Take, for example, Gary Brolsma, aka the Numa Numa guy. The overweight teenager's lipsync to a Romanian pop song made him an Internet celebrity two years ago. The clip spawned numerous parodies and Brolsma made a few TV show appearances before his 15 minutes of virtual fame expired.

Or did they? In Sunday's Los Angeles Times, Richard Rushfield reports on a curious sidebar program that took place during HBO's Comedy festival last November. Titled "Viral Videos Live," the event featured popular YouTube acts doing live versions of the clips that launced their careers. One of the performers was Brolsma, who in recent months has launched his own YouTube channel, posted another (and seriously awful) Numa video, made a recent appearance on Jimmy Kimmel Love and, according to his managers, is at work on a "shocking" new work that won't debut for at least a year.

I found the description of the event kind of depressing, especially in the case of Brolsma, whose appeal isn't based on any kind of significant talent (the follow-up clip proves this) but because he's easy to laugh at. Rushfield, however, has a different point of view, one that seems based on the belief that any form of attention is a good thing.

"Three hours later, Brolsma gathered with his fellow Web sensations backstage in a small lounge created by curtain partitions in what otherwise seemed to be a service hallway. Yes, the assembled group has been seen by, according to event organizers, a combined total of 300 million people. But the effect was less like a green room conclave of superstars than awkward strangers waiting in a doctor's office. Seeing them gathered together was somehow stranger and more thrilling than seeing a cluster of film stars at a Hollywood function. These people are not just stars but phenomena, having exploded from nowhere and nothing through the Web ether onto the world stage."