Old promises come back to haunt me...

For those of you who didn't spend the mid-90s dressings in over-sized clothing and going to raves, some of the following terms may be foreign to you; for your convenience, here are a couple brief explanations:
Jungle - note - I did not write this entry. While much of the info contained is accurate, there is some debate over the Jungle vs. DnB, is it separate, or is it the same, issue. I apologize in advance if your own view (if you have one) isn't represented in that blurb but it is, after all, a wikipedia entry.
MC - To be used in the context of a Jungle set (series of records mixed by a DJ), not the more familiar usage related to Hip-Hop where the MC is the main event.

Now that that's out of the way, I'll get on with the story. About 11 years ago (wow, that makes me feel old), when I was in high school, I made a promise to my brother. At the time he was what we call a 'bedroom DJ,' or someone who buys records, turntables, and a mixer, learns how to 'spin,' but never performs in front of a live audience (well, other than ones own friends who visit said bedroom/in-house studio). I, on the other hand, was a wild-eyed teen of about 16-17, who was having the time of her life going to parties (raves) on the weekends and dancing all night to a new (well, relatively new to me at least) kind of music called jungle. In the midst of all this excitement, I told my brother that if he ever played out, I wanted to be his MC because I myself never had any aspirations at learning how to spin but wanted to get involved.

Fast forward to the present day - well, actually about two weeks ago. My brother and I have a mutual friend who goes by the name Axsent, and runs a small club night at a polish bar in Chicago using the crew name Neoteric. Axsent had been asking me for quite some time when my brother was going to play their night, so I jokingly told him he'd need to ask him himself. I was amused (and pretty happy) when my brother begrudgingly accepted, and began to dust off his old vinyl and practice. That amusement turned quickly into apprehension once my brother told me that he had called up Axsent and told him to put me on the flier as his MC for the night; Axsent had just been telling me about how the new fliers were all printed and ready to go, but had failed to mention the little detail that I was now on them. Enter the cold hand of fear gripping my stomach. These days I am a far cry from being the wild-eyed party girl I used to be; perhaps in my younger years I wouldn't have hesitated to jump on stage, grab a mic, and babble some nonsense over relentless beats for an hour, but now I don't even know what I'd say. The truth of the matter is, I hate MCs. I don't just dislike them, I hate them. I could go up there and do my best mockery of everything I hate in the hopes of amusing someone, but I also hate public speaking. Perhaps some liquid courage might loosen my tongue a bit, but we shall see.
I will go through with it all and fulfill that old promise; I do owe it to my brother, after all. Hopefully nobody will take my actions that night at any serious attempt to be the Mistress of Ceremonies; if all else fails, I can just use my post to order beers from the bar!

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