When it comes to discussions of mortality rates, it seems like all we hear these days is “middle-aged white Americans are dying more.” Okay, fine—but here’s the good news.

At this very moment, all around New York City, grown, adult humans are gathered around empty plates, clutching morsel-less silverware and hurling epithets at a faceless brand on Twiter. The only sound: A grim busy signal pulsing through the speakerphone and the low grumble of stomachs. Eyes dart to the left, to the right, sizing up companions in terms of both strength and will to live. Tonight, Seamless.com is broken—and someone will have to die.

Death is everywhere. Death is in the stars. Death is in our hearts. Death is in our headlines, our houses, and our food. Thought you could crack open a “packet of cheese and onion crisps” without staring down at your inevitable mortality? That’s what Dorset, England’s Barry Selby thought, too. But he was majorly wrong.

Sadie, age 5, has just confronted the fact that her adorable baby brother won't stay a baby forever. His little baby smiles will soon become slightly-less-adorable toddler smiles. And eventually, the icy finger of death will beckon her, her brother, and all of us. Probably when we're a hundred.

The good news is that Americans are living longer. The bad news is that our extended time on this patch of earth is increasingly marked by the ceaseless, ever-building procession of misery. At least we have cable.

Women. They're dying younger. What is up with that, ladies?

For four years, my mother had a crippling fear of death. It started during her first bout with breast cancer. While recovering from her mastectomy, she insisted on driving my father to and from work, so that if he died in a car accident she'd be there to say good-bye. Nobody in our family was allowed to drive in bad weather, lest the vehicles hydroplane and we die. Christmas traditions were banned; anything that reminded my mother of the passing of time reminded her of death. She objected to my teen sleeping habits: "Just lying there all morning, like you are dead. How do I know you are not dead?" Chastised for her morbidity, my mother would snap, "You don't understand."

Everyone knows that being unemployed increases the risk of wearing your pajamas all day. But it's much worse than that: A new study finds that being unemployed increases the risk of premature death by 63 percent.

News that the catholic church is trying to ban pop songs at funerals cued Barbara, Whoopi and Sherri to share their dream funerals. I guess every girl has to dream? Watch the clip after the jump!

New York's Philosopher-Mayor Michael Bloomberg spent the day reflecting on his final, inevitable battle: "The doctor says I will die not from anything they found so far, but some day I will die," he said. [WSJ via NYM]

Tony Judt's never been one to stand down. The Jewish, British, leftist historian and professor who's been called a self-hating antisemitic terrorist-sympathizer and a liberal-hater isn't one to back down. Ravaged by Lou Gehrig's disease, he's not pussying out, either.

Octogenarian gossip queen Liz Smith succinctly titled her recent blog post "I Read the News Today, Oh Boy: Who Still Cares? Millions Around the World Did. Some Still Do." What is she talking about? It has something to do with Princess Di. The memorial pictured is located in Harrods department store in London, commemorating the death of Princess Di and Dodi Fayed. Liz shares Dominick Dunne's opinion that their whole romance was just a big fraud! So why go all the way to London to see it, with the exchange rate being so bad? But then at the end she says that Harrods' Egyptian-themed escalator is worth an overseas visit. Liz Smith, I don't know what your point is, but you are a beautiful and mysterious gem, and someone really needs to buy you this t-shirt. [WowoWow]. Click through for bigger pics of both of Harrods' tacky memorials.