Well hello there, darlings. Since this is my first post, I’ll do a bit of an introduction (which will later be expanded on my .com/aboutme). I’m a 22 year old female from ATL, GA currently in my last year at Georgia State. I’m pursuing my B.S. in Respiratory Therapy, and enjoying it when not complaining bout how exhausted I am. In short: I started this blog to chronicle my step into fake adulthood, and because I felt like my friends and family on Facebook would quickly tire of my constant food documentation. A timeline may be established for regular posting eventually, but work with me for now!
So, my family is from assorted states scattered throughout the Southeast. Anyone from the South knows what a big deal it is for children (especially girls, thanks over engrained gender roles) to learn to cook at a reasonable age. Whenever I would go to Alabama to visit family, I was that cousin that was uselessly standing in the corner of the kitchen as my other gorgeous, blonde, sweet-as-molasses (with an accent just as thick) cousins whipped up an astounding thanksgiving dinner.
I have essentially been living by myself for that past little while. You know what that means? You guess it: having to learn basic life skills. Now I have lived on my own before. However, my room mate and I lived on mostly boiled chicken, pasta, and sandwiches. This time around, I figured I’d make slightly more of an effort.
And thus, fried okra happened. It’s a staple of Southern food, and honestly an infant could make it. You know, minus the whole scalding hot oil bit. I had to call my mom twice with questions, may or may not have spilt raw egg everywhere, and somehow managed to only burn myself once. And I mean look at it. Shit looks good. Want to know how to make it? Well hold on to your pants because I’m going to tell you.
- Some Okra. You think I put forethought into this? Silly you. I grabbed a few handfuls at the farmer’s market on a whim. Rule 1: Planning is totally uncalled for.
- Fish fry. It comes in a bag so you don’t even have to pretend you know how to season breading. Yet again, no preplanning necessary. This just happened to be shoved in the back of the top shelf of my cupboard. Rule 2: If it does’t have an expiration date, it’s totally cool to just assume it’s good.
- Oil. Canola, Vegetable, I don’t care. It’s your life.
- Milk. You’re going to mix this in a 1 cup:1 egg ratio. If you forget, it’s okay. They have instructions on the fish fry package. Because they realize that not everyone was born a natural at this.
- Eggs. This really shouldn’t come as a surprise. I just mentioned them.
- Wash the okra. C’mon now. You don’t know where it’s been. Yes, I realize this means you have to make room for a colander in the dishwasher. Power through the pain.
- Cut the okra. Make sure they’re little pieces. Still not sure? I gave you a picture, for Christ’s sake. Figure it out.
- Make the stuff you dip it in before the other stuff. At this point realize you have no milk. Go buy milk, it’s cool. I’ll wait. K. Now, mix the milk and eggs. Feel accomplished.
- Dump fish fry on a plate.
- Heat up the oil in a big pot. Put enough in there so your okra can go for a nice swim.
- Dunk some okra in the egg milk. Try to use a fork at first. Soon realize this is tedious. Use your hands. Soap exists. You’ll be fine.
- Roll your now slimy okra in the fish fry. Ew.
- Put okra in oil. Roughly a handful in a time so as not to crowd the pool. Seriously, no one likes touching other people when they swim.
- Wait for okra to turn brown. I’m assuming you’ve seen fried food before. You know what color I’m talking about.
- Put okra on paper towel. Sprinkle some salt on that shit.
What did I tell you? So easy. Very little responsibility required. Delicious. Good luck getting rid of the oil smell in your kitchen, though. And the actual oil. Had to Google that shit.
What up. I made a new blog. Check it out!
In 2009, I wrote this comic strip!
Then, lots of people asked for the bumper sticker pictured in the comic – “I was an honor student; I don’t know what happened” – so I made it too!
There is a particular trajectory that sometimes happens with funny phrases. They become popular; then they become common; then they become anonymous.
Recently I was talking with someone who started a new T-shirt website. Their designs were all copies of common slogans, including one that originated with a friend of mine. I pointed this out to them, and they honestly didn’t see the difference between someone specific having created a particular design, and anyone at all being able to make and sell their own version of it because they saw it out in the world somewhere.
Think of any slogan you’ve seen on multiple different T-shirts or stickers, in gift shops, or at conventions, or in truck stops, or tourist stores. Who was the first person to think of the phrase “FBI – Female Body Inspector”? I don’t know how you’d ever find that out.
If you were to put that on a shirt of your own, nobody would stop you. It’s neither novel nor artful, but you could do it all you like. To be unique, you’d have to drill down the parody well even further – e.g., Flannel & Beard Inspector.
But somebody did come up with that phrase, and somebody was the first to put it on a T-shirt, and somebody else did copy them. The phrase “female body inspector” is not trademarked in the United States, according to a USPTO search I just did.
So, because there’s no trademark, and the originator is not vigorously pursuing copyright claims against other versions, it’s essentially impossible now for anyone to claim ownership of it. (Unless someone trademarked a particular visual design incorporating those words – but the only reason I could think of for that would be if it were in a TV show or something, and featured a character or something else from the show.)
Maybe that’s okay! Maybe the culture is benefited by everyone in the world being allowed to make “Female Body Inspector” T-shirts to their hearts’ content. It’s not something I personally want to buy, or wear, or make; I don’t want to hawk anything that I don’t feel is original or artful, and also, come on. But maybe the ability to sell that design royalty-free is what’s keeping horrible tourist shops in business. God bless them, may they sell sleepy-sombrero-man vulgar cactus pots until the earth opens up to swallow them whole.
They didn’t quite copy my slogan, they just put my own photograph of the product onto a series of mugs.
Probably they found the photo on imgur or somewhere, and so to them it’s just one more anonymous piece of fodder to be mindlessly thrown onto every imaginable print-on-demand item in the vain hope of making a few pennies here, a few pennies there. The only real winner is probably Zazzle.
I complained about these other Zazzle products using my slogan, but I don’t know if they’ll side with me – when it comes to copyright claims, trying to prove ownership of an un-trademarked slogan presents a certain burden. I do think this particular claim (about the product above) is a good one since they’re literally using my photograph, and photographs are protected under copyright.
It’s worth fighting because having “vigorously defended” one’s intellectual property is a necessary part of proving in court (if it were to ever come to that) that your IP qualifies for protection in the first place, as opposed to being simply lost to the public commons like “Female Body Inspector.”
Besides spending loads of money on trademarks or truckloads of money on litigation, though, there’s little any of us can do. We can send emails, we can make snarky tweets, we can hover over our ideas like dragons on a pile of gold.
But in the end, speaking completely pragmatically, the best way to ensure one’s creative livelihood even in an age where ideas are so easily copyable is to always be creating, always coming up with new ideas. Staying one step ahead.
It’s with that in mind that I’d like to present for sale an all-new, original mug design. Check it out on Zazzle.
I love this
"you come here often?"
"What is it? Dragons?"
"Er, can I get your number?"
"My cousin’s out fighting dragons and what do I get? Guard duty."
"The hell’s wrong with you?"
"I used to be an adventurer like you. Then I took an arrow in the knee."
"Why you gotta be like that?"
"Let me guess- someone took your sweetroll."
"Hey sexy can i get yo number"
"Remember my super cool Rattata? My Rattata is different from regular Rattata. It’s like my Rattata is in the top percentage of Rattatas."
Alternate idea: When a guy hits on you, challenge him to a pokemon battle
"Can it wait for a bit? I’m in the middle of some calibrations."
"Hey girl, you’ve got some nice-"
"Enemy RIFLEMAN, TWO HUNDRED meters, SOUTHEAST”
"Uh, are you alrig-"
“TWO, engage that RIFLEMAN, TWO HUNDRED meters, SOUTHEAST”
You know, the day that girls start challenging guys to a pokemon battle in order for them to ask you out is going to be a fucking fantastic day.
"Saw a mudcrab the other day. Nasty creatures."
"I’m done talking to you."
"I like shorts! They’re comfy and easy to wear!"
i didn’t know things could be this awesome; REALITY SUCKS NOW
based on a true story