Hey, guess who's dead!

This is one of my favorite games. Actually, it's not so much a game as the way I usually announce the news of someone's passing. Someone the informant doesn't know, usually a famous person. I mean, I'm not that sick. So, for today's guess who's dead:

David Brinkley. Well, that song is going to be a lot less fun to sing now, isn't it?
Gregory Peck. This is just very saddenening. I refused to recognize that he became old.

Speaking of dead things, on the subway this week, I noticed that there was the corpse of a dog lying by the side of the track on the stop where I disembark. It's been there all week. It's most likely a spaniel of some kind. I called NJ Transit yesterday and the day before, telling them about it. They said that it would be taken care of, and they apologized for my inconvenience. It's still fucking there. I can't tell you how distressing this is to me. I may have nightmares. I have this fear that it's just going to keep being there and that one day I'm going to walk by and it will be partially skeletal. Sorry, but hey, I'm the one that has to look at it.

Continuing with animals - tomorrow I'm taking Lily to the vet to have her girly organs removed. The office called for a confirmation of her teeth cleaning appointment. This is incredibley distressing. I corrected that, no, she's going to be cut open and her organs will be removed. That's ever so slightly different from having her teeth cleaned. Anyway, it turned out that it's in the computer for the right procedure, it's just down wrong in the appointment book. And this was the secretary I talked to. I know that the doctor is competant and on top of things. But still, I did not find this experience pleasant at all.

Sorry for the graphic nature of this entry. I blame John Webster.