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Posted on March 24, 2012 via Home is where the heart is with 843 notes

Words by Dylan Nord, Clicks by James Nord

To me, Coney Island marks the beginning of manufactured American
adventure. It opened as a true American innovation. On the outskirts
of Brooklyn, a place lay where thrills, danger, and excitement were
manufactured and sold like never before.

At the beginning, New Yorkers came en masse. They collected on the
shores of the beach, on the unsafe wooden rides, on the lines and
among the crowds. This first generation of thrill seekers were unique;
they were replacing a different sort of adventure, an adventure that
scarcely exists in our modern world. They themselves, or their
parents, your ancestors, had taken the greatest of American
adventures. Imagine the adventure of immigrating into this country
without knowledge or possession, connection or arrangement. There is
no ride for this sort of adventure, no tickets available.

Today in New York, we are fortunate to have the reminders of our
history surround us in the stone and steel of our buildings, and in
Coney Island it literally peals off the lattice. But as the memory of
the original American adventure fades, the manufactured replacement
metastasizes: larger, faster, brighter, and louder.

Now our adventure is found in shopping malls, theaters, resorts, and
living rooms. Adventure has become a product, bought and sold, on
sale. It’s safe, expiring soon, available in short time; also, the
popcorn is never free and you must be 56’ to ride.