Get your wine-sniffing, Bravo-watching, Lexus-driving self out of the cloistered condo canyons and yacht lots of beachside Broward. If you drive 20 minutes west, you'll find yourself in the middle of Oklahoma, or something like it. Then open your color-contacted eyes and behold: Little girls in cowboy hats are petting enormous, Argentine hunting hounds. Improbably beautiful young couples -- the gals with tall cowboy boots and short skirts, the guys with thick arms and tucked-in shirts -- suck down cheap domestic beer. Children and parents all laugh at the same rodeo clown or gasp at a 1,300-pound bull stomping a thrown rider's fortified vest. You might even glimpse a family of Orthodox Jews conversing in Yiddish. It's not another country. But it is country.