It was the last place I expected to find a warning label.

But there it was, slapped to a TV monitor in that soaring rotunda, which — at least on the surface — often struck me as less capitol and more cathedral.

"Parental discretion is advised for this video," read the sign.

Anyone who happened to be passing the screen that day — be it a state senator, a senior citizen or a school kid — would've been treated to scenes of a little student-organized event at Penn State called Sex Faire.

Some viewers couldn't bear to watch. Some couldn't bear to look away. Others seemed to feel both ways.

The time was last February, and the place was the Harrisburg statehouse.

That afternoon, I elbowed a hole into my first media swarm, rubbed shoulders with "real" reporters, and filed an article from the field.

I can't deny it wasn't exciting.

Months later, I returned to those hallowed halls to join the state Capitol press corps for the summer.

Somewhere along the way, someone sat me down and broke the sad news to me: "It's not always that exciting here."

Oh, but it had its moments.

Covering politics for a newspaper sometimes feels like sports writing — the statistics, the skirmishes, the off-court squabbles — except half the games these men and women play actually affect state residents.

Sometimes it's hard to divine what people know about state government, what people care about, and what would probably be ignored swifter than you can say "bureaucracy" five times fast.

You'll always have the political junkies — the readers who turn on every word of their local elected officials, who track roll call votes like a diligent dieter counting calories.

But I found myself wondering how long it's been since the average Pennsylvanian heard that classic song that goes something like: "I'm just a bill. Yes, I'm only a bill. And I'm sitting here on Capitol Hill."

Don't laugh. A few reruns of that 1970s series Schoolhouse Rock might do us all some good.

State lawmakers still visit elementary school classrooms to try to teach children about how their legislature works.

They even collect bill ideas from the kids that they meet. Much to the chagrin of some people around the Capitol, some of these potential laws can actually make it to the floor of the House and Senate.

There are those who "coo" at the thought of legislation straight from the mouths of babes.

But the more libertarian-leaning in the bunch usually roll their eyes when they see bills to mandate scooter helmets or "stork" parking. Clearly — they groan — just because Junior hears Mommy say, "There oughta be a law against this," doesn't mean the Pennsylvania Code should be amended accordingly.

In all fairness, legislators find time to draft their own whimsical bills, too.

Remember memorizing Pennsylvania's state bird, state tree, state flower, or state beverage? No? (Okay, maybe I'm in the minority on this one.)

Either way, at some point over the last several decades, the General Assembly had to make these things official.

This summer's state-symbol debate was over the Commonwealth's official cookie. Chocolate chip had a whole oven full of support until a keystone-shaped sugar cookie from Nazareth appeared on the House menu.

Do you think they sent the news-writing intern to cover this earth-shattering story? Yes, you thought right.

Big things did happen this summer.

Lawmakers passed the state budget and agreed on a plan to divvy up annual returns from the national tobacco settlement. And Penn State got its cut of money for the school year, Sex Faire or no Sex Faire.

A few times, the other reporters in the Capitol newsroom wrote stories that really gripped lawmakers' attention. Most of the time, it had to do something with that ubiquitous phrase: "Use of taxpayer money."

One representative — a man famous for his 50-cent words — showed his appreciation to a reporter for investigating his expense account publicly.

Just in front of the Capitol, moments before hopping into his car, the elected official looked straight at said reporter and flipped him the bird.

People rhapsodized on the eloquence of this statement for days afterwards.