Oh, this is rich. Some writer who just moved here from Brooklyn, while admitting he left behind at least a few "sneaker-shod Peter Pans" back there, decided to take to the pages of the Chronicle to tell us all that we're a bunch of immature, "willful" idiots who don't want to grow up.
Thank you, freelancer Matt Haber, for informing me that the people who wander around Dolores Park "playing with those spinning sticks" and those who purchase adult onesies are kind of foolish. But you know what? We have this word we like to use in California for people like you who arrive fresh off your Virgin flight from Park Slope to frown and scoff and shit on our habits and quirks: judgey.
And what's this about how Urban Putt somehow symbolizes the overarching childishness of all of San Francisco? You must be a real joy at parties.
Yes, despite my hailing from the East Coast (and, briefly, New York) myself, I was getting mighty close to saying, Mr. Haber, that you can take your East Coast judgment and bizarrely sad attitude toward miniature golf and trot on over to Marin or Oakland to find a country club or something. (You do note, as I see, "And, really, let’s be honest: All of the holes should be set in Oakland at this point anyway. As Yogi Berra might say, nobody goes to San Francisco anymore; it’s too crowded here.") Also, New York Magazine might need some help with their next Bitter Betty mud-slinging piece on San Francisco, so just keep an ear out.
But then the Chron piece, which appears to be some kind of rambling column for the Style section, does a less-than-convincing about-face. You conclude, "Sure, there’s something twee about grown-ups playing children’s games... but it’s also damn fun. If we’re blessed with longer lives, medical breakthroughs that let us put off having kids, and disruptions in the world of work that force us to reinvent ourselves, why not hold onto some of the wonder and simple pleasures?"
Did your editor make you tack that on? Seems like maybe.