The_New_York_Times_logo copyRing-Finger Follies
essay in The New York Times Modern Love. 

I have had a love-hate relationship with my ring finger for more than half my life. I loved the symbolism that came with wearing a ring, but I hated the assumptions people made about bare ring fingers, especially when so many of us, for so long, have been prevented from being able to legally marry those we love. Keep Reading!


the_guardianTrue Love Waits? The story of my purity ring and feeling like I didn’t have a choice essay in The Guardian.

My classmate had received a new princess-cut purity ring from her parents on Valentine’s Day.

“Where do you, like, put yours during practice?” she whispered from behind her open gym locker. We were freshmen on the basketball team at Living Christian high school in Wisconsin; besides this and our rings, we didn’t have much in common. Keep Reading!


The Toast LogoFather-Daughter Dance: A Note on Coming Out and Going Home essay in The Toast.

When my cousin invited me to her wedding, I couldn’t bring myself to repeat any of the auto-responses I’d stocked up over the years to get out of going home.

Instead, I blurted out: “I’m super happy for you, but sick of pretending like I’m Single in the City, like the love of my life doesn’t exist for the sake of other people’s feelings.” Keep Reading!


Brooklyn Rail logo(2)

Pure Art a photography book review of David Magnusson’s monograph Purity.

Purity balls are Christian ceremonies, during which fathers and daughters exchange promises to protect their purity mentally (by abstaining from knowledge) and physically (by abstaining from sexual experience). In 2010, Swedish photographer, David Magnusson, became fascinated with the American ritual and began taking portraits of the attendees. Over the years, a handful of these images have been widely circulated and almost unanimously scorned by those, the photographed refer to as, swimming with the current in “mainstream society.” Now collected into a photography monograph, Magnusson’s first, he presents 28 color portraits of fathers and daughters in Purity that are as remarkable for their luminosity as they are for their subject matter. Keep Reading!

Sex Ed in a Christian High School essay in Bust.

After first period, seniors began strutting the halls, spreading the salacious word: Today was sex day in Bible class. Living Christian High School’s version of sexual education was taught in Bible—as opposed to, say, Biology—because school administrators believed the sex act—if done right—could be transcendent. In Anatomy class, we memorized the stages of gestation. However, what came before fell under the purview of a man we’ll call Mr. Pastor, the Bible teacher, who also considered Rush Limbaugh videos to be curriculum. Keep Reading! 


Chelsea Pride an opinionated listicle in the Observer 

Melinda and I thought Chelsea was going to be our “starter” neighborhood. When we decided to move in together, we met in the middle. Melinda ventured south from her beloved Hell’s Kitchen, and I dragged my feet west from my cherished East Village share apartment. Both imagining that we would enjoy the restaurants, galleries, train access, and a couple of Prides before migrating down to the way west, West Village for a more permanent rental agreement. Turns out, the neighborhood suits us. We do enjoy all of the deliciousness, beauty, and ease that Chelsea offers as well as treasure feeling safe, respected, and welcomed. I mean, we’re hardly ever catcalled (by strangers).

For those considering making the move, may I offer a few suggestions. Keep Reading! 


CurveMagCroatian Heartland a travel essay in Curve magazine

The town of Perušić was big enough to be included on a map of Croatia but too small for guidebooks to mention. I had no idea what to expect when my partner, Melinda, and I pulled off the highway and followed the signs to the birthplace of my great-grandfather. When the roads narrowed to single lanes, compact cars gave way to tractors, and concrete turned back into cobblestone, we found Perušić. The farming village spread across the rolling green and golden hills of the Eastern European countryside looked somewhat similar to the place my ancestors emigrated to in Iowa, settled, and never left. Keep Reading!


When The “Gayby Boom” Came for Me essay in Salon.

I never wanted to be a mother. As a child, I tucked Barbie into bed—not baby dolls. Cuddling chubby infants didn’t interest me nearly as much as perfecting my woman’s dream home and sticking giant jewels in that hole in her hand. When Melinda and I got together, we saw our shared disinterest in motherhood as a major compatibility point—on par with sexual orientation and religion. We’d both been coaxed by maternal ex-girlfriends to be the “dads,” but never—until Dr. Lee—had anyone pressured me to be the “mom.” Well except, of course, for my mom. Keep Reading!