Open mike night By Joe Gosen, Outpost contributor   It's Thursday night. I'm sitting at the bar at Great Basin Brewery in Sparks, dropping quarters into a video poker machine, sipping on a Nevada Gold micro brew and waiting for the show to begin. A woman with dark hair and tinted glasses, dressed in black, sits down next to me and sets a small, black violin-shaped hard case on the countertop. I quietly go about dropping more quarters in the machine. But my mind isn't on poker. It's on the case. I'm thinking the case is too small for a violin, too big for a harmonica, too bulky to be a purse. Maybe she's got a gun in it. But that's a ridiculous. I've got $10 to gamble with for the evening, and I'm losing quarters because I'm thinking about what's in the stupid case instead of thinking about what cards to hold. But I justify the loss -- I just consider it my state tax. Finally, $3 down, I look up and ask her, as if it were my business, "Whatta ya got in the case?" She laughs, like she's used to answering the question, and flips the latches. She cracks open the case. Without speaking, she shows me what's inside. From the corner of my eye, I notice a few more necks stretch as others peer at the contents. "It's my microphone," she declares. She quickly slaps the case closed, the way I slap a dictionary closed after I've found my word. "The case was made for carrying a bottle of liquor and a couple of shot glasses, but I use it to carry my microphone." Normally at an open mike night the microphone is provided. Tonight was no exception. In fact, there were plenty of microphones on stage. But this woman brought her own. I haven't shared many microphones with strangers, but I suppose it could be unsanitary, especially if you're a passionate singer or you act like a rock star who practically eats the microphone while singing. I get a kick out of open mike nights. Sometimes it seems the shows are more for the musicians than for the spectators. But if you are willing to sit through some annoying acts, you'll see some exceptional talent. The Zephyr, Blue Lamp, Harry's Watering Hole and Cantina Los Tres Hombres hold open mike nights weekly. They're usually on Monday or Thursday nights, the slow nights for club owners. I'm down $5 now. So, I spin around on my bar stool and lean back, ready to hear the woman sing. But I'll have to wait -- there's a whole list of performers in front of her. The first performer on stage pulls up a stool, straps on his guitar, grabs the microphone and announces, "I've got some melancholy love songs about relationships going bad, but they're not country songs." He plays the guitar well and has a nice voice, but the crowd isn't in the same mood as he is. His three songs rouse a few sympathy claps. I begin looking around for the woman with the microphone when a guy gives his best shot at "Hotel California." His best isn't good enough for this crowd. The microphone woman is still waiting for her turn, So my attention and my money go back to the poker machine for the next few acts. Finally, she's on stage, microphone in hand, to join a blues duo playing steel guitar and harmonica. They huddle to find a song they can all play but come up empty. She walks off stage, packs up her microphone and leaves. It's after 10:30 p.m., so I figure it's time for me to leave, too. As I cash out my winnings I hear an aggressive voice begin to sing "Perfect" by Alanis Morissette. The big voice is coming from a small girl. She grins while getting the first sincere round of applause for the night. Her father, who's playing guitar, sips coffee before they quickly move onto the next song. The crowd hoots and hollers as she sustains a note while singing "You were meant for me" by Jewel. Before she can appreciate more applause at the end of her second song, 12-year-old Kelly Proud announces, "This is my last song because it's getting late and I have school tomorrow." The crowd of beer drinkers get a chuckle from her remark and she goes right into "Mother Mother" by Tracy Bonham. Like a seasoned pro, she says: "Thank you. Good night!" And she and her dad hurry out of the building. And I stroll out with $70 in my pocket. copyright 11/15/97 Nevada Outpost http://www.jour.unr.edu/outpost