Smashing Pumpkins at Summersault in Barrie, Aug. 11, 2000. My first concert. (Isn’t it sad I can still remember the exact date? Fuck I loved this band so much. Did you know on the original Smashing Pumpkins official message board I was basically an Internet celebrity? With like, a 10,000 post count? I’m pretty sure to this day you can mention my username on the new SP board and people will still recognize it.)

Nine Inch Nails’ And All That Could Have Been DVD. So many hours spent searching for Easter eggs… so many, many hours.

The Smiths’ Asleep. I only knew this song because for about a year the only book I read and re-read, in single sittings and for weeks at a time, was The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. This song features prominently in that grunge-era blatant rip-off of Catcher in the Rye.

This band’s album was playing in my car the night I had my heart broken for the first time. Rockets Red Glare was also the band playing when I got into my first crash in that car. Cursed.

From the time I was 13 til just before high school graduation, I took private art lessons every weekend. My teacher, Stephen Yau, was obsessed with the Beatles and played these CD collections of Beatles MIDI renditions on repeat. Obviously (and thankfully) there are no YouTube videos of muzak Beatles, but to this day any Beatles song except Day Tripper drives me mad — and few are less rage-inducing than this little ditty.

From the Brig last summer — that being Mike’s family cottage on the St. John River in New Brunswick.

My own experience with my high school’s newspaper was limited — we didn’t have one. The closest facsimile was still a long shot: one self-alienating Gr. 12 weirdo started a photocopied and folded A3-sized arts-and-lit mag called Phantasmagoria, which was later renamed The Lemon because nobody could remember the former, much less pronounce or spell it. I always thought running a school paper might have been my bag, but I was far too anguished with my own teenaged misery to cover epic school events such as the Richmond Hill H.S. Raiders’ junior football matches in rural Ontario or the jazz band.

My closest experience was with yearbook, an operation more akin to one person (in our year, Richard) running the show, and other people just hanging out in the office because that was the cool place to be. Which, I guess, is pretty close to the experience at The Paper. Except nobody looked 22 years old or had clear skin. In short, it was all pretty non-threatening.

In university, I both incurred and inflicted some war wounds, but I managed to come out on top. When the Ryerson Review of Journalism was all said and done this spring, I had a coffee with Tim, my professor, and reflected with perhaps a little too much honesty that I’m only a team player if I get to be the leader. So in that way I relate with The Paper’s editor Amanda.

Anyway, I don’t know if Doyle’s saying that the Globe’s newsroom is also incestuously addled with love affairs and catty women (or just that it’s cutthroat), but I have heard enough things about it from Ryerson professors to know that the few bitches there (Wong, Blatchford, Wente) got all alpha male on each other because they thought that’s what women were supposed to do in an almost entirely male environment.

Journalism 101: Feuds, cliques and bizarre eruptions of egotism
By John Doyle

So it’s Monday morning and I’m all “oh-my-God-what-have-I-done-with-my-life?”

I have devoted my life to writing, specifically in the newspaper racket. How pathetic is that? Newspapers, as you may have heard, are dead or dying. Nobody cares what it says in the paper. If you’re not blogging, you’re nothing.

Yeah right. This newspaper is just dandy, thanks. It’s thriving, and striving as ever to be the best. And as for this blogging thing, well, a lot of bloggers read blogs.

Newspapers are rarely portrayed accurately on TV or in movies. And when they are used as a setting, newspaper writers and editors complain and sneer. The recent and final season of The Wire was partly set in the newsroom of The Baltimore Sun and written by a former Sun journalist. Yet journalists across the United States heaped abuse on it for not being an accurate depiction of working life at a big-city daily.

The truth is that it’s well-nigh impossible to capture life at a newspaper. The non-journalist audience would not accept the rendering of authentic newspaper life as credible. They simply wouldn’t believe it.

The Paper (MTV Canada, 9:30 p.m.) is a fly-on-the-wall series that documents a few months of life among the student staff of The Circuit, the award-winning newspaper at Cypress Bay High School in Weston, Fla. It’s very good, compelling TV. It actually captures a good deal of the weirdness, the good the bad and the ugly of newspaper life. And that’s because it’s set at a high school.

The working life at any newspaper is rather like high school. There’s the good stuff – the thrill of learning things, the camaraderie, the optimism and the celebration of achievement. And there’s the rest of it – feuds, cliques, juvenile aggression, pointless character assassination, bullying and bizarre eruptions of egotism. Or so I’m told, anyway. Here in the TV Cranny, it’s heads-down, get-it-done, be cheerful and polite. Rumours of what is actually going on only reach me months or years later, when I meet people from other newspapers.

The Paper started airing a few weeks ago and the first thing viewers saw and heard was a young woman named Amanda declaring, “Journalists are the most important part of the world. They really are.” It was a good beginning. Then it became clear that Amanda was one of four candidates vying to be the next editor-in-chief of The Circuit. And, because the paper has a tradition of excellence and has won many awards, the top job is important. It could be the first step in a long career in journalism.

Amanda has indeed become editor-in-chief. It was fascinating to watch the scenes immediately following the announcement. Most of her competitors for the job began plotting to undermine her. They talked about her being bossy and on a power trip. They failed to mention that while they were having a wild party, Amanda was at home polishing her application for the job. And yes, she is bossy and confident, but one of her strengths is that she’s a good editor, able to spot grammatical errors and other flaws in the stories about school life that the staff write. As the series has progressed, Amanda’s grip on the paper and the staff has become a drama unto itself. Unnerved at first by the hostility, she tried to be gentle and then realized that her actions only fuelled more resentment. She’s begun to assert herself again.

Most of Amanda’s problems have to do with Giana, an attractive young woman who wanted the editor’s job but failed to put much effort into getting it. Giana is dating Trevor, another member of the staff, and flaunts her relationship constantly. As well, she’ll tell anyone who will listen that Amanda is just horrible. And then there are people who will suck up to Amanda relentlessly, using their connection with her to undermine others. The situations are uncannily akin to the power struggles at many papers. Or so I’m told.

One of the great things about The Paper – apart from its insight into the allure of journalism – is that it acts as a counterpoint to many other reality-TV series about teenagers. These kids are nothing like the self-absorbed twinkies you see on The Hills. They’re engaged by issues other than dating, shopping and partying. And they get their biggest kick from actually getting their newspaper finished, printed and distributed. The Paper makes it clear that newspaper journalism matters. Which it does. The office politics don’t matter. It’s something worth doing with your life.

(Also, can I talk about how much I love the “Diamond Shreddies” ad campaign for this deliciously waffled whole wheat delight? An intern came up with the whole concept. Sometimes I think about going over to the dark side. Olgilvy & Mather probably gave that intern a sweet, sweet bonus.)

Spent a good few days in the Maritimes for Risky Business’s last three shows. Here is the second-to-last one at the House of Dogs, the unofficial abode of Haligonian hardcore alumni. For more, go to Former Transformer.

This tree was a fixture for RHHS students, right on the path leading into the woods behind the football field; this was where everyone went to smoke weed between classes. This was stitched out of five or six frames. Those nubs at the bottom are my feet – my beloved red New Balance 575s that were always a half size too big.

Preface: This post will heretofore be known as Part 2 of last month’s entry, “Things I Regret“.

In Part 1, I mentioned how a combination of fate and dysfunction left me with a total of 0 photos of my first boyfriend, Lee. Four years ago, I was invited by John to be an audience member for this Zwan performance on MuchMusic (I come in at 7:50). I had already made plans with Lee, so I felt obliged to bring him along, even though at a very nascent three weeks into the relationship, I had a nagging suspicion he hated my taste in music. But I didn’t care. I was obsessed with Billy Corgan.

So we were whisked into the CHUM building, and given a prime TV spot behind the drumset of one Jimmy Chamberlin. He even gave me one of his drumsticks during the commercial break. I still have it, perched on top of my VHS copy of Vieuphoria and next to to the $1 USD bill, signed by Billy Corgan (which I promptly framed the next morning).

The point being, in the whole 9-minute clip, there isn’t a single fucking shot of Lee! This guy must have been a CSIS agent or something – between the frustration of trying to get through to his phone and his sketchy, noncommittal behaviour, I should have seen it coming. Haha.

On the up-side, you all have more blackmail material. Do you see the fading blue streaks in my hair? My only saving grace is the Rival Schools tee on my back. Thanks to Peter for giving me the heads-up on this little gem.

I’m not sure what to make of this year. Things got bad, then good, then bad again, really good, and now it’s ambivalent and complicated. A couple nights ago, I dreamt I was pregnant, which apparently means I’m developing on a personal level, or reaching a new direction or idea. Good thing, because I was afraid for a minute maybe it was some omen or straight-up Jesus Christ style divination gwannin’ into the Oh-Seven.

Normally I include some sort of rundown of my favourite pop cultural releases of the year, but I haven’t been paying much attention to any of that – aside from Ghostface and other obv items like Borat.

The photos are pretty self-explanatory, I think, in showing Canice’s highlights of 2006. But if it’s not apparent enough, here they are in a list:

• New York and Parsons School of Art and Design. I don’t know, what else is there to say about living in New York for 6 weeks?

• Going to a Cree reserve in northern Quebec for a week. It’s one of those things I will never talk about, but think about almost daily.
• I finally discovered a good cup of coffee in Toronto. The spot at Dundas/Euclid is mellow-roasted bliss, while Ideal is strictly mid-ride, double shot Americano business.
• I finally reached a point where I could label myself a photographer. Shot a wedding, sold some prints, and (lamely) finally attended formal photography classes so I wouldn’t feel like such a hack.
• Some pretty awesome jobs. I’m going into 2007 with more work with a small publisher. My column’s doing well. I’m doing good with photo work. And McClung’s Magazine is probably the best thing I semi-resistingly jumped into.
• New camera equipment: Canon 5D and an EF 24-70mm f/2.8 L USM
• I love riding my bike. I finally found a hypocrisy-free way of being an environmentalist!
• New friends, they know who they are.
• Moving back home was kind of a downer, but I think ended up making me a more financially and academically disciplined person. Of course, I still hate living at home, and I’m glad I’m moving out in February.
• Weaned off the materialism a bit. It’s amazing how much money you have when you aren’t buying another pair of $180 Nikes every week.
• Some great reads: George Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London, Guy Delisle’s Shenzhen, Sean Wilsey’s Oh the Glory of it All
• Not really enjoying school anymore, to the point where I almost dropped out. I didn’t, but I don’t know whether that was the right thing to do yet.
• Some boy trouble, but I guess there’s always boy trouble. Hopefully that sorts itself out soon.
• 2007 is Year of the Bike Messenger! Hahahaha.

#1

My student cards. They progress clockwise from the bottom right. Note my closed eyes and hideous yellow/red combination at the tender age of 14, followed by the SPIKED COLLAR the next year. Grade 11 features contact lenses for the first time, blue pixie-cut hair, and attention from the opposite sex. In grade 12, I sweet talked the photographer into letting me rep the East Side, claiming authority as a yearbook staffer.

#2

A sampling of my musical tastes, circa age 16. I know you envy my sizeable collection of Nine Inch Nails albums.

#3

Accessories of choice included leather wrist bands. The beaded thing is my first gift from a boy, given to me after he returned from a family trip to Hawaii. It would mean more to me, except I didn’t like him back. Sorry, Jason Smith.

#4

Ruining this perfectly good hard case. Inside this hideous hand-painted monstrosity is a sparkle-red Strat that sounds like shit. I received this as a peace offering on my sixteenth birthday after my mom banned me from seeing any of my friends, whom she claimed were “bad influences”.

#5

My graduating year profile. I can’t make this shit up. Full text:

Nicknames: Candice, Cannister, Emokid, Straightedge
Future ambition: The owner of Buddyhead, Lambgoat, Pitchfork Media and/or CMJ
Probable fate: Washed-up photographer to the stars with severe problems [Note: it was supposed to say 'alcoholism', but our supervising teacher found my profile offensive. I'm not sure if i meant the celebrities had problems, or if I did.]
Favourite teachers: Chan, Del Bianco, Dancyger, Lipton, Pearce, Serjeantson, Strongbad
Pet peeves: Excessive flesh, slow drivers, high school parties
Catchphrases: “Oh, snap!”; “On a scale of one to awesome, I am super great”; “Bummer”; “BAAAMM!”; “Dude, that’s hardcore.” [I have no explanation for this. I'm sorry.]
Embarassing moments: Lee Denaeyer, grades 9 through 11
Claim to fame: Keeping the edge, the Rice Rocket, rock snobbery, intense bitterness that can level egos in a glance [Note: It seemed to be a huge deal whenever people met me and realized I was legitimately straight edge. Richmond Hill is a cesspool of overly-indulgent, drug-addled, alcoholic suburban brats.]
Tragic flaw: Emotional masochism, being jailbait
Advice to niners: If you haven’t reached puberty yet, you’re too young to be dressing like that.
No gods to slave to, and no heroes to kill for.

That last quote was a Between the Buried and Me line. I still like this band, and I still like that quote. I almost think I was smarter at 17 than I am now.

#6

My yearbook credit. I didn’t do anything at all (sorry Richard), but they still put me in there. Notice the awesome OG Bane hoodie (which I sold this year and made a killing off of) and my meticulously chosen, rotating collection of 1″ band pins. This particular configuration is: Hopesfall, Newfound Interest in Connecticut, Reach the Sky, and Small Brown Bike.

#7

A more recent item. Here is the majority of my sneaker collection. I want to burn them. I would sell them on Ebay, but realistically speaking, I would only get back 25% of what I paid for them. Also pictured is my collection of hardcore band t-shirts, neatly folded and waiting to be worn to the gym or to sleep. And lots of ugly jeans.

Unfortunately there are a lot of things missing from this list, seeing as in the Great Hard Drive Freakout of 2004, I lost all my high res photos from an old point and shoot. Here are some honourable mentions:

• My first boyfriend Lee. I get really bummed when I realize I now have no photos of him, because he was really hot and I don’t think anyone believes me.

• Dyeing my hair the following colours: red, blue, green, orange, and yellow
• Buying 30 Weezer t-shirts and every piece of Smashing Pumpkins memorabilia known to mankind
• Buying all these said band t-shirts in either youth extra-small or adult size large

This is a total gold mine of blackmail material. But truth be told, I’m having trouble finding more things I don’t regret rather than do regret, thus confirming my suspicions I am in a period of laissez-faire bliss once more! (I could have told you this anyhow. I have gotten myself into a hilarious romantic predicament, as well as annihilated this school term without breaking a real sweat. C’est un miracle!) Just to end things on a positive, bike-nerdy note, here is a short list of More Recent Things I do not Regret Doing:

#1

Buying Dura-Ace lockrings for a winter beater? Officially the most valuable component on this POS Trek.