I worry every time I write this column. Will people find it relevant? Do LGBT experiences matter to the people reading it? Is it going to be typecast as the “gay column”?

Imagining a future for myself was one of the hardest things to do when I was first coming out of the closet.

Whenever I walk into a room—whether for class, a club, a meeting, or anything, really—I can usually count on feeling a certain level of anxiety.

Entering a gay bar in the French Quarter of New Orleans last week, my alternative spring break group was suddenly surrounded by (unfortunately tacky) gay porn on the walls.

I was the super-cool president of my Jewish youth group during high school, so I am no stranger to large conventions featuring a load of Yarmulke-clad kids singing songs, pouring out their Hebraic

I have so many fond memories of the flurry of preparation at my suburban middle school leading up to our holiday of love, Valentine’s Day.

Editor's Note:/ The following article appeared in the April 3 edition of the Spectator.

"A man shall not lie with another male as he lies with a woman, for it is an abomination" (Leviticus 18:22).