Saved by Vokoun

I was feeling homesick on Saturday. With the weekend free of rehearsals and my parents back in the land of Dixie, I had to figure out how to spend 3 full days off; alone. Friday was one thing; I manufactured a few errands and got myself out of the house. Saturday was harder; there were no more errands to run and I had long ago run out of things to clean in the apartment. So, I was scrounging for something to do.

When I came to California, I brought more than a few goodies with me. The trunk of my car was cram packed with recording equipment, piles of CD cases, and a couple of guitars. A traveling radio station, I could easily have been in contention for the “You Are So Nashville If…” Hall of Fame had I stayed in Nashville long enough for anyone to notice. I can’t even play the guitar, but I was traveling with two.

Well, now wait. I can sort of play the guitar. Or, more accurately, I could once sort of play the guitar. Before I threw myself into a 20-hour-a-day schedule of rotating radio and theatre shifts on either side of a very long commute, I was progressing quite nicely on the instrument. But during the years of that commute, unless you could convince me that the guitar was a bed, I wanted no part of it. After those years, well… that’s what I’m figuring out now. So I brought the guitars to San Diego.

Before I left Nashville I tried – good lord, I tried – to restring a guitar which had lost a bronze soldier to an aggressive visitor who, reminding me that “Samick” was not the title of guitar-shaped sculpture, gave it a workout. However, neither is “Kelly” the name of a girl who knows how to change guitar strings. Many more bronze soldiers were lost before the guitar was left for weeks… months… a year… (more)… looking for all the world like it expected a visit from the Tooth Fairy. The maim-free Alvarez stayed safely in its case. Until Saturday. But the years have not been kind to my memory and soon I turned my attention to other goodies that have been waiting for my attention.

Like my home studio.

Now, before you assume that I’m attempting to make home recordings plunking out Mary Had a Little Lamb, allow me to correct. This isn’t a music studio. This studio is for voiceover projects.

I pulled out the appropriate cords and cables, the mixing board, the mic, and the new audio interface… only to discover that I was a cable shy of completing the setup. Another missing string.

Generally, one buys studio cables and guitar strings in the same place, but though I know where that place would be in Nashville, I didn’t have that information in San Diego. Fortunately, one of my cast mates did. I asked for recommendations via e-mail and got several. I stopped short of asking that he recommend a shop that wouldn’t laugh me out of the place if I asked them to apply the strings for me. For that, I’ll call ahead.

But not knowing where to look reminded me….

I was feeling homesick Saturday. And despite several attempts, I couldn’t successfully distract myself. But then, out of nowhere, an announcer shouted “saved by Vokoun!” and I heard three Czechoslovakian names that made me feel right at home.


A Russian attempt at goal against the Czech Republic men’s hockey team was thwarted by goalie Tomas Vokoun. Vokoun: goalie for the Nashville Predators. Because goalie helmets are fitted, Vokoun was wearing his Predators helmet on Olympic ice, and in representing his country, he was joined by Nashville teammates Marek Zidlicky and Martin Erat. Three Olympic bronze medals will be heading home to Nashville.


One more to go. Another medal, either silver or gold, will be headed toward Nashville as well. And if Finland beats Sweden on Sunday, there’ll be no living with Kimmo Timonen.

Saved by Vokoun, indeed. I feel much better now.