WHAT WE TALK ABOUT WHEN WE TALK TO THE PREMATURELY OBSOLESCENT

There are these people around now who want to talk about rugs and glasses and eye-glasses and I am pretty sure that I have to die soon. They want to show us a rug. They were going to buy a rug they saw in one place but then they found the same rug for this much at another place. The price was less at the other place. Same rug. Here's a hardcover book about rugs on a table on top of the previously mentioned rug. Did we tell you the story about the table?
My girlfriend is looking at the table, the rug, and then at me, and then at me reflected in our host's eyeglasses. The hostess is hanging on the host's arm and beaming with pride; she is holding a glass of wine with a specific shape in a specific color with a specific taste bought from somewhere she found. Evidently the store didn't exist until she found it. My girlfriend is listening with rapt attention and is probably tallying up some numbers in her head. My girlfriend is talking to the hostess about a mutual friend's wedding. The hostess hooks her digital camera up to the laptop on the kitchen counter to show us pictures from the wedding. I don't know who any of the people are in the picture other than myself, my girlfriend, the host and the hostess. We are looking at pictures of ourselves at the wedding and my girlfriend and the hostess are talking about how much weight the bride had lost to fit into her dress. They are talking about how the growth in the bride's vagina, thank goodness, was benign, and the hostess has pulled out some scans from the MRI.
The host wants to talk to me about the winter Olympics, and is angry that I don't know anything about who got what medal from which country. Then he asks me a series of questions about Canada but I don't know the answers. I explain to him that I am not from Canada and I don't know the population of Canada. We make vague guesses at the population of Canada while my girlfriend and the hostess laugh about some mutual friend and something this friend did when they were all sixteen years old.
The host is telling me about how he goes surfing and then says a bunch of technical surfing terms and smiles widely at the recognition he believes he sees in my face. The hostess overhears the conversation and she tells the host to get his surfboard and his wetsuit to show us. The host very modestly protests this. The hostess begs him to get his surfboard and his wetsuit and he laughs and protests. My girlfriend joins in and begs him to get his surfboard and his wetsuit. This goes on for a very long time and I want to smoke a cigarette, but can't in this clean house and want my girlfriend to go with me to stand and smoke on the tiny veranda. But she is still begging the host to get his surfboard. Finally the host, while still protesting, goes into the other room and comes out with the surfboard and the wetsuit and my girlfriend is yelling with shock and admiration at him. Or maybe she is yelling at the surfboard. The ceiling is too low for him to stand it up so he is holding it awkwardly in his arms. My girlfriend and the hostess are looking at it and he is talking about the beaches and the best trains to take to get there. The hostess has forgotten what side she is on and is matching my girlfriend's exaggerated reactions to the surfboard and the wetsuit. My girlfriend is looking at the wetsuit and nodding while the host tells us about the difference between the waves in Australia and Tokyo. My girlfriend hands me the wetsuit and I am calculating how long I have to look at it and nod before I can hand it back. I am not sure what do with the wetsuit and hand it back to my girlfriend.
They serve us some food which is flavorless boiled vegetables and rice. The hostess talks to us about macrobiotics and explains to us the virtue of flavorless food, and how it has not only made her more healthy, but more positive. She now understands things about nature, and the implication is, that no one else does. My girlfriend has now matched the the hostesses zeal and is talking about healthy food and chiding me for eating curry and ramen. This is my girlfriend, who lives on a diet of noodles, soup, rice omelettes, garlic, menthol cigarettes, and alcohol.
The host wants to ask me some questions about Eminem and what he is doing these days. Do Americans still like Eminem? Do Black people in America like Eminem? Is America really like the America depicted in the movie "8 Mile"?
Now I am praying for the earthquake that they have been threatening me with since I came to this country. But I feel bad about this, thinking about Haiti. But then again if the big one came it would bury all of the filing cabinets and all of the information on me which I have been racking up since I set foot in this country. Would I feel bad? I wouldn't want anyone to get hurt. Could the earthquake just localize to the immigration office, my apartment, the university, and this apartment with the rugs and wine? I would feel bad, I guess, if anyone got hurt. Present company excluded.