Yes: I realize that everyone knows about YouTube and I realize everyone loves it and, yes, I am among the knowledgeable lovers. In fact, let's just vote for YouTube to take it's rightful spot next to the banjo and the two dollar bill in that select club of the universally adored right now. All in favor? Aye. Any dissent? No? Be quiet, NBC. You don't count.
Now, YouTube, like so much of the internet, is a place where embarrassment gets immortalized. If you make an ass of yourself anywhere near a recording device of any kind, someone's going to see it. If you made enough of an ass of yourself, everyone's going to see it. That's just the reality. No one is safe. Lock you doors. Bar your windows. Wear a Nixon mask at all times.
Of course, if you're famous, you're doubly screwed. Instead of fearing specious tabloid photos and hearsay, you can now rest assured that your blunders, boners, and boo-boos will be saved on YouTube for prosperity and my amusement.
Case in point: David Lee Roth, performing Jump, with short hair, no voice, and a bluegrass band. Wait for the part around 2:10 where he inexplicably does the Indian War Cry thing right before he calls the banjo a mandolin---paging Dr. Kevorkian.*
Now, there are a few things I can promise Birdmonster will never do. I can promise we'll never be in an McDonald's commercial, for example. We will never do the aforementioned Indian War Cry thing. And, although I haven't run this by the guys yet, we won't be wearing leather pants and backwards hats anytime soon either (unless leather underwears counts). I wonder if David Lee Roth ever made a list like that. I wonder if he ever said "I will never cut my hair, sing like the drunk guy at a karoake bar doing Bon Jovi, or employ a bluegrass band to play a song originally played on a $20 Casio." Probably not. Most of us don't have that kind of foresight.
Of course, if you see me on TV eating a Big Mac in a pair off cowhide chaps, all bets are off. So I'm not judging the man. Sometimes you just got to roo-ooo-ooll with the punches. But I am laughing at him. Profusely. Repeatedly. And that, my friends, is what the internet is for.
*To make matters worse, Hagar has his own brand of Tequila. Game. Set. Match, Red Rocker.