Once upon a time on a street far, far away, but close enough to walk to, there was a tiny little coffee shop called Black Water Cafe. From the outside it made you tired, it wanted you to come in and rest, and you couldn't wait to drink the black gold you smelled upon entrance. Rachel the owner has superhero powers. When she calls your name and hands over your liquid treasure, the super power is transferred over to you. All of the sudden you feel the strength to pop open that laptop and get busy.

One of my favorite things to do is sit back and listen to people comment on the Weekly Volcano as they peruse the pages. It's always good; nothing bad about my favorite rag, but it always reminds me that this is, in fact, Tacoma. It's still a relatively small community when you think about it. The six degrees of separation is always in existence, and you never know who is listening. Hell, I overheard someone say Brad Allen had a heart the size of a small raisin. They had no idea that I was right there and that I had in fact once cut open Brad's chest only to reveal that his heart is not the size of a small raisin. More like the size of a prune, maybe an apricot on a good day.

My tasty Americano eventually sends me to the bathroom, and as you know by now, this is where I do all my best thinking.

I think about Brad's small, fruit shaped heart. Then I ponder the size of my huge Texas grapefruit heart. I would like to think I'm a pretty giving person, that I do a lot for people, and that I make a difference. What I don't understand is people who think they can make a difference with politics. Ugh, the dreaded topic of politics. Oh, and while we're at it, let's throw some religion in there as well.

So, I'm driving around good ol Federal Way, trying to scout out a Nintendo DS (nowhere to be found within a 25 mile radius), and I hit the corner of 320th and Pacific Highway. I am immediately visually over-stimulated, making me all of the sudden forget how to drive. There are people everywhere, on every corner, across all 32 lanes of traffic at this gaping intersection in Federal Way. They're holding handmade signs that read Impeach Bush! Oh good gravy, seriously folks. Do you think some Republican is going to drive by and say, Oh, man, I've always kinda liked George Jr., but now after reading that sign I am convinced otherwise! Yes! I will now change my vote, and it's all because of your homemade sign! I agree with freedom of speech, and I respect all opinions¬" just don't shove them in my face.

Like the doorknockers. You know whom I'm talking about, let's not pretend you don't. I don't care what religion you are, no one is going to be grateful for you saving them from their sins when you come a knockin during a Mariner's game. Trust me, you can ask my neighbors. I think everyone got an earful that day.

If I'm going to change my opinion about religion or politics, it's going to be from something that's evolved in my huge Texas grapefruit heart, and not from some bumper sticker I saw. (That's another thing I don't get¬" why would you advertise your political view on your car? Yes, I see showing support, but I almost think it would be an invitation for someone to key your car, or slash your tires. Given the extreme mentality of some politic-following folks.)

So there. I'm done with the potty, and I'm done reading all of the little posters and flyers taped to the Black Water bathroom wall. Thankfully, none of them are political, nor are they religious. I wash up; play a bit with the lights hanging from the wall, and head out. Hopefully to a world where everyone can respect other's opinions and views, and just shut the hell up.¬" Steph DeRosa