that he was about to tell me the greatest joke ever about atoms, so I didn't mind that the set-up was taking longer that I had expected. And when I realized that there would be no punch line, I wouldn't mind at all. Because not only was Peter a great talker, he was a great listener.

So I shared with him my own theory about the trajectory of atoms in boiling water (or so I thought) that I cooked up on the spot, and you know his response? "Hmm, interesting." And then he would proceed to gently dissect my idiotic idea and make me realize that maybe there's some rhyme and reason behind people studying physics for years before coming up with theories on this subject matter. But strangely enough, I felt encouraged to come up with even more ideas and share them with Peter. The man had a gift. He didn't discriminate. And he loved to hear any theory related to cause and effect. On any subject. Because he was constantly building these complex algorithms of cause and effect--"combinations," as Russians call them--in his head. Constantly.

There's this social game called Mafia. It is a party game, modeling a battle between an informed minority and an uninformed majority. Players are secretly assigned roles: either the "mafia," who know each other, or the "townspeople," who know only the number of mafia amongst them. Usually it's two mafiosos and the rest are innocents. During the night phase of the game, the mafia choose an innocent player to kill. During the day phase, all players debate the identities of the mafia members and vote to kill someone whom the majority suspect. Peter LOVED this game. And when you would ask him for his input on the suspects, he would always point at two people (TWO, mind you--not one--as he was always trying to figure out everything at once), and say, "Well, I see this combination."

"Great Combinator," we called him. Which is a reference to this character from a famous Russian book, "Twelve Chairs." You might know of him because Mel Brooks made a movie out of it. Believe me, the book is so much better. Especially in Russian. Ostap Bender was his name. And where Mr. Bender and Mr. Itskovitch intersect is that they were constantly coming up with these so-called combinations; however, the difference was that, where Mr. Bender didn't really stand behind a good half of his algorithms, Mr. Itskovitch believed in all of his. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the process has started," Mr. Bender would say on many occasions. For Peter, the process never ended.

Our Great Combinator also loved the fantasy genre. Science-fictiony ones. You know--supernatural powers, energy fields, battles with lasers or swords. Or both. Peter's apartment is filled with rows and rows of books on the matter of dark crystals, alternate dimensions, shapeshifters and so on. Usually, these kind of books come in series. To give you an idea, there's this series of books called "The Night Watch," "The Day Watch," "The Twilight Watch," and "The Last Watch".

This series is about the supernatural battle between good and evil, and the evil ones are the vampires, if I'm not mistaken. The good ones have flashlights that shine light into the alternate dimensions in which the evil ones hide. They've made movies out of the first two. And you can actually find a subtitled version of the "The Night Watch," at your local Netflix store. Of course Peter thought the books were much better than the movies. On top of that, he felt that these books were not the strongest work of Sergei Lukyanenko, their writer. Peter thought that the book about the keeper of the keys to these interplanetary portals was much more interesting and would make a great movie.

Why am I telling you all of this? Well, I think it's interesting that the person who always sought the rock-solid logic in real life was gobbling up books in which everything was possible. My personal theory is that it was the way Peter's mind was relaxing, that it was his way of taking a vacation from building combinations.

"Peka," as his wife called him, or "Petrovich," as I called him, also shared his passions for algorithms and the fantasy genre with his daughter Tanya. I know that you all went to see "Avatar" and probably had a very lengthy conversation about it afterwards. Petrovich told me that "Avatar" is an amalgam of at least a dozen of fantasy books that he and probably you, Tanya, have read. He told me, "I am trying to raise a like-minded person, so I will always have someone to have a fruitful conversation with." So, Tanya, if you are coming up with a sequence of reasons concerning why I am telling these things, then Petrovich has succeeded. You know, "the process has started..."

Granted, some of Petya's theories on politics or relationships between people would make one's head spin. Or scream, "Bloody murder!" Or both. Where you would only see two people glancing at each other, Peter would see the war of thoughts and the battle of wills. I agree--kinda insane--but at the same time, so cute and endearing! And besides that, he was still right about atoms in boiling water, so you would cut him a lot of slack for that.

Ira, Peter's wife, would ask him, "How can you be so sure? How can you know that this happened precisely because of this and this and that?" And Peter would always answer, "Have I ever been wrong?" Just like that, without the slightest hint of hesitation. And that was usually the end of their arguments. True, Peter's methods of deduction were infallible...on the days when he was right. And we, his friends, would tell Ira, "How come you never called us? We could remember a few occasions when Peter's iron-clad algorithms have failed him. Failed him miserably." But she never did. Because she probably could've recalled some instances herself, but didn't even bother. I suspect she loved him even more for being so sure of himself even when he was dead wrong. And so did we.

Peter loved to sing. LOVED it. And he was terrible at it. He was the undisputed world champion of the off-key performance. Heavyweight. And beyond. The noble destroyer of tunes beyond recognition. But he had a phenomenal memory for the lyrics. So you could kinda sorta recognize the song by the sequence of the words that were coming out of Peter's mouth. And you know what? Friends loved to hear Peter render a song. (Sing would be a very bad choice of words and would instantly degrade its meaning.)

There's this funny story. Two young music enthusiasts meet and one of them asks the other, "So, how did you like The Beatles?" "The Beatles?! They are terrible. First, they sing completely off-key; second, they lisp; third, they constantly forget their lyrics, sometimes it's pure gibberish..." "Hold on, hold on, which album did you play?" "I didn't play any albums. My grandpa sang their songs to me." If that grandpa were Peter, the punchline would be: And you know what? Despite all of that, I LOVE THE BEATLES.

When he sang, Peter would usually close his eyes. Smile with his all-knowing smile. Put his hands on his stomach like a giant bearded hamster. Gently rock back and forth. AND VERY GENTLY BUT METHODICALLY BEAT THE POOR SONG INTO A BLOODY QUIVERING PULP. You know, killing her softly. But he did it with so much love and consideration that he managed to preserve the song's spirit. If you ever had the privilege to witness that, you would be completely disarmed, entranced, and enchanted. And remember it for the rest of your life.

It was like seeing a unicorn at some god-forsaken petting zoo that ran out of funds long ago. You're expecting to see a hundred-year-old goat and a dirty turtle, but instead you see this otherworldly but completely useless creature. You would probably get burned if you touch it, but it farts these amazingly beautiful rainbows. Another analogy that comes to mind is a five-ton freight truck jack-knifing in oncoming traffic...but all the cars are made of velvet, and their collisions burst into clouds of glitter and confetti as the drivers giggle and hug each other.

I'm not a religious man; I consider myself an agnostic. And I'm not too big on premonitions and other supernatural stuff like that. But on the day of Peter's passing I created a Facebook post with a link to a new song by the group The National called "Bloodbuzz Ohio." The post had only one word in it: "heaven." Right after I hit save, this weird feeling came over me. I had this unexplainable urge to take the post down. And this is what is sung in the chorus of that song: "The floors are falling out from everybody I know/I'm on a bloodbuzz yes I am/I'm on a bloodbuzz/God I am."

I found out about Petya the next day. He collapsed after a very intense game of tennis (he didn't practice any other way), so he was on the bloodbuzz. And the floors did start falling out from under everybody who knew Peter, including me. So Peka, Petrovich, if there's a Heaven, I know you will be there. We love you.

And we will never forget.

Elmar and Friends