By Mark Feigenbutz/ Photos by Tim Kassiotis     If you’re young and fancy yourself hip and find yourself in Santa Fe and want to find every other youngin hipster Santa Fean, get to a Meow Wolf event. If you’re young and fancy yourself hip and find yourself in Santa Fe and you don’t know what Meow Wolf is, then you’re either old or unhip or located somewhere other than Santa Fe. If you’re old, look them up in the Yellow Pages. If you’re unhip, Google them on your Blackberry. If you’re not located in Santa Fe, then you won’t understand Meow Wolf’s significance anyhow. What is Meow Wolf’s significance? Well, it’s, like, the only organization of its kind that gets young, hip Santa Feans together to do uniquely young and hip, Santa Fean shtuff. What kind of shtuff? Shtuff like trippy, artsy-rave shindigs where you put neon face paint on your face as a starting point for it to end up elsewhere, find yourself in no less than three conversations about The Universe (yes, The Universe is a pronoun) and dance your B.O. off until it coalesces into a wonderfully Santa Fean B.O. Jambalaya. Why do I keep asking myself questions that I inevitably answer and, more important, why do I keep employing the word “shtuff?” Because I’m young, I’m hip and I’m finding myself more and more “Santa Fe.” “Santa Fe” is less a physical location than an anomalous “Huh?” To illustrate, photographer Tim Kass and I showed up to the event at 9 p.m. because the bar owner said it started at 8 p.m., when, in actuality, it got rolling around 11-ish. I’ve only been in Santa Fe for one year and seven months and this did not phase me in...

By Mark Feigenbutz/Photos by Tim Kassiotis I don’t rub too many elbows. Not lately, at least. For the past couple years, my elbows have been as rub-free as a one-legged cricket. But in light of my recent trip to the New Mexico State Legislature, I think I should invest in some elbow callous-generating activities. The Legislature building is an important building in that it looks important (and that you must capitalize it in writing). If you’re easily thrown by marble or wood grain, you might miss the subtler, more human elements of the subtler, more human humans who inhabit it. Now, I’m sure the argument could be made that it is, in fact, “important,” but you’d be wrong because this is my article. Despite what the sunglasses-inside-the-building, Men’s Wearhouse suited d-bag would have loved for you and I to be fooled into believing, he was certainly not as important as Joe, the proud café lounge manager, or Crystal, the diplomatic mail room supervisor, or Dennis, the corner market bread sample hander-outer across the street. I rubbed my first elbow with Joe Mora, the café lounge manager. My first impression of Joe was that he seemed like a down-to-the-salt-of-the-earth, good dude. He’s the kind of guy that you wouldn’t mind leaving your 8 year-old son with in a pinch. (I may even daughter-approve him.) He was also proud of his job – a rare phenomena that I, with a furrowed brow and index-finger-and-thumb supported chin, appreciate. When I asked Joe what exactly he did, he immediately clarified that, “We’re here from 5 ‘til 3.” His crew behind him seemed to appreciate their inclusion in the interview. Why do they get there that early? Because “everything is made from scratch,” from “the red chile, green chile,”...