An Award-Winning Disclaimer

A charming little Magpie whispered this disclaimer into my ear, and I'm happy to regurgitate it into your sweet little mouth:

"Disclaimer: This blog is not responsible for those of you who start to laugh and piss your pants a little. Although this blogger understands the role he has played (in that, if you had not been laughing you may not have pissed yourself), he assumes no liability for damages caused and will not pay your dry cleaning bill.

These views represent the thoughts and opinions of a blogger clearly superior to yourself in every way. If you're in any way offended by any of the content on this blog, it is clearly not the blog for you. Kindly exit the page by clicking on the small 'x' you see at the top right of the screen, and go fuck yourself."

Sunday, September 11, 2011


Well. That got your attention, didn't it?


I've gotten your attention for some time on this blog, and that's been nice, to varying degrees, but I'm done doing that now.

Looking back on many of the posts I've written, I've noticed that I have a habit of starting out many a paragraph with the phrase, "Life's funny", and I do that because it is-- life is funny-- and because I'm stalling while thinking of something to say. Thinking on my feet. Something you're not really supposed to have to want to need to do while you're writing. That's more of a talking thing to have to do. But I think on my feet when I write, because I don't plan out what I have to say, because that would bore me.

Well, thinking on my feet while writing has started to bore me. It's probably started boring you, too. I can feel it.

It's easy to know when something's over, but it's harder to admit it. This blog was over a while ago, but I kept it going, like people do in relationships, because the sex is good, or because your toothbrush is at her place, or because he has a car and you don't or because she makes a mean bolognese.

I was comfortable here, not happy. There's a difference. You can be both and survive just fine, like I do in my marriage: comfortable and happy. On my blog, however, I was just comfortable, and that just doesn't last.

"My Masonic Apron" was a challenging exercise for me. Be interesting, engaging, funny, topical, witty, passionate, silly, obtuse, frustrating, apathetic, empathetic, ridiculous, superfluous, just be... something.

And I did that. For a while, I did that.

And I'm done doing that.

Last August, I threw in the towel on this shit for a brief time while searching for a job, because this blog was an unnecessary distraction from seeking gainful employment. And I found gainful employment, and I came back. But now I'm facing new challenges. Twins are around the corner, and I need to figure out a way to take an essentially desperately unmarketable person and turn an hourly wage into a salary, a job into a career, a boy into a man. I need to re-Bar Mitzvah, and gifts are graciously accepted.

(Fuck yea.)

I won't pretend that I'm not going to miss this. But I'll also confess that it's less about the blog, and less about the blogging, and less about you, than it is about missing the comfort of something that has become so routine.

I love routines, you know. You know that. You know everything.

Well. Not everything.


You know what I tell you, but I know so very little that you can't know more than a very little.

I won't be deleting the blog-- that would be kind of stupid, and it would rob future generations of trouser-free Googlers the joy of stumbling upon this site upon entering search terms like, "sheep fuck apron" and "alastair atchison" and "mumia abu-jamal" and "totes mcgoats".

Such a colorful array of topics. Such a charmed life I lead.

I'll bet I'll be tempted to come back here and spew bile about the Fort Knox-like protections on our orange juice bottle, or memorialize Finley when he dies, or to brag about the twins when they're born, but I don't think that will be happening. When I say goodbye, it's usually not "so long."

I wanted to get to 1,000 posts. Really I did. But, really, what's the fucking difference? A thousand, nine hundred-and-whatever-- who cares? I'm also tempted to delude myself into thinking, if I'd put more energy into creative writing since 2009, I'd be a published author again by now, but that's probably nonsense. I peaked at 21-- ask anybody I went to college with. Just not the girls I fucked. They definitely wouldn't agree.

I kept my identity a secret on this blog because I have/had aspirations of being a teacher-- and I am a teacher in a lot of ways, and I work with psych patients, and I don't want to get fired because I have a potty mouth. I'm always afraid of getting fired, of being found out, and my therapist opined last week that maybe I was most afraid of finding myself out.

I think he's right.

I'm writing this on Sunday night-- September the 11th-- and I was going to have it auto-post at 7:18am, the usual time, but I kind of can't wait, so I'm going to let it go now. I'm kind of excited to start my new life, free from, well, this. I think it's going to make me sad, like any loss does, but I think it's going to feel better in time.

I think I'm going to be better, in time.

I can't tell you how proud I am of this thing-- this thing that eventually made me sick-- but I'm far prouder of the fact that it was my writing that brought you into my life. You know, back in 2003, it was the bizarre, sardonic, clever J-Date profile that successfully seduced the girl who would eventually become my wife and the mother of our twins. And it worked on you, too.


I love you.


  1. I'm so goddamn grateful for this stupid blog. I'll miss reading it but hope I'll get some of your rants to my inbox going forward.

  2. You first got my attention by posting a new entry in the evening. Then I read the title. I'll miss reading this blog, but it's good to know it'll still be here (unlike a certain puddin-y blog I miss). I'll just head over to Mrs. Apron's blog for snippets of your life (but with far fewer invented swear words).
    Wait... I hope that wasn't weird. Yes, I am stalking you online, but it's only because I... like... you...

  3. Good luck with everything. I will truly miss your blog for a second time.

    You have a strong voice and truly unique perspective. I hope you find a channel or outlet for that. You'll be missed.


  4. Thanks for the entertainment. Good luck with everything.

  5. Mason,

    "I leave you gentleman now and you will write it. You will interpret it. That's your right. But as I leave you I want you to know — just think how much you're going to be missing. You don't have Nixon to kick around any more, because, gentlemen, this is my last press conference and it will be one in which I have welcomed the opportunity to test wits with you."

    You wont get away from us that easily Mason! Trolls have lived in the shadows before, we can do it again! When you reemerge, we'll be there waiting to pounce on your blog with a vengeance.

    Enjoy your rest - you'll be back.

    And so will We!

    Tricky Dicky Troll

  6. Good for you, congratulations on your escape. Tell me though, was I the only guy that read your blog besides trolls?

  7. You know, damnit. This just sucks. I'm happy for you, blah blah blah. (I really am, just feeling indignant and abandoned at the moment, bear with.) I can only hope that this is like the end of PN, and this will eventually lead us to a new version. Thanks for the nine hundred and something...

  8. I really will miss hearing your voice. Damn twins are so lucky.

  9. This post just ruined my day.

    But you've made my day so many countless times, I think I'll forgive you, eventually. I'll just make fun of Dear Abby by myself.

    Also, I'm outrageously jealous of your writing talent. You're a genius.

    Good luck and thanks for everything.

  10. Good luck with everything - I'm going to miss reading about your hijinks and...unique...perspective.

    Thanks for the laughs - the laughs that almost made me pee myself (and then there was that one time they did).

    And congrats on cutting the strings. From the blog. And stuff. I'm bad at goodbyes, especially when I've barely ever posted a comment on here.

    Thanks. For everything :)

  11. congratulations and much happiness to you & your newly expanded family :-)

    read you soon, mr. apron

  12. I understand but will miss your vitriolic humor. Good luck with the babies!

  13. So long, Mr Apron -- you've touched more people than you know. And probably touched more people than they know, too.

    But seriously, folks, you'll be missed. Even if I'm a shit lazy commenter.

  14. Say it isn't so! I know I abandoned the blogging world for far too long, but I didn't expect to read this when I returned!

    You have my email address, if you saved it...and I promise I will answer any questions about colicky, projectile vomiting and/or shitting babies....

    Piece of advice, if you have a boy(s), when they begin potty training, warn them not to slam the seat on their little wee-wees. Those seats can leave blood blisters. For real.

    Good luck to you and your wife. It's going to be awful, terrifying, time-consuming, exhausting, and one of the most amazing things that a person can ever experience.




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