The Expulsion of Cranberry Mullens

Since I have so much more free time now without a commute, my brain has returned to normalcy. Inspiration and creativity have returned. They returned as I was brushing my teeth last night. The the name "Cranberry Mullens" popped into my head. I liked it, so I went with it. I went with it for about thirty minutes...

"The Expulsion of Cranberry Mullens"

This is the story of Cranberry Mullens. Just an ordinary kid in an ordinary town seeing the extraordinary. Kids of all ages, even adults poked fun at his first name.

Rodney Burns, a tall, haggard bully twice his age, yells down to Cranberry at the local diner, "Cranberry!? What kind of name is that!?"

Cranberry, sucking down his strawberry milkshake, backs his head away from the straw, swallows slowly, then looks up at his crimson-faced attacker.

"Why, I'd say it's a fruit, Rodney."

"Yeah, yeah, you hear that everyone! He's named after a fruit!" Snickers from all around the diner zing into Cranberry's ears. Cranberry takes another long, delightful sip of his shake, finishing with that disheartening empty sucking sound that means only one thing: end of shake, end of indulgence. "What're you, gay?!"

Cranberry looks up again.

"No Rodney, I don't think so. But so what if I am?"

"What's your purpose, Cranberry?"

"My purpose?"

"Yeah, what's your purpose? To sit around drinking pink stuff, being all gay?"

"No, I don't think that's quite it. I'd say it's more like repelling."

"What the heck does that mean? Like insect repelling? You're into insects and stuff?" Cranberry moves closer to Rodney. So close that the tips of their toes touch, repulsing Rodney. "Ew get away you fag!"

"I want to tell you my purpose." Rodney eyes him, then looks around at the eager bystanders. He looks at the chubby waitress, stuffed into her white outfit. She's too busy picking up straw wrappers and balls of bubble gum wrapped in napkin to notice the scene. Theresa Saunders, cute, an early developer, nods in excitement. Rodney steps closer to Cranberry.

"Alright, what is it?"

"My purpose, is to repel humans."

"What!?" Gasps sing into Cranberry's ears. "What does that mean? Are you some kind of freak, some kind of warlock or witch or something?"

And that's when it all started. The expulsion of Cranberry Mullens.

The news of his human repellent spread fast throughout the town, fast like a disease, like a severe epidemic. You were the minority if you didn't know. The school was forced to remove Cranberry from its premises. Kids told their parents who told the teachers who told Cranberry to stop who told them he couldn't who told the principal who told the super intendant who called a faculty meeting who decided that this was it. He had to go. Because that's what schools do, you know. That's how they solve problems. They find the problem and they remove it. Just like that. It's simple really, and it takes very minimal effort.

Normally a kid would face an expulsion of just a couple weeks, be turned to his parents for quick rectifying. But not Cranberry Mullens. He was far too threatening. So here he stands on his front doorstep, face framed by his mother's arm, which rests firmly on her hip.

"She only stands like that when she's really mad," thinks Cranberry, staring at her then at his toes.

"Cranberry, what do we do with you now?" Silence. Birds chirping.

Cranberry looks to the sun, who shines down onto his round face, burning into his eyes a bit. He looks back to his mother but sees only a dark silhouette and bright blotches of light.

"I'm not even sure that I want you to come in the house. I think I might want you to stand out here on this porch all day." Silence. A dog barks. She comes back into focus. Cranberry smiles. "Will you do that for me, Cranberry?"

"Sure, Mom." She wipes her hands on her apron, sighs and turns. The door shuts. Cranberry turns around and watches a large truck drive by. His eyes widen. He mouths "circus." The side of the truck reads, "Tottem Brothers Seven Man Circus. And a lil lady, too." The truck slows. A twenty-something man sticks his head out the driver's side window.

"Hey! Kid! You know where we can find Route 74?"

Cranberry thinks for a moment, then yells, "Turn around and go about 3 miles. It'll be on your left!" The man disappears. He reappears.

"You sure, kid?" Cranberry nods. The man disappears again. He reappears, this time with a map in hands.

"Can you come look at this map real quick?" Cranberry shakes his head. The man disappears again. A young woman pops her head out of the window, cleavage overwhelming the frame.

"Heya sweetie. Can you help me look at this map please?" Cranberry shakes his head again. She pushes her way out of the door, fumbling with the map in her hand. Leaping from the truck, she lands, breasts in tact. Grounded, she stares at him before advancing. She marches across the lawn. Cranberry has never seen anything like her. Her dress. The skin. The hair. The makeup. The breasts. She nears him, when Mrs. Mullens catches a flash of red through the window. She yanks open the door. Monkey in the middle, Cranberry looks to both women.

"Who are you?" sternly inquires Mrs. Mullen.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, we're a bit lost."

"Get away from my boy, gypsy!" Mrs. Mullen grabs Cranberry's chubby hand and drags him towards the house. Cranberry struggles to keep his mystery lady in sight. He catches glimpses of her amidst his mother's apron blowing into his vision. Mystery lady winks at him and smiles, then sticks out her tongue and turns. The door slams. "See Cranberry! I can't even leave you on the front porch like a dog without you getting into trouble!" She stomps away from him. He stands in the hallway. The window is open. The table isn't too high. Hop, squeeze, fall, land, run. Mrs. Mullen sees another flash. Only this time it's her son, sprinting across the lawn to the circus truck. No boy has ever smiled this big or ran this fast in the history of childhood.

Who is Will Staehle, and Who Cares?

You care! Although if currently you do not, you will in three minutes. A recently selected ADC Young Gun and previously featured artist in Print Magazine’s “Top 20 Designers Under 30,” Will Staehle boasts a wealth of awards and creations and still remains respectfully modest. Existing on the wonderful World Wide Web, Will’s various works are showcased and detailed on not one, not two, but six different personal websites. They range from his commercial work to his current Silhouette Masterpiece Theater. Aside from his busy freelance schedule, he works full-time as the Design Director at JibJab Media, a digital entertainment studio in Venice, CA.

While some artists are struggling to find work, Will finds himself struggling to turn down freelance opportunities. His extraordinary design talent is obvious as to why editors are tapping him on both shoulders, and his road to success has also collected a long string of significant industry contacts. Both of Will’s parents are designers and own a successful design firm in Racine, Wisconsin. The firm has been in operation for twenty-six years and is where Will worked during his youthful summers. This jumpstarted his design training, pushing him to learn Photoshop at age ten. 

After graduating from Minneapolis College of Art and Design in 2002, Will found himself the victim of a design market draught in Minneapolis. A forgotten submission to the Adobe Achievement Awards earned Will two, second place awards in both design and illustration. As part of the winner's package, Will’s work was exhibited at the prestigious Guggenheim Museum in New York City. As Will concedes, he is not “socially aggressive,” but “something clicked” inside of him the night of his exhibit and he thought, “This is my chance.” And it was. Post shaking hands and mingling with his idols, Will was offered two jobs that night. One offer began with an unforgettable impulsive quote: “We have good news and bad news. We either have to kill you, or we have to hire you.” 

His first job was Senior Designer at HarperCollins for the paperback books division, and his first project was to design a Michael Crichton book cover that his boss was struggling to nail. Although this design is not Will’s favorite, 1.4 million copies of the book were printed.

After five years of promotions at HarperCollins, Will had climbed his way up to the Art Director of his division. A “house style” for his cover designs had been established which created slight boredom. Luckily Evan Spiridellis, Co-Founder and Creative Director at JibJab Media, came across Will’s article in Print Magazine and instigated contact. Will took the leap across the country to Los Angeles to work as the Senior Designer at JibJab. Yet his knack for book cover design is a recognition that “follows you” and is a large source of his freelance work.

Why does he pile so many portions on his plate? When asked he simply replied, “I need variety in my life.” Will constantly has several freelance projects on his plate, usually five to seven simultaneously. He is often offered jobs that are too big for him, and he admits, “I do it anyways, and then I hate myself.” He does them all because he likes them all. He also likes sleep but does not have the luxury of enjoying this necessity as much as he would like.

Will’s personal work can be found on six different websites. Lonewolfblacksheep is Will’s commercial company, which includes stylized toys, logos, business cards, characters and posters. This collection was created while Will lived in New York because, of course, he needed to be doing more than just working full-time. Silhouette Masterpiece Theater showcases Will’s “horribly disfigured” counterpart, Wilhelm Staehle’s, Victorian-themed framed prints, light boxes, t-shirts and pillowcases. Another site that prides much success is dollardreadful.com, which is home to The Dollar Dreadful Family Library. These small, Victorian-style booklets are designed by Will and written by his wife, Tania Del Rio. Other writers are welcome, but the submission process is in development. For just two dollars the reader can embark on short story adventures with quirky characters enduring bizarre circumstances. The booklets sell well at conventions where six are bundled for only ten dollars. Both Silhouette Masterpiece Theater and The Dollar Dreadful Family Library can be found for sale at The Bazzarium: Your Victorian Emporium. One can purchase other turn-of-the-century-inspired works there as well. Let’s not forgot Will’s main website where all of his fascinating worlds and wondrous products are housed.

What’s next for Will? After a bustling four days of showing and selling at Comic-Con 2009, he's sure to return next year. There is future possibility for him to take over the family business in Wisconsin, but Will’s fear remains that one day he would tell people, “I’m the son who killed his father’s company.” In the meantime, he will continue to refine his current creations and undoubtedly bring more to life for us impatient bystanders to devour. He is still under thirty and has already conquered feats that some do not experience in a lifetime. Keep your eyes and ears open for the latest and greatest from this unique designer who “likes simple design but wants to make it [his] own” by adding flourishes and other embellishments. Keep on inventing, Will Staehle. The American art scene needs you.

Why I Like Earthquakes

Lots of things in life shift. Our emotions, our goals, our priorities. Just like the earth's plates, our internal structure shifts, sometimes causing turmoil. In particular, our priorities in life can change and really impact our lives and futures. Maybe your priority is to be as wealthy as possible, and in the process of attaining this goal, you ignore your dreams. Then one day you wake up and scream "FUCK! What have I become?" You're miserable and somehow lost sight of your goals, probably because your priorities shifted. Now they shift again. You quit your job and regress to financial instability BUT are working towards your dreams. This will hopefully mean you're happy.


What are your current priorities?

The priorities of other cultures, on the whole, are different than ours. I envy their needs and wants and their abilities to succeed with these priorities. They value life so differently than we do. I want to have an admirable life story. I don't want to wake and scream "FUCK! I'm too old to shift!" Shift when you can and see what happens. You might fail but hopefully you will succeed. And if you do fail, don't worry, at least you moved things around and shook things up.

I like earthquakes; they keep you on your toes. Let's see what happens when I shift...

Panini Garden

I've been pondering creating a blog for some time now but always shied away from this medium of sharing my thoughts and findings. But I finally caved and realized that having a place to store my random daily thoughts, interesting links, photographs, etc., etc. is a fabulous option.

Instead of reading my newest Creative Screenwriting magazine during my lunch break yesterday, I found myself people watching while seated on the back patio at Panini Garden in Venice. I scribbled down my surroundings and thoughts.

Every person around me seems like a different planet. The sky is gorgeous, blue with smeared white clouds, sparkly tan overhang compliments the blue hue. Woman to my right is a pregnant French woman who's probably about 8 months along, chatting on her phone in French for the past 20 minutes. She continuously plays loud audio on her laptop for short snippets of time. I'm shamelessly eavesdropping, trying to pick out familiar words and phrases, my heart sighing at the thought of my recent EuroJam. Woman to my left reads a novel. I'm not sure she realizes that her underwear are peeking out from her stance, legs stretched across the wooden bench. Woman across the way reads In Touch, MJ's ghostly face sprawled across the front page. The frumpy woman directly across from me shovels her lunch into her mouth while enjoying her newspaper. Beyond her chomping, a cute older couple quietly eats their lunch. The woman cuts her food very properly, almost like a true Parisian. This reminds me, I want to practice the table manners of Europeans. A couple just sat down to my right, exchanging minimal talk, the girl busy typing her cell phone, like me. I'm sitting here stuffed from an incredible crepe, dreaming my dreams, waddling down the several paths I've cleared in my mind, barely awake but awake enough to know that times are changing and it's time. These little birds are so sweet, hopping from table to table, perching for treats. I'd love to squeeze one...