Nothing is as interesting as a good epidemic.

I bought Gamma a duck call in Seattle. Duck calls are the latest thing. Every eight year old has to have a duck call.

On the drive down to Portland, I braced myself for three hours of solid quacking, and was almost disappointed when she fell asleep near Tacoma, silent after only 45 minutes. I woke her up for a milkshake in Kalama, but she had a soft ice cream cone instead (a twist) and quacked a little.

Here I am back in Austria, and my mind is full of Washington State place names.

I saw some ducks at Lake Union in Seattle. I saw some at my parents’ pond later on. I think I saw one on the Columbia River in Portland, or maybe the Willamette. There are more on the creek near my house here in Austria.

The Mallard has one of the most extensive breeding ranges of any duck in North America, extending across the northern one-third of the USA, and up to the Bering Sea. Mallards are very common throughout North America, much of Europe, Asia and Africa. As migratory waterfowl, they winter south of Canada, throughout the United States south to Central America.

An Indonesian official said recently that they would not, after all, cull for bird flu because it was too expensive. On the radio yesterday, they said bird flu had spread to Kazachstan. Siberia too.

If you want to get my attention, use the word epidemic. Nothing interests me like a good epidemic.

[QUACK] means yes, Gamma said.
[QUACK QUAAAAACK] means no.

I bought some books at Powell’s in Portland. Last night I started reading The Tipping Point. I just started, so I can’t say whether or not I like it, but his application of the epidemic metaphor to other phenomena, like human behavior, is interesting. Like the spread of syphillis in Baltimore, which, okay, is a genuine epidemic, or how Hush Puppies footwear went from being Out to In.

Now that everything is an epidemic, I can be interested by life in general. Vectors of infection for podcasting. Do I have a full-blown case of Shakira or am I just a carrier? Will the DaVinci Code burn itself out, like a bad flare-up of ebola, and then slumber for decades in colonies of moles or prarie dogs? I am resistant to musical talent, susceptible to women with glasses.

A bunch of ducks died somewhere in Russia. A young man was admitted to hospital with flu-like symptoms.

Bird flu cannot be transmitted between humans so far. But the flu likes to mutate.

Dead horse: Wake me up when you’re finished belaboring this metaphor.

Maybe peace will mutate one day, and spread by sneezes, handshakes and doorknobs. Maybe a vaccine will be found for hatred and fear. Maybe mosquito bites will make us svelte and graceful.