Paul Little: Fake grief for drug diva

The celebrity grief vampires (CGV) rose from their caskets in their thousands to acknowledge the passing - as the default euphemism has it - of Whitney Houston, and feast on the blood of spurious emotion.

They were lamenting a woman who is best known for taking a perfectly harmless Dolly Parton song that never did her a lick of harm - I Will Always Love You - and not so much singing it as disembowelling it.

The local arm of the social-media grief machine went into overdrive with bereft souls throwing YouTube clips of Whitney in her brief prime at each other for the best part of a day.

There is a long history of such behaviour. When the over-acting matinee idol Rudolph Valentino died in 1926, at least two female fans committed grief-struck suicide. The CGV phenomenon reached its peak with the death of Diana, Princess of Wales, which saw mawkishness elevated to the status of a sacrament.

I have known people whose moods were ruined because a minor celebrity made a final exit. Patrick Swayze's demise threw one acquaintance of mine into a funk for days.

Houston's long-distance mourners didn't know her. All they knew was an image broadcast around the world. She was just someone who could carry a tune - to the limits of endurance in the case mentioned above.

Yet her death means more to many people than tragedies much closer to home, to which they could have a more practical response. Perhaps they could get a grip on reality and work out the difference between a genuine emotion and a fake one. And then they could channel that emotional energy into a worthier cause than grieving for yet another drugged-up diva who's carked it in the bath.

IN THE history of daunting human endeavour, New Zealand has a substantial chapter all to itself.

When we're not bounding up Everest, we're rowing the Atlantic or walking unsupported to the South Pole. At the other end of the madcap adventurer spectrum is the suicidal grandstanding of Norwegian fruit loop Jarle Andhoy.

But if you're looking for a role model for the kids, please bear in mind that there is a happy medium, exemplified by a man prepared to risk not much more than looking like a dick.

Jimi Hunt is the man who floated down the Waikato River on a Lilo. He has had depression, and undertook the float to raise money for Lifeline.

All the great adventurers' goals demand stamina and resilience. But so does floating a Lilo on this 425km length of nasty water. And this adventure has one quality the others don't - it's daffy. The Lilo, after all, is something we associate with lazing around, not with stout-hearted feats of endurance.

I'm normally dubious of attention-seeking charity stunts, but there was something haplessly Kiwi and heart-warming about using a Lilo to take on a mean bastard of a river.

Hunt may or may not raise his $20,000 target, but he has already achieved one thing even more difficult than Lilo-ing the Waikato. He has reminded us that you can make a serious point effectively if you don't take yourself too seriously.

DEAR MOJO Mathers, please relax. You're not missing anything.