Tomorrow evening, the football franchise I grew up with, the franchise I lived and died with and rushed home from Hebrew school every Sunday to watch play, will be competing - after decades punctuated almost entirely by failure and futility - for its first world championship. And I really don't give a damn.

In fact, under normal circumstances, I'd probably be rooting against the Cardinals, sipping on some of that sweet schadenfreude soup, just like I've done in the 20-plus years since the franchise bolted from my hometown of St. Louis.

It's hard to care about this year's Super Bowl. Sure, I could take the easy route and blame it all on the world melting around us like a spoonful of margarine grilling on my Rachel Ray cookware. But I won't, I can believe it's more than transfatty fake butter. Unfortunately we got ourselves two high quality teams, armed with likeable personnel and two Jesus-like figures under center - one who is see here: and the other whose cranium can withstand a high speed Harley accident. It sort of reads like an awful M.

The Super Bowl is upon us. It's a remarkable event, able to bring together the vast majority of Americans, calling them to a rather inert form of action in living rooms and bars all across this great land. In this Age of Entertainment Plenitude, with the hundreds of TV channels and thousands of other diversionary options we now enjoy, it's a remarkable feat.

I’m not quite ready to let the inauguration of President Barack Obama be in the past, so this week, I’ve been looking into the music of Kenya, home of Obama’s father.

First up: Ken wa Maria, headliner of the Yatta Orchestra International Band, a popular Kamba act. wa Maria seems to be a bit larger than life, attracting as much attention for his controversial lyrics and his will-he-or-won’t-he-run political ambitions as for his music.