Small-town Star Trek museum teaches American cultural history, limits of fan fair use in copyright law

I have the con at the Star Trek Original Series Set Tour, Ticonderoga, N.Y., Oct. 2025
(all photos RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0)

The sleepy town of Ticonderoga, nestled between Lake Champlain and Lake George in upstate New York just south of the Adirondacks, is the unexpected home of a treasure of American history. 

I don't mean the historic Fort Ticonderoga of the American revolutionary era. 

The Star Trek Original Series Set Tour offers visitors an incomparable experience in television history and a lesson in intellectual property law along the way.

Though the transporter was conceived to save money on
prop shots of shuttle landings, it still cost (1966) $600
per effect per person. That's one reason why red shirts
didn't beam down unless they had, let's say, business on
the planet. Regular-cast shots could be recycled. The
platform circles were made with glass from old spotlights.
It's wild to see close up how clever prop crew were with
what they had on hand.

Star Trek in a Small Town 

I've written many times about the relevance of Star Trek to American law and public policy from the civil rights era to today. The Set Tour is the passion project of Star Trek superfan and Ticonderoga native James Cawley, an Elvis impersonator by trade. Cawley is someone who deeply appreciates Trek's cultural importance and has played a role in ensuring that the franchise survives and lives up to its legacy.

Inside the inconspicuous shell of a former Family Dollar in downtown Ticonderoga, Cawley has recreated the Desilu Studios set of the original Star Trek series of the 1960s in astonishing detail, down to the illuminated, colorful "gumdrop" buttons of starship Enterprise control panels.

Little survived from the original 1960s set. At that time, creators still thought about television productions as one-off broadcasts. Syndication was known, but shows were not yet designed for it. Moreover, few critics would have picked Star Trek, a curious experiment in sending Wagon Train to space, as a show that would stand the test of time. 

In fact, Star Trek's perceived ephemerality became a challenge in reconstructing the set, a Set Tour guide explained. The original series had no script supervisor in charge of continuity, mostly because no one expected viewers would see a Star Trek episode for a second time to notice details. A prop that was a scary alien computer in one episode was gently repurposed to be an Enterprise control system in another. Budgets were thin, too, so prop supervisors were ingenious recyclers.

Cawley long collected the few artifacts and set fragments that remained. In the early 1990s, he worked his way into an assistantship with legendary costume designer William Ware Theiss, then working on Star Trek's reincarnation in The Next Generation. Theiss had, and gave to Cawley, discarded blueprints of the 1960s set, as well as original series uniform patterns. Cawley found his calling and embarked on recreation of the set with excruciating attention to detail.

Sickbay: My guide was terrific, knowledgeable and full of lore.
Here the medical scanner is CGI, but in the 1960s, a grip was
needed just to move the little white indicators up and down
from behind the wall.

A Golden Age of Fan Fiction 

Homage to the past, though, was not Cawley's sole design. In the early 20-aughts, he became the founding producer and "Captain Kirk" star of a Star Trek fan production, New Voyages, later known as Star Trek: Phase II. The highly regarded fan franchise published online 10 episodes from 2004 to 2016, and many original series talents contributed to the show, such as writer David Gerrold and actors George Takei (Hikaru Sulu), Walter Koenig (Pavel Chekov), and Grace Lee Whitney (Janice Rand).

That's where things get interesting from the intellectual property perspective.

Star Trek brand owners Paramount, CBS, and Viacom—their corporate relationships shifted over the years—had mixed feelings about Star Trek fan productions. There were many, though none besides New Voyages had fixed sets.

When Star Trek's popularity waned, fan fiction kept the franchise alive in public imagination. As long as fan projects were not for profit, the corporations were content to look the other way, even striking an agreement at one time with New Voyages. But when Paramount, et al., were on the verge of a new Star Trek TV or film project, they tightened the reins.

The corporate equivocation, in tandem with a committed and creative fan base, allowed Star Trek fan fiction to thrive in a way that is uncommon in the American entertainment space. Nevertheless, corporate indulgence started to wane after J.J. Abrams took the helm of the 2009 film Star Trek and revitalized the franchise. 

 The recreation of Engineering is two stories high, as was the
original after it was augmented for Original Series season 2.
The warp core is about 12 feet deep but looks deeper
because of a forced-perspective design to fool the camera.

Copyright Showdown

Things came to a head in 2015. Alec Peters, an actor in Phase II, raised money and excitement around a new fan-film project, Star Trek: Axanar, teased by a compelling 2014 short, Prelude to Axanar (IMDb). With advances in technology, the production quality of fan films was by then quite good. Paramount meanwhile was closing in on 2016 release of a new feature film in the reboot universe, Star Trek Beyond, and a new TV series, Star Trek: Discovery, was slated for launch in 2017. In the last days of 2015, Paramount sued Peters and the Axanar project for copyright infringement.

The copyright case, and to a lesser extent the trademark case, on fan fiction is really open and shut. Profitable or not, the take-offs are not permissible without license by the rights-holder. There is a fuzzy line at the outer boundary of copyright, where protection of creative product gives way to "the scènes à faire doctrine." But it's not that fuzzy.

Law school learning on copyright impresses on students that eligible works must be "fixed in a tangible medium of expression." That does not mean, however, that only that which is committed to print or film is what is copyrighted.

Fictional facts and storylines also may come within copyright protection. Thus, the estate of Anne Rice can claim copyright over the story of a young vampire who shacks up with the master who turned him, adopts a vampire child, and later gives a tell-all interview. But the scènes à faire doctrine ensures that copyright does not remove mere tropes from the public domain. The Rice estate cannot claim copyright infringement in all stories about blood-sucking, undead creatures who cannot tolerate sunlight.

To put that in Star Trek terms, anyone is free to write a story about a human-led inter-species alliance of space-faring civilizations that explores the galaxy and maintains uneasy relations with warlike enemies. But the closer the author gets to a San Francisco-headquartered federation of planets with warp-drive starships, transporters, phasers, and emotion-averse characters with pointy ears, the more the risk of copyright infringement. The line is fuzzy, but it's not wide.

The problem for fan fiction always is that the stories fans want to tell are the stories that explore the boundaries of the established narrative, the existing fictional universe, and ideally, of the recognizable characters in it. That's exactly what copyright does not allow. 

Many scholars have argued for more expansive interpretation of fair use to allow for fan creativity in the presence of clear disclaimer. There's a whole book about the problem of fan fiction in historical and multi-national perspective by California Western Law Professor Aaron Schwabach. The last chapter of Schwabach's book is titled tellingly, "Fanfic: The New Voyages."

Archivist and professor emeritus in cinema studies at NYU, formerly at UCLA, Howard Besser made the case as to Star Trek in particular, besides other popular properties, such as Harry Potter, that the public commons should be larger. He called out corporate owners such as Viacom and Paramount for overreach with unjustifiably aggressive cease-and-desist letters.

But the fact and law remain, protection of fan work that plainly takes place in the same universe as copyrighted works, even when disclaiming ownership and avoiding recognizable names of fictional places and characters, and omitting trademarked titles, still is a non-starter. The analysis is of the totality. Nena may invoke Captain Kirk passingly in "99 Luftballons," but a fan film in the Star Trek universe treads too far.

The Treaty of Axanar 

It was no surprise, then, that the federal court in Paramount Pictures Corp. and CBS Studios, Inc. v. Axanar Productions, Inc. and Alec Peters refused the defendants' motion to dismiss in May 2016. The case over Axanar was careening toward a jury trial, the parties arguing heatedly over evidence and jury instructions, when suddenly, in the third week of January 2017, Paramount and Peters settled.

Out of the Axanar settlement came a remarkable new document, which articulated and still states the boundaries around what Paramount and CBS will tolerate in Star Trek fan fiction. The guidelines stated severe new limits, including:

• The duration of a fan production is limited to 15 minutes, or one story in two parts for 30 minutes, "with no additional seasons, episodes, parts, sequels or remakes."
• The work may not have "Star Trek" in the main title and must be subtitled, "A STAR TREK FAN PRODUCTION."
• No Star Trek content content may be used, and Star Trek-recognizable costumes and props must be official Star Trek merchandise.
• No creator or actor ever employed in a licensed Star Trek production may work on the project, and no one working on the project may be paid.
• A production must be non-commercial with a budget from fundraising limited to $50,000.

Described by fan fiction enthusiasts as "draconian," the new guidelines made impossible the production of projects fans had come to love. It seemed that no film such as Axanar could proceed. Serial projects such as Phase II had to call it quits. The golden age of streaming Star Trek fan fiction was over.

Prelude to Axanar
movie poster
(presumed ©; illustrative use)

Axanar Fal-Tor-Pan?

Yet, for better or worse, the Paramount-CBS guidelines were far from the last word on Axanar. Secret arbitration over money raised for Axanar followed the 2017 settlement. In 2023, Paramount sued Peters in California Superior Court in Los Angeles, alleging that he never stopped raising money for an Axanar film, and asking the court to affirm the outcome of the arbitration. 

Peters did not appear, and the court entered Paramount's desired order in February 2024. Rights-holder copyright consultant Jonathan Bailey, founder of CopyByte, wrote about the case for his Plagiarism Today. Fans follow developments around Peters and Axanar in the public Facebook group page, AxaMonitor.

Meanwhile, production on Axanar most definitely continued. Six days after Paramount had its way in court in Los Angeles, Axanar wrapped filming on its set, Jonathan Lane reported on his Fan Film Factor. Peters himself gives monthly updates on Axanar on YouTube. 

In the October 2025 Axanar update, posted on October 17, Peters reported on post-production progress on the latest installment of Axanar, to follow Prelude. He referenced the lawsuit, thereby suggesting that subsequent "episodes" (not "films") might comply with the Paramount-CBS guidelines. If that's what he meant, then a single episode Axanar cannot exceed 15 minutes, shorter than Prelude's 21 minutes, and there can be only two. Yet Peters described Prelude as mere "proof of concept." Confirming Paramount's 2015 fears, Peters said that Prelude was designed to demonstrate that a fan work could be of such high quality as to be technically indistinguishable from an official studio product.

The ultimate extent of Peters's fealty to the guidelines is unclear. I wonder whether he regards them indeed as mere "guidelines"—like the 1976 copyright fair use guidelines that, in my opinion, courts have too often misapplied as hard lines. In the October update, Peters talked about beta testing a new fundraising website. I wonder further whether he's exceeded the cap of the guidelines. He encouraged fan financial support at the Axanar website.

There was really only one corridor for every corridor shot.
Signs and wall fixtures could be changed, and it curved
(behind camera here) for an illusion of more space.

A New New Voyage

The Axanar debacle in 2016 left Cawley in an awkward spot. His one-of-a-kind set reconstruction had little remaining practical use for filming after Phase II folded. Yet adoring fans would bask in the extravagance of the work. He conceived of the Set Tour. Still, without official imprimatur, he would risk legal jeopardy by opening to the public. 

Cawley invited Paramount execs to Ticonderoga to have a look. No doubt, they were skeptical going in. But, at least as a Set Tour guide told the story, the execs were so impressed with Cawley's loving attention to detail that they agreed to license the Star Trek name. Thus, the Star Trek Original Series Set Tour is not, as I had first suspected, a trademark infringement flying under the radar in tiny Ticonderoga. Set Tour tour guides will not volunteer information about Phase II or other fan productions. Whether they're just playing it safe, or that was an agreement with Paramount, I do not know. But guides will answer questions about Phase II if asked.

The Star Trek Set Tour has a deceptively modest exterior.

To Cawley's credit, he always played ball with Star Trek owners. Remember, it was New Voyages that reached an express understanding with Paramount, before Axanar came along. Cawley came by the 1960s set plans honestly, by all accounts, while working for Theiss on the official franchise. And the Captain Kirk of eight New Voyages episodes even scored a cameo as a bridge officer in J.J. Abrams's Star Trek. The Set Tour has hosted original series cast members as guest tour guides. The original Captain Kirk, ninety-four-year-old William Shatner, is expected back in November 2025.

There is, by the way, a USS Ticonderoga in Star Trek, though accounts differ over whether the name is a nod to Cawley, American history, a real-life Ticonderoga, or all of the above. Five U.S. Navy ships have borne the name Ticonderoga, including an aircraft carrier that distinguished itself in World War II and the Vietnam War. In the 1970 epic war film Tora! Tora! Tora!, the Essex-class Ticonderoga served as a set for the slightly smaller Yorktown-class aircraft carrier Enterprise (CV-6, not the later, nuclear-powered Enterprise carrier built in 1961). A great many other Navy carriers lent their names to Star Trek starships, including the Lexington, Saratoga, and Yorktown in The Original Series.

I had a (phaser) blast of a good time at the Star Trek Original Set Tour earlier this month. On my way home from the American Society of Comparative Law annual conference in Montreal, walking through a wonderland of Gene Roddenberry optimism about humanity's future was a welcome antidote to Professor James Q. Whitman's gloomy prognosis for rule of law in the United States.

Set Tour visitors get a turn in the captain's chair amid Cawley's breathtaking recreation of the classic bridge of the starship Enterprise. Ironically in revolutionary-historical Ticonderoga, amid relics from an imaginary future, I've never felt more a part of American history.

(All photos RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0.)

The Set Tour has tons of artifacts, including ship models, props, and uniforms. Some of the props are recreations, but made so well that they were used in throwback, time-travel episodes, such as Deep Space Nine's 30th anniversary "Trials and Tribble-ations"—besides fan shows such as Phase II.

Curators decry parody souvenirs, claim quasi-copyright

D 'n' me at the Accademia in June.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC-BY-NC-SA 4.0

David's genitals are all the rage in Florentine touristic fashion, and some observers see a kind of intellectual property (IP) problem.

Italian law has pioneered the protection of cultural heritage since the 15th century (Mannoni), centuries before Italian unification. Medici rulers limited the export of art in the 19th century (Calabi). In the 20th century, a 1909 law asserted a public interest in protecting items "at least 50 years old and 'of historical, archaeological, paleo-anthropological interest'" (N.Y. Times).

Italy continued to lead in protective legal measures in modern times. A public responsibility to safeguard the national patrimony was enshrined in the post-war constitution in 1948 and became the basis of a "complex public organization" (Settis). According to Giambrone Law, Italy was the first nation to have a police division specially assigned to protect cultural heritage. Italy embraced a 2022 European treaty on cultural protection with aggressive amendments to domestic criminal law (LoC). Woe be to the Kazakh tourist who carved his initials into a Pompeii wall this summer (e.g., Smithsonian).

Italian legal protection has extended beyond the physical. A 2004 code of cultural heritage limited visual reproductions of national patrimony without prior approval by the controlling institution and payment of a fee to the institution. 

That measure caused more than a little hand-wringing in copyright circles, as the law seemed to reclaim art from the public domain. The Italian Ministry of Culture doubled down with regulations in 2023, even as the EU moved to strengthen the single-market IP strategy.

Probably needless to say, images of famous works of Italian art are sold widely, in Italy and elsewhere, on everything from frameable prints to refrigerator magnets. Enforcement of the cultural heritage law is thin on the ground, but the government has scored some significant wins against high-profile violators.

A recent AP News story by Coleen Barry described the latest outbreak of this IP-vs.-free-speech conflict, this time over images of David. Cecilie Hollberg, director of the Galleria dell’Accademia, where David resides, has decried vendors who profit from "debase[ment]" of David's image.

Aprons for sale, 2010.
Willem via Flickr CC BY-SA 2.0

I saw David in late June. It was the second time I visited him; my first visit was in 1996. I don't well remember Florence from that long ago. But this time I surely was surprised by the quantity and variety of David gear available for sale on the streets around the Accademia, especially the sort of gear that Hollberg is talking about. David has become a character in every variety of indecent meme and crude joke about drinking and sex. David's penis is a favorite outtake.

These uses of David's image especially implicate moral rights in copyright law. Moral rights aim to protect the dignity of creators against distasteful uses and associations. However, as such, moral rights typically end with the life of the creator. Michelangelo died in 1564. The theory behind the cultural heritage code is indicated by the very word "patrimony": that there is a kind of inherited public ownership of classical works, thus entitling them to ongoing moral protection.

Copyright in U.S. law and in the common law tradition in the 20th century was slow to recognize moral rights, which have a storied history in continental law, especially in France and in the civil law tradition. But common law countries came around, at least most of the way. Broader recognition of moral rights was motivated principally by treaty obligations seeking to harmonize copyright. A secondary motivation might have been a proliferation of offensiveness in the multimedia age.

Hollberg has been the complainant behind multiple enforcement actions. Barry reported: "At Hollberg's behest, the state's attorney office in Florence has launched a series of court cases invoking Italy's landmark cultural heritage code .... The Accademia has won hundreds of thousands of euros in damages since 2017, Hollberg said." Not a bad side hustle.

David's shapely backside is not to be underestimated.
RJ Peltz-Steele CC-BY-NC-SA 4.0

EU regulators are looking into the legal conflict between free artistic expression and protection of cultural heritage, Barry wrote. My inclination to classical liberalism puts a thumb on the scale for me in favor of the commercial appropriators. I'm uncomfortable with inroads on the public domain. There already is excessive such impingement on creative freedom: inter alia, abusively lengthy copyright terms, chaos around orphan works, prophylactic notice and take-down, and publisher-defined fair use. The idea of removing permissible uses from the public domain is antithetical to liberal norms.

At the same time, I get the frustration of authorities. The average family visiting the dignified Accademia, eager to induce a much-needed appreciation for history and art in the youngest generation, first must navigate the cultural gutter.

SDNY rules against Locast, knifes beleaguered free TV

[UPDATE: At 9:47 a.m. today, Thursday, Sept. 2, I received word that Locast is suspending operations, effective immediately.]  

Locast, an online retransmitter of broadcast television, and the American public together suffered a major blow on August 31, as the federal district court in New York handed partial summary judgment to ABC, CBS, Fox, and NBC in the networks' copyright infringement lawsuit.

Locast has irritated me, but only for not expanding fast enough.  Where I live, near Providence, R.I., the service is not available.  It is available in New York to the south and Boston to the north, but access is strictly geo-fenced.  As a result, my family cannot see free broadcast TV without springing for an expensive subscription to a cable service or streaming-channel consolidator.

That's not really Locast's fault.  Broadcasters have reduced their power over the years, making free TV incrementally more difficult to access.  I live just nine miles from the broadcast towers that serve the Rhode Island state capital, but I cannot receive any signal with an interior or window-mounted antenna.

Indeed, the networks seem to want out of the broadcast game altogether.  Kickbacks from online consolidators such as Hulu Live and YouTube TV, and the networks' profits from their own services, such as Paramount+ (and Hulu Live, in part), are more lucrative than broadcasting and come with no FCC regulatory strings attached.  Local affiliates, including vital broadcast news outlets, fall through the cracks, wreaking further havoc in our information market, but that's no matter to the bottom line.  Locast threatened to breathe life back into the corpse of free TV, so the networks pursued the service with a vengeance. 

Locast is a non-profit, and its "business" model is simple.  It sets up a technology hub in a place such as Boston and converts local broadcast signals to online streams.  Home cord-cutters thus have their access to free TV restored through the internet service they already have, no antenna needed.

On the face of it, of course, this business model would constitute copyright infringement for copying and redistributing the broadcast signals.  But Congress, in a rare showing of commitment to the public interest rather than to the profit margins of our corporate overlords, built an exemption into the Copyright Act.  Governmental or nonprofit organizations are permitted to retransmit "without any purpose of direct or indirect commercial advantage, and without charge to the recipients of the secondary transmission other than assessments necessary to defray the actual and reasonable costs of maintaining and operating the secondary transmission service."

Locast is freely available and supported only by voluntary donations.  But streaming is interrupted at 15-minute intervals by 15-second pleas for donations.  Like the ad-free versions of pay-TV services, Locast offers absolution from these interruptions in exchange for a minimum "donation" of $5 per month.  The $5-donation model proved sufficiently successful that Locast was able to cover its operating costs and use the excess to expand to new markets.

And that, expansion, was Locast's sin, in the eyes of the district court.  Judge Louis L. Stanton opined that Congress could have written "maintaining and operating and expanding" into the statutory exemption, but did not.  So Locast's dedication of additional accounts received to expansion was fatal to its claim of copyright exemption.

I find the court's reading of the statute exceedingly cramped.  Locast plainly is spending money to do precisely what Congress intended: making free TV available to people who cannot receive it without hiring a contractor to install an antenna tower.  That the books must balance within each micro-market rather than across live markets, in the utter absence of evidence that a dime has been diverted to any other objective, absurdly splits hairs.

Locast lawyers, joined by the Electronic Frontier Foundation, say they are examining the ruling.  Locast announced yesterday that it is for now ceasing streaming interruptions requesting donations. 

There are ways that Locast can work around its current predicament, I reason. Locast has been supported by some major corporate donors who are not old-school TV insiders, such as AT&T, which contributed $500,000.  Internet service providers such as AT&T benefit from Locast, because retransmissions are streamed into homes, rather than broadcast.  With more careful balancing of the books, it should be possible, if cumbersome, to parse operations between discrete markets and to raise capital to support expansion directly.

It's a shame that such gamesmanship should be required for what is clearly a public service.  And a bigger problem might remain for American information and entertainment consumers in the ongoing, if prolonged, death throes of free TV.  We might hope that Congress would obviate the fray with bold measures that would reinvigorate the landscape of electronic expression by enhancing public-interest limitations on digital intellectual property and guaranteeing access to the internet for all Americans.

We also might hope to see pigs take flight.

The case is American Broadcasting Cos. v. Goodfriend, No. 1:19-cv-07136 (S.D.N.Y. Aug. 31, 2021). I bet Judge Stanton is one of those people who has both cable and Fubo and can't use either one unless someone helps him with the remote.

Publishers put the '©' in World Book Day

The 1885 John Ormsby translation of Cervantes's Don Quijote,
with 1880 illustrations by Gustave Doré, are in the public domain
at Project Gutenberg.

Today, April 23, is the International Day of the Book, or "World Book and Copyright Day," a recognition organized by UNESCO since 1995.  The date was chosen to coincide with the date of death of Miguel de Cervantes, though that date in truth is only an estimate.

Some of the promotional material from UNESCO refers only to "World Book Day," and I've found no clear record of how copyright became attached.  Cervantes was gone for a century by the time the British Statute of Anne came on the scene in 1710.  In fairness to publishers, copyright did contribute to making authorship and printing commercially viable, so it deserves credit for promoting creativity and literacy.  (Read more about the history of copyright and later developments.)

But the skeptic in me suspects that "copyright" as part of our international day of recognition came about at the behest of an industry, which, today, overreaches.  When, ancillary to civil rights-era constitutional activism, the U.S. Supreme Court found some room for the First Amendment to operate even as against the copyright clause of the 1789 Constitution, the publishers took the lead in drafting ungenerous "fair use guidelines," limits on copyright carve-out, that too often are regarded as law, especially by administrators in academia.

Lately, my wife, a librarian, and I have been troubled by the terms imposed on our local library, and all libraries, for the use of electronic books.  Once upon a time in the analog world, a library could lend a book as many times as the book could physically sustain.  Even then, the library could rebind the book and give it a new lending life.  After a single purchase, a book could reach new readers for centuries, well beyond its copyright.

1880 Doré illustration of the Adventure of the Windmills

No longer.  Publishers now self-servingly "estimate" the shelf-life equivalent of an electronic book and permit libraries to lend the book only so many times, say, 52 loans or two years, whichever comes first.  Then poof, the e-book turns into a pumpkin, and the library has to pay for a new e-book again.  Be careful about putting your name to a library service that automatically checks out an e-book to you when it becomes available, but you can then pass it on if you're not ready to read it.  The access apps are supported by publishers, and your pass counts as a full check-out against the license limit.  Our local libraries cannot afford this turnover.  Only time will tell what damage we inflict on public access, collective memory, and incentives to create, not to mention global equity in the distribution of knowledge, when we have fully turned books into inalienable commodities.

If you spare two thoughts for "World Book and Copyright Day," let one be about how you can push back against copyright restrictions so that books, including their electronic equivalents, can be, and forever remain, accessible to all.  That's no windmill.

Copyright? I gotchyer Bernie mittens right here, Getty

CC mine, mine, mine

Is any blog complete without a Bernie mittens meme?  

The source photo for the now world-famous Bernie mittens meme is hardly in the public domain, despite what one sees in social media.  The photo was taken by D.C.-based Agence France-Presse photojournalist Brendan Smialowski.  As The New York Times reported in January, Smialowski also took one of the well circulated photos (via N.Y. Times) of a cyclist flipping off the Trump motorcade in 2017.  He's had a good attitude about his latest claim to fame, the Times tells:

"I genuinely enjoy the fact that people are having a lighthearted moment from a political photo," he said. "Things have been pretty tough for the last year and politics can be pretty nasty, and here are people just having fun."

But AFP licenses its photos through Getty Images, where Bernie Mittens (pop-up) can be yours for from $175 for a 0.2 megapixel small to $499 for a 12.6 megapixel large.  Are AFP and Getty as chill about meme culture as Smialowski?  As François Larose and Naomi Zener write for Bereskin & Parr, "It’s all Good Fun Until a Copyright Lawyer Gets Involved."

Analyzing the case under Canadian law, Larose and Zener concluded that non-commercial memes are safe from infringement liability, but mittens merch makers had better watch out.  I'm lookin' at you, Etsy.  I am not so sanguine about U.S. fair use analysis, and I think the hypothetical case spotlights the too often yawning gulf between IP law and the reasonable expectations of real people, especially in the internet age.