A llama in Tulsa

It's hard for people like me, who have never been to Oklahoma, to imagine the kind of environment that the boys grew up in. So when I got the opportunity to visit this mini-mecca,  I was almost as excited to see the city as I was to see the show.

My reflections on the locale are not simply those of a stranger, but also those of a Vermonter, and so Tulsa was even weirder for me than it would probably be for someone from a more populated area. It is a city in a sense that is totally foreign to the Northeast, stretching low across the land, never quite daring to break free from the strength of gravity and soar towards the low hanging sun. Even in late September, a time in Vermont that is shaded by the brilliant hues of fall and cooled by northern winds, the trees in Tulsa are lush and green, thriving in the thickly heated air.

The city is a sea of suburbia built in precisely measured blocks; streets are arrow straight and lined with houses whose exteriors expose southwestern roots. Many are built at least partially of stone, and the colors tend to hover on buildings in subtle earth tones and whites that blend to become an organic facet of the world around them.

It is easy to sense the newness of T-town, to feel that it has been carved by past generations of settlers, but is still free from the calcification of centuries that stiffens the air in Boston and London, taking away the ability to feel human. If you watch closely you fairly see it grow. Everywhere on its outskirts are briskly busy construction sights, pushing back rural frontiers and perhaps dragging Tulsa one step closer to that cookie cutter world of which Hanson speak.

The city, despite occasional dashes of conformity, has an odd dual nature. On the surface it is family orientated, filled to the bursting point with churches and child care centers. Looking beyond the exterior, though, other types of signs become visible: signs for "Gentlemen's" clubs, pawn shops, and singles ads hang high and fluorescent above roadways. People live here, you get the feeling, they struggle and they fail, they strive and they succeed, and it's all written, plain as day, across a schizophrenic city.

In Vermont we have what is called "the edge effect" from Canada. Its culture seeps across the U.S. boarder, bringing with it The Tragically Hip, vinegar on cole slaw, and expressions such as "eh?". In Tulsa the edge effect might be evident as well, only carrying on its waves quesedias and pre-recorded airport voice-overs run in Spanish. When we would be eating fried dough and drinking apple juice people in Tulsa eat gargantuan turkey legs that look more like they should belong to a pteradactyl than any modern creature and drink lemonade. Everything is barbequed or deep fried, and theoretically both, on occasion. The majority of restaurants are Mexican, but places one would expect anywhere can be found - from Sushi and pizza to Chinese buffets and pretzels.

Several days before the concert an article appeared in Tulsa World noting that a store had falsely been pointed out as one of Hanson's favorite spots to shop in the city. Zats, the store in question, was filled with the clothing of the moment, much of which would have looked at home on a Hanson brother, especially Taylor. There were leather pants, shiney shirts, doc martins galore, stylish, hip, funky goth clothes. It was all there… and on a rack of jewelry right by the door was another thing… delicate silver bracelets with the letters "WWJD" deeply engraved on their surfaces.

There in Tulsa it somehow fits, it somehow makes sense that in a stylish clothing store one can buy an outfit appropriate for Marilyn Manson and accessorize it with a bracelet begging them to wonder "what would jesus do?"