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Tucson Delivery: One Paige Rasmussen

December 15, 2008

I flew to Tucson one day before the rain and SNOW began to float to this desert from the high desert. Hey, if Houston can do it, anyplace can get snowed on! I’m here to embody value-added in the hazy world of business development. But right now I am tired and putzing around in a hotel room that makes me involuntarily utter “pueblo” when I try to come to grips with my surroundings. I’m really reaching for other descriptors, honest. I’ll go ahead and blame it on my Virginia-centric history lesson books from elementary school and focus on my craving for anything other than sopped bread and mushy sandwich filler. I must come to grips soon with the fact that nothing close will be passing my lips until sometime tomorrow. I’m used to sleeping through hunger (I can’t cook).

I switched planes in Phoenix coming from DCA. I had eaten half a pound of trail mix and jager meister on the five hour flight. Right beforehand, I had wolfed down a tuna salad and gum a security guy gave me. I’ve been drinking water the past nine hours, minus the time difference (?) I had missed my connecting flight, but somehow my bag got on it without me and was propped against the Tucson airlines’ “kill the messengers” window near the luggage carosel. That made me feel at least half as warm and fuzzy as the grandmas and grandpas getting bear hugs by their quarter-rugrats.

The hotel dude who picked me up from the Tucson airport pointed out places to go: 4th St = good, Mexico and the restaurant attached to the hotel = bad. Okay. Lights out; search for real food tomorrow.

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