The Sorrow and the Pity

I just watched a show called "Starting Over." It's sort of like the Real World, except the housemates are all women, and they seemingly have two things in common: a fondness for snacking and some sort of psychic affliction. One woman is claustrophobic (an ill-advised solo elevator ride leaves her crumpled up on the floor, crying like a big fat baby). Another one wants to realize her dream of becoming a corporate event planner, and I think her main problem is she's a moron who thinks being a corporate event planner is a goal worth dreaming about. There's the black woman who suffers from chronic sassiness. They're all counseled by "life coaches," who don't appear to be licensed therapists but instead are fucking idiots. One of the coaches takes one of the women -- I forget which one, but I think it's the one who can't relinquish her habit of buying high-waisted jeans, no matter what her horrified friends tell her -- for a ride on a monorail, to show that the monorail goes round and round but doesn't really go anywhere, just like her life.

I'm rethinking a woman's right to vote.