It’s not that there aren’t obvious differences: Westchester happens to be a suburb of New York City. Panola County is in the middle of East Texas nowhere. On East Texas radio, you hear mostly country music. In Westchester, it seems they really, really, really like Prince. Prince of the “Little Red Corvette” and “Raspberry Beret” era. One is suburb, the other rural.

But they both have cities (or in Westchester’s case, villages) that are small. I grew up in Carthage, which had a population of 6,660 at the time. Irvington, one of the villages I cover, has a population around 6,000 as well.

I’ve been trying to describe how this could be, but the only thing I seem to be able to put together is that Panola is much less dense than Westchester. Everything’s spaced out and wider.

That doesn’t really hit you until you look at Census numbers. So thanks to a really interesting infographic tool (Creately) and the fabulous Census Bureau (every journalist’s best friend), I made an infographic comparing population and area size. Yes, this does solidify my nerd status:

Next up: a look at municipalities and New York’s quad-municipality system.

Plus, this is really funny:

I am a high school band legend.

That’s what I’ve gleamed from a conversation with Matthew, my cousin while we sit in my grandmother’s kitchen and watch the Thanksgiving lunch preparations.

“My band director told us about a girl whose pants fell down while she was marching,” he told me.

I’m not exactly sure how we came to discuss this, but I do remember sitting up straight in my chair and asking excitedly, “Did he say where she was from?” “No,” Matthew replied. He was somewhat perplexed. “That’s me,” I said. “That totally happened to me.”

Added for some visual interest. This is not my school; our uniforms were much more hideous. Via @rkleine on Flickr.

I was a freshman at Carthage High School, and I played the clarinet in our school’s band. We weren’t the kind of marching band that you might see on TV: the somewhat hip band, playing current songs and dancing around while we happened to be in formation. For us, it was all military, all the time. Precision ruled the day.

The pants incident happened at our first home football game. This being Carthage, where most everything closed at 9 p.m. and football was a revered sport, the stadium was packed with a couple thousand people. The band had been playing throughout the first half, but now we were on the field, preparing to do the familiar routine we’d been doing at practice and away games.

I noticed that the Velcro on my hideous band uniform wasn’t clinging to itself as it should. I tried smashing it back together, but that Velcro had pretty much given up. I was perhaps the 20^th person to have been assigned those pants because they hadn’t had new uniforms since the 70s. I decided it’d be ok. These pants had been doing just fine so far. So I got in formation with my clarinet and waited for the drum major’s shrill whistle, which would signal that we should begin.

I don’t recall the song we were playing or most of the steps of our routine. We started out at the back of the middle field and marched toward the home side of the stadium. We then took a turn and marched to the right, toward the field goal post. Once there, each row would do a 180-degree countermarch.

My pants started to slip just before I did the countermarch. By the time I did and had gone a few more steps, I was waddling around like a penguin.

Eventually I toppled over, because no matter how hard you try, you can’t march with your pants around your ankles.

My fellow marchers were either too shocked to say something or too unaware. Those few who could say something urged me to run off the field, but I knew that wasn’t an option. One, my embarrassment would increase triple fold, and two, all I could picture was my band director’s disapproving face as he cried out “Why did you leave the field?!”

So I did the only thing I could think of: I yanked off my pants (I did have on pants underneath my uniform, by the way), threw them over my shoulder, grabbed my clarinet, and raced toward the rest of the band at the other end of the field, hoping like hell that I’d have a clue as to where we were in our routine.

When I reached them, I found my empty hole and did two quick maneuvers back into my place. I can’t recall what the turns I did were called, but I remember it was the only time in my pitiful marching career that I did them perfectly. Luckily, we were at the end of our routine.

I got to relive the entire thing the following Monday, when we watched the video of our performance as usual. I’m sad to note that I didn’t get a copy of it. I kind of wanted to send it to America’s Funniest Home Video.

Instead, I’m the reason why my high school band made sure to require suspenders for everyone during the follow year, and I’m the reason why they made sure when they ordered new band uniforms that they came with the suspenders attached the year after that.

I remember the first time I told my mother that I would be going to see a movie… alone. “Why would you do that?” She asked. “Don’t you have a friend you’d like to go with?”

Ok, so maybe those weren’t her exact words. It was some time ago, and I am not Sherlock Holmes. But it brings up a question: why do some people find it difficult to go see a movie alone?

It’s not like sitting in a restaurant by yourself, where all the other patrons will stare as you pick at your food and wonder why you didn’t bring a book to read. At the movies, everyone is looking at the screen. There’s no talking (hopefully). There’s no interaction with other people, save for the ticket guy, the concession workers and those people who prefer the aisle seats.

I don’t mind going to see a movie by myself (and it always makes me feel like a V.I.P. when I go to an early matinee and am the only person in the theater). So I put the question into Twitter’s capable hands: “I’m curious as to your opinion: Is it perfectly normal or just plain weird to go to the movies by yourself?” I received some great answers.

blueberrychica: I think it’s pretty fantastic if your comfortable enough with yourself to go to the movies by your self

rodgermclane: Oh yea, I would do it only if I was in a Longview size movie theater or bigger.

blueberrychica (after rodgermclane tweeted): yeah @rodgermclane does have a point. Alone in a small town theatre makes me think of pedophiles

newsjunkie365: Oddly, I think it depends on where you live. City like New York? Perfectly normal. The burbs? A little weird. Thems the rules.

samanthaurban: I do it all the time, but I find it’s less awkward for others during the day than at night.

It’s clear that the size of the theater (and the town it’s located in) matters to some. That’s not so hard to see. Bigger theaters lend more anonymity to its patrons. Were a person to go see a movie in a small town’s theater, such as the double screen theater in my hometown of Carthage, it might be awkward. Undoubtedly, you’d know everyone in that small town theater, and they’d probably be wondering why you’re alone.

I don’t think this is the definitive answer. Some people just like to go to the movies with other people. Others are more comfortable with the idea that you can go alone. One of the best things about the theater is that you’re seeing a movie with other people (some strangers, some familiar), but I don’t think we should think it’s weird for people to go to the movies by themselves. Most of the time, there’s going to be a lot of people watching the same movie anyways.

Basically, every Wednesday the cafeteria would serve fried chicken with mashed potatoes, green beans and a roll. It was Southern comfort food, and the cafeteria staff knew what they were doing.

Eventually state laws turned the fried chicken into baked chicken. This could have ruined Wednesdays, but the magical power of the chicken kept it going. Except for one particular Wednesday of my junior year in high school when the staff decided to serve “Happy Chicken” (chicken patties cut out with a smiley face and decorated with little colored balls of flour baked into the crust). I’m not making this up. Unfortunately, I can’t show you any photographic proof. “Happy Chicken” was usually served to the kindergartners and elementary school kids. Why they decided to serve it to a bunch of teenagers? I have no idea.

But as I was saying… Chicken Day was a staple of CISD. Naturally, I did not expect it to continue when I came to SMU.

It’s wonderful to be proven wrong. Because, you see, a certain cafeteria/grill on campus (Mac’s Place) serves chicken strips on Wednesday. Tasty, delicious chicken strips.

I tried to compose a poem entitled “An Ode to Chicken Day,” but alas, all I can say is, “Long live Chicken Day!”

I know, I know. The shame! The horror! Why are you even keeping this blog?!

I guess I should explain: The Internet… it had a conniption on my laptop. Therefore I couldn’t access my blog except via my brother’s computer. Which was painful. Mostly because the spacebar didn’t work properly. Sure, he doesn’t mind that hiswordsstick likethisontopof one another. But that kind of thing bothers me, you know?

But apparently, you guys just went nuts while I didn’t have 24/7 access to the Internet.

Michael Jackson? The scary-looking white woman who used to be a black man? Sold out concerts. Facebook? That whole Twitter-jealousy complex just took a “Marsha! Marsha! Marsha! turn” for the worse.

I sincerely wished that I could have blogged last week. There was that ill-fated Twitter twour. The feelings that I’ve outgrown Carthage for good. Or there could have been reviews of Push or He’s Just Not That Into You. 

All’s well that ends well, I guess. Thanks to Twitter, I wasn’t totally cut off. But it sucked when I couldn’t watch videos and follow some links from that. And I missed my Internet routine–the places I frequent on the Internet for which my browser has handy bookmarks.

So this is my apology post. I’ll be sure to update soon (and often) to make up for my hideousness last week.

1. Your Name: Lots of people (myself included) use all or part of their name as a username. BClinton, BillC, BillClinton, etc. It’s a win-win situation, I think. It’s professional. It identifies you. It signals to others that this username is in for the long haul. It also lets them know that you’re not a 13-year-old (or that your parents set the account up for you). I am not a 13-year-old, so this is a plus.
2. Your Hobby/Job: This may be an obscure reference to Dungeons and Dragons or just something you like to do or something that relates to your job. Examples would be: ExPrez9296, AwsmSpkr, ILikeInternsNamedMonica, JazzMaster57, Saxoholic, etc. This is generally more acceptable than #3, and it conveys that you are an interesting person. You’re creative (why stick with a boring username?). Is it professional? Not always. So if you’re going for this username, make sure it’s not your office email.
3. The 13-year-old girl: xOxOBILLOxOx or DoNtChaWaNtMe87 or BiLL <3 mONiCa. It’s unprofessional. It’s annoying. It’s not there for the long haul (I mean let’s face it: who really wants to use these when they’re 30 or 20 or even 16?)
4. Religious: You’re a very religious person. You want to show others just how religious you are. Maybe you’re hoping your username will save a few heathens. Examples include: godluvsualways, N_Christ_Alone, JesusForEVA, etc. They aren’t very professional, and they may be offensive to some others (if it’s really out there). Creative? Yes. Annoying? Sometimes. People who have religious usernames tend to be people who forward you chain mail. The kind that if you don’t forward it, you’re not a good Christian or José will die in that hospital or you’re not a good friend or you have no friends. The kind of chain mail you might actually consider forwarding because it’s guilted you so much. But then you come to your senses and realize it’s CHAIN MAIL and you promptly delete it because you are not that person, you will never be that person, and you hate that person. (In case you’re wondering, yes, I do look down upon you if you send me chain mail)
5. Narcissistic/Just Plain Stupid: You may be a 35-year-old man or a 13-year-old girl. But you just HAVE to let the world wide web know that you are *it*. Just because the rest of the world can’t meet you doesn’t mean they can’t learn this fact anyways. Hottie98 and DontHateMeCauseYouAintMe, this is for you. It’s unprofessional. It may be rude. It’s not creative. It’s a little delusional. There’s no such word as “aint.” Maybe you’re thinking these usernames convey a sense of self-confidence. They don’t. And most of the time, I’m betting you’re not even “hottt.” My advice? Stay away. DO NOT use this as your username. Why? Because most of the time, they’re kind of funny, and I will make fun of you. Especially if I know you.

Safe bet when choosing a username: No. 1.

Acceptable usernames: No. 2 and 4

Avoid at all costs: No. 3 and 5

Just another reason going to bed early is overrated. You miss chances to call the Police Department! Reporting strange noises is fun, I must admit.

It’s all very exciting; I hope I learn what happened.

The Bulldogs were part of the last HS football game played in Texas Stadium.

It was also the 555th game.

ANOTHER fact: This was the first year with the new stadium.

So, we get a new stadium and we go to State. And win.

The first season of that stadium. It’s in the history now. When they tear it down to build a new one 50 years later, they’ll say it started with a winning season.

Amazing!

And as my brother’s friend’s older brother (I’m totally not making that up either) Mr. Gabe Brooks puts it, the game “will be a fight between Cats and Dogs.” The Celina Bobcats and the Carthage Bulldogs, that is.

I’m not much of a football fan, so we’ll just leave it at that.