iG.STUDiO: Ilya I. Gerasimenko

I will get to the point eventually. I usually do. Figuring out what is that point, however, is a task by itself. May be, I just need to vent, may be I am just annoyed by the fact that there is a blog on this site, which was abandoned for a while, or may be there is more to the four little metal things residing in my coronary artery than just preventing it from collapsing. I don't remember all the correct stages, but there is one thing I am fairly sure about: this is as far away from acceptance, as it can be. And, finally, I understood why I am so angry with my quitting smoking. First of all, that wasn't my idea. As a result, I feel no real satisfaction, when I think about all these days I hadn't had a cigarette (since 01/30/06 to be exact). I just fill frustrated. Secondly, every time I feel like burning one, I don't. This constantly reminds me that I am old, sick, not well, have "a condition", and so on. It is very annoying. Really. So, what was the point? S...

So, we've moved. Many things are different, starting from street parking, and all the way up the annoyance scale to cockroaches and ever-present puddle in the elevator. It's surprising, how many people are afraid of dogs in our neighborhood. It's like it isn't New York (and it isn't, it's Brooklyn). But what is New York? Or, to be precise, what were my expectations of becoming a New Yorker? Quite frankly, I didn't have any well-formed ones, and as a result, I'm not really disappointed. In theory, yes, it's a city of opportunities, fortune, fame and all the good stuff. Money, for instance. For some people, that is. Still a good thing. In practice, however, it's just a relatively big city, where many people live, mostly because they were born here, and don't know any other places, except this one. Some, and many, too, do move in from other places, though, in search of a bright future. This is why service sucks in so many places around here, in ...

I haven't written anything for so many months, that it's almost impossible to select a starting point for this entry, and unless you are bloggin reluctantly every second you can, an entry needs one. I could start, perhaps, at the time of our move to New York, that would be a good one: 2005, middle of June; my contract with Goodyear is over, there is nothing more to expect from Cleveland, we need to do something, and that something, according to Evelyna, is nothing less than just moving to New York. The logic was impeccable: it doesn't matter, where not to have a job, but there we will be together. To those, who tried to rent an apartment in any of the boroughs, good luck. To those, who tried to rent an apartment without having a job, my condolences. To those, who succeeded, hats off. I had one week, before my "current" pay stub would start to look suspicious at least. That explains (sort of), why we ended up in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, and even that was not ea...

I am no market analyst. I would never want to be one, for that matter, so I am not. I am, however, stalked by several thoughts on the matter of yesterday's Apple's announcement of "plans to deliver models of its Macintosh computers using Intel microprocessors". The questions, which are bothering me are: 1. The Megabytes Myth. Is it just me, or somebody else remember, too, that first G4, and than G5 processors were introduced as first true 64-bit processing chips (after G5s appeared, the G4s somehow were removed from the 64-bit processing scene, anybody remember that? I am still compelled by the fact, that my iMac Flat Screen is not a 64-bit processor ANYMORE, but I understand now why it's running so slow recently. It used to be a lot faster, when it was a 64-bit. Sucks.), which are incomparably better, than whimpy Intels? From the no-market-analyst point of view, there are two explanations to this phenomenon: a) The Megabytes Myth is not a Myth, which subjectively...

At some point in my life I should, probably, stop and think about what is wrong with me. I really should. I am noticing alarming tendencies in my behavior, and I am not happy with them, tendencies. I am close to willful acknowledgement of the fact that I always try to do something I can't do for the reason one or another. The only thing that's stopping me from giving up is the amazing fact that whatever I do that I can't do, I end up actually doing. And eventually being able to. I wrote a new song (a while ago), it's already penciled into GarageBand as a bed for solos and such. The reason why I haven't recorded the sax yet is shamefully simple - I can't breathe during the melody. Design defect, so to say: I failed to leave myself a place in the tune, where I can grab some oxygen, darn it. The solution? I am working on it, for two weeks now - practicing the melody over and over. May be, next weekend I will finally be ready to record it, and stop torturing my wife...

Legend: [-] - Off key, [+] - On key In order of approximate appearance: Madonna [---] - horrible, just horrible. Some news network the next day commented: "...not sure, if John Lennon would agree with this version..." (imagine singing "Imagine" in like three different keys in a rapid succession...) Maroon5 [-] - alternative. Very. Mary J. Blidge [-] - she should apologize to Stevie for murdering his song... Bryan Williams (Beach Boys) [-] - profoundly pathetic... Norah Jones [+] - such a sweet hart, always... Gloria Estefan [+] - consistently perfect. Can't hold, not gonna. Still good. Elton John [+++] - fabulous, just fabulous. Incredible performance. Sara McLaughlin [+] Josh Groban [+] - a bit shaky, when he speaks, belting is perfect Stevie Wonder & India.Arie [+/+] - oh, look, I can sing two octaves lower, than him :) John Mayer [+?] - since he has no detectable voice, it's very hard to say if he was on or off :) Plus for the effort. And he can play ...

One tank of fuel: $25 Insurance deductible: $250 Christmas without mother-in-law: priceless. It's almost funny now, when my beloved Renegade is in the shop, I am driving a rental, and we indeed don't have to celebrate the holidays with granny, who I was supposed to bring from Cincinnati for that cheerful occasion. The trip didn't go all that well - some 80 miles south of Cleveland I hit an ice patch, lost control of the vehicle, spun across all three lanes of I-71 and bumped into guardrail. Twice. With both front and rear bumpers, don't remember the order. And, of course, I stalled, half way in the ditch, driver's side to the traffic, blocking the right lane. Am I just lucky, or am I simply not supposed to die in a car accident? That was my third time starring at the several sets of slowly approaching headlights, aimed at my vehicle, helplessly sitting on the way of the deadly flow. And, once again, somebody stopped, somebody steered away, and nothing happened. I tu...