AsiaLIFE

Will takes a look at the current Presidential race and draws parallels to his town down-and-out in America.

When I was a younger, I was fascinated by the life of hobos. Growing up, there were lots of films and TV shows that featured lovable tramps getting into good-natured mischief.In fact, when I had finished college and worked long enough to save up some money, I decided to try my own luck at being a vagabond. Starting in Astoria, Oregon, just a few blocks from where the Lewis and Clark expedition spent a long rainy winter, I slung my pack on my shoulders and stuck my thumb out, eager to see how far east I could get.

And I stayed like that for a very long time. It seems nobody wants to pick up a hitchhiker that's tall, dark, hulking and has a permanent five-o'clock shadow. A ride from a sympathetic former colleague got me to just beyond the edge of town, but no farther. As the day came to an end, I considered having to sleep in the woods. Then it started to rain. And it got cold. I started walking back to town when a car pulled up and a man who turned out to be a reformed car thief offered me a ride. I did not ask if the car he was driving was stolen.He dropped me off several blocks west of where I had started – so much for that.

I quickly learned that it was much easier just to buy a train ticket than attempt to hop a moving train or hitchhike. And that hostels offered more comfortable lodgings than the forest. But I still had fond memories of my time as a vagabond. At least until the U.S. financial system was revealed to be as structurally sound as a canoe made of papier mâché. Hobo antics sound great when you're single and young, but the idea of living in a piano box with a wife and child is decidedly less appealing.My wife says we could move back to her home village in Cambodia and grow rice and vegetables. But I'd like to think that the American people can find a way out of the current mess that avoids us resorting to subsistence agriculture.

Unfortunately, the American voter – never terribly interested in dealing with a crisis more complicated than American Idol – is also faced with choosing the next president and a smattering of congressmen. That means debates, advertisements, and long hard looks at the candidates' relationships with people who may or may not be mistresses, crime bosses or terrorists. The candidate’s ability to understand an accounting statement or balance a checkbook rarely makes it to the front page.

(The U.S. election may have already been wrapped up by the time you read this, if so, you can rest comfortably knowing that all the world's problems will soon be resolved or that the world is about to plunge into a new age of darkness – depending on your political affiliation.)

For many journalists, U.S. elections are two months (or more) of extra work, extra rumours and extraordinarily irritated readers and viewers accusing you of being a tool of the right-wing or left-wing media conspiracy – some stories prompt both accusations. This all culminates in one very long night in early November as states like Ohio and Florida get far more attention than they should ever have. This election promises to be especially confusing as some statisticians predict a 1 to 3 percent chance of an electoral tie.

It's almost enough to wish for a dictatorship, where everyone knows who is going to win far in advance. There's no need of late-night election roundups or daily opinion polls. Nobody has to stay up late the night after election day to cover the results. In fact, you can file your stories several days early and go relax on the beach. And if your editors complain about anything, they will likely disappear, giving you a shot at a promotion. (Editors are always complaining about something.) Something to consider when I'm in a hobo camp, attempting to use a voter's guide to build a shelter.

Will Koenig is a journalist based in Oregon, where he lives with his wife and son.