Beauty is intangible. Beauty has no scale, no measurement, no temperature or epic pie chart. Beauty lies in those tiny moments of perfection, when the imperfect nature of mankind and our inherent selfishness and desire to put ourselves first, simply disappears. It arrives suddenly, and it departs with no fanfare, typically within seconds of its arrival. Beauty transcends the laws of life; it does not answer to the belief system of any human being; rather, it overcomes anything and everything that attempts to get in its way. But beyond all of those big words, beauty is the ultimate irony, because it is a word for something that can not be summed up in letters, words, languages, gestures or actions. Rather, it is more intangible then any spirit; less visible then the darkest night, and as unmeasurable as mother nature herself. It contains no patterns and it has no tendencies, except for the pattern of having no tendency. It is also relative, in the most absolute sense of that word. Ultimately speaking, beauty can be found in everything. The beauty of a rotten apple core is the billions of miraculous cells that make up its very being; the miracle of one tiny blade of grass that, despite seeming ordinary, has an inherent design that human science simply will never understand or replicate. Beauty is a relativistic absolute in the way that it has no pattern or restriction. That is why we continue to ask this very question. What is beauty? Perhaps we should ask the opposite. What isn't beauty?

To me, thought? What is beauty to me?

The roof at Summer Winds, the beach at Asseteague, late night phone conversations, acoustic guitar, marriage, untouched snow, snow with hours of memories etched into its white blanket, rain, falling asleep to the sound of rain, running in the rain, her skin, being awake when the whole world is asleep, seeing people come together, my God.

Beauty. Untouchable, but yet somehow, always present.

The beauty of life really does lie in the details.

I don't think I really understood that completely until recently. I love that feeling; that feeling of ceding complete and total control away from the head and surrendering it completely to the heart. It opens your eyes to the details; to the tiny little parts of life that just blow you away with their simplicity.

It's like a drug.

I've always found it funny how my Xanga entries go in waves. Once in while, I'll hit a time period where I post three or four times a week, on everything from my current situation in life, to the current issues of the day, to the stupidity of some famous individual who has given me the opportunity to employ a few bits of creative humor. I must say though, I love this blog. I remember getting a little disappointed at first when everyone left xanga, but now I'm glad that it happened that way. I'm glad that there are only a few people who still write here- it keeps me from having to sort through endless lines of random information in order to read the few lines that really matter. A lot of people claim that personal blogs are an immature thing; I've heard people tell me that part of growing up is finally deleting that blog and forgetting all of those posts of depression, immaturity, hatred, love, hope, passion and all of those other feelings that just seemed to pour into a blog during those uncertain high school times. I would simply respond that anyone who feels removing the past is part of growing up is simply denying the fact that it still exists, and there's no point in pretending it doesn't. Of course you don't have to dwell in it, but there's a big difference between not dwelling in the past and forgetting the past. I used to have an argument frequently about this with a former friend of mine. They would ask me why I was able to be so open about the stupid and ignorant things I had done throughout life. My simple response is that everyone is in the same boat. We have memories and times in our lives that we wish we had never happened, so what good is it to pretend that I'm the one person who doesn't have those memories. Embrace them, laugh about them, cry a little bit, but most importantly, share them, so that someone else doesn't go the same path that you did.

So how am I? It's a question I haven't answered on here in quite awhile. To put it really simply, I am happier these days then I can ever remember. I am not living for one grand purpose or one massive goal, but rather for the true and simple beauty of life and the blessings that it brings. I miss my best friend. I haven't really told anyone that, and I don't really talk about him much, but I miss Matt every single day. I miss the incredible relationship that he and I have. But most of all, I am more happy for him then you could ever imagine. He is out there, doing the work of an amazing God, making friends and living life to its fullest, and becoming a true and honorable man, in every sense of the word. He is away from his family, who has provided him with so many difficult days, and he is away from a town that he has known for all his life. For all of this, I am as excited as one person could possibly be. But I miss him.

Kelly is amazing. I don't generally write about relationships on here, and this isn't going to start a trend, but how could I give you a life update without putting into words this beautiful young woman that God has given me the privilege of getting to know. Thinking about her just makes me smile a little; there's no other way to put it. It is a feeling of simple connection, of getting to know an individual who has become so much to me. I can't say a whole lot more then that, but I think my lack of words for a subject speaks much louder then any prose I could eventually conjure up.

For some strange reason, my job makes me happy. Not because it's what I want to do with my life, and not because there's some incredible aspect of it that is providing me with daily support. Simply, it's a good job, with lot of good people. The employees are fun and (for the most part) hardworking, it's not a job that requires endless hours of labor or ridiculous hours at times when I really would rather not work. It's a good situation and a steady source of income.

The time that I spend with my friends has dwindled quite a bit since the school year began, but it hasn't really upset me at all. I know the people who I truly have a deep relationship with will always be there as a friend, even while both they and I continue to be busy almost every single day. I've also had the privilege to grow a lot closer with a few people recently as well, and I'm extremely thankful for that. I think I am coming to the realization though that some of my relationships with high school friends will eventually fade, especially as I start to explore school and life options that will take me to places beyond Bowie. It isn't to say that the love I have for these people has dwindled, but rather that it has taken on a different shape; a shape of shared memories and the hope for a rekindling at some future date. I don't know exactly where life is going to take me at this point, but I'm pretty excited to see where I am a year from now.

The play is going to be very interesting. I will be intrigued to look back on this post three weeks from now, when I know exactly how the musical eventually turned out, and remember how uncertain I was concerning its current state. I have worked endlessly on the preparation of the play, but I'm not quite sure if everything is going to come together in time. We shall see. God will take things the way he wants them; that's all I know for sure.

In closing, I won't ever leave Xanga. I love it here. Even after everyone else has moved on, I won't let this humble little blog of mine end. There is too much life here, too much love, too much passion, too much anger, too much sadness, too much everything. There is a little piece of me here; a small slice of life, and that's not something I could ever dispose of.

I have come to the realization that September 11th, 2001 will be the defining memory of my generation. We will forever be known as "post-9/11," the demographic of young boys and girls who grew into young men and women under the shadow of such an unforgeable day. There is nothing that we can do to change that.

For today, let us not focus on how 9/11 has changed our lives, but rather on how many lives were changed for the final time that day. Today is not a day for political warfare; it is not a day for division or dissention or withdrawal or anything else. Today is a day of remembrance.

To all those who lost their lives six years ago. May they forever live on as heros.

(I need to stop reading these featured questions).

Love. There is no other way to cure a broken heart, in the most complete and ultimate sense of the word. The reason that any of us can suffer a broken heart in the first place is the loss of a love that impacts us in such a powerful way that not having it or not having a mutual desire to make it continue sends us spiraling downward in a way we never thought possible. Thus, the logical conclusion is that regaining a powerful sense of love and belonging is the only way to bring your "broken heart" back to the state in which it typically exists. A broken heart is not literally a physical ailment, but rather a temporary mental distraction that allows you to convince yourself that your love wasn't real, and that because your former significant other or loved one is no longer loving you in the same capacity as they used to be (whether through parting of ways or tragedy), that your feelings were worthless and you hold no value as a person. It is the natural progression of the human mind that brings you down before it takes you back up. Thus, you need love to overcome the absence of love. You need the passion that friends have for just holding you and loving you; you need the strong and protective embrace of a father who would die before letting anyone hurt you; you need the soft touch of a cold nose on your feet as you attempt to banish the memories from your sleeping mind; you need the love that a mother has for her most beloved creation; you need that unconditional love. Then, and only then, will you realize that a broken heart can be mended. It is not a cliche process, just as none of these words I say are cliche. Those who claim that love is just a thought and not the therapeutic glue that holds life afloat are wrong. These feelings and words are real. There is nothing cliche about holding a friend as they pour their heart out into your shoulder and your side. This is why succumbing to a broken heart is such a tragedy. Love overcomes everything. Only love, in the strongest and most beautiful way, can defeat itself.

I'm sorry she died. It was truly tragic, just as death always is. I have endless sympathy for those around her, as I'm sure losing a bright young personality at such a young age was heartbreaking for some.

But I could care less about Princess Diana. When a British royal who never really did anything, and has been dead for 10 years, is the headline news in CNN, it makes me just wish that everyone would stop caring. Dedicate time to the crisis in Darfur, or the war in Iraq, or the the horrendous poverty-stricken locations that exist around the world. I'm sorry she passed so young-- it was tragic. But she's dead. And constantly revisiting it will do absolutely nothing to change that.

Very simple. I wouldn't scream, curse or yell. I wouldn't attack him with political banter or hyperbole.

I would just ask why. Why, with all his claims of sharing the same faith that I do, could he send 3000 young men and women to their death for a lie?

Why?

5:01 A.M. That's when I finished. All of these years, waiting for this, and it is officially over.

My
predictions were nowhere close. I had no clue what was going to happen
next. In the end, none of that mattered. Thank you to J.K. Rowling.
It's been one hell of a ride.

NOTE: If you
have not seen Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, do not read this note.
It will ruin multiple parts of the movie.

Having now
seen Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix five times, I felt it was an
appropriate time to pen my review. There are several advantages to seeing a
movie so many times in a 24 hour span, and although coolness points and
popularity with the opposite sex are not included in such benefits, I still
wouldn’t have spent my Phoenix premiere any other way.

Before
making my individual comments, I would like to establish first off that Phoenix
was not my favorite movie. I continue to remain in a loving affair with Chris
Columbus’s Sorcerer’s Stone, and I
would be very surprised if that ever changes. My biggest reaction to Phoenix is
that it, more than any of the other movies, contained scenes that could clearly
have been done better then the way they were presented. The comment I made to a
few different people is that several scenes could have been dramatically
improved had they simply extended the scene by as little as 30 additional
seconds. The sequence in the Department of Mysteries had no believability;
their “epic quest” was through an unlocked door. For avid disciples of the
books, you know how much additional action was contained in that particular
sequence. The duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort was epic, but only for the
45 seconds or so that it remained on the screen. Everyone in the theatre was
completely captivated by that sequence; it could have easily been twice as long
with no questions asked.

The death of
Sirius Black, the culmination of all of the angst and energy of the movie, was
poorly presented and simply not accurate. By having Sirius die via the “Avada
Kedavra” curse, it took away the mystery of the veil. It made the veil an
afterthought, which is a dramatically different plot twist than is contained in
Rowling’s pages. Finally, my most harsh criticism of the film is the Occlumancy
sequences. The way in which those sequences came about, and the transitions to
and from, was absolutely terrible. It is impossible to convince me that after
nearly witnessing Arthur Weasley die and then being questioned about it for
hours, that Dumbledore would immediately send Harry to intense mind-training
sessions with a man he hates. Those sequences were thrown in randomly to give
the audience the fun chance to see a little bit of young Snape and James. They
were essential to the film, but completely out of place.

Now, after criticizing,
let focus on elements I enjoyed; specifically, some individual performances. First,
Imelda Staunton as Dolores Umbridge was, by far, the finest casting of the
entire film. She was believable from the moment she entered the screen, immediately
offering both die-hard Potter fans and casual movie-goers a mutual opportunity
to hate her. She never changed throughout the film; her character did not shift
or lose any part of its realism. She never came off as truly evil, but simply
so diabolically cruel hearted, it was hard to accept that she wasn’t a
Voldemort supporter. Huge props to her for absolutely nailing a very difficult character
to represent.

Evvana Lynch
as Luna Lovegood makes a strong case for best actor in the film as well. Luna
Lovegood was universally accepted by Potter fans as possible the most difficult
Rowling invention to recreate on-screen. Lynch nails the role perfectly. Eccentric,
quirky and odd, yet sweet and loyal to the cause, Lynch makes the role of Luna
feel normal, in a completely non-normal way. She doesn’t overact the role, as I’m
sure was the tendency among all those who auditioned for the part. She is not
so odd that she loses her believability, but just odd enough that you quickly
learn to love her. Staunton may have done the best acting in the film, but
Lynch created the best character.

 Helena Bonham Carter earns a massive nod as
the creepy Bellatrix Lestrange; in a role that, just like Lynch’s, could have
very easily been overacted, her bouts of insanity fit perfectly into the
personal of a 14 year jailbird free to serve her master once more. She was genuinely
scary at points, and the persona she created of a teetering psychopath fit
perfectly into her role as the cruel, heartless murderer, cutting holes in both
Neville and Harry’s lives. Her scenes were spectacular.

What can I
say about Ralph Fiennes that hasn’t already been said? He is a perfect
Voldemort; not crazed with power but radiating with evil. James and Oliver
Phelps continue to create a perfect Fred and George Weasley, and Alan Rickman
does exactly what he has been doing since movie one: making us hate Severus
Snape, and yet forcing us to believe he’s a good guy (which he’s not, by the
way). I won’t go on with individual roles, but there were several other small
performances that were impressive.

The main
trio took some steps backwards in this film. Radcliffe was good with the angst
part, but the way the film was designed, it turned an intentionally complex character
into a raging ball of sixteen year-old hormones.  Grint continues to suffer from the absolutely horrible
character that every screen writer has created for him; I have said since movie
1 and continue to maintain that the character of Ron Weasley has been
completely ruined in my mind by the movies. Watson also took a step back in
Phoenix. I’ve always been a Watson fan (and not for what some would call the “obvious
reasons”). I was never one of those “Hermione isn’t pretty” whiners; I always
pictured her as pretty. However, Watson just didn’t do a great job this time; I
think some of her dissatisfaction with the Harry Potter process came through a
little.

Overall, I
can’t give the movie my highest rating. There were too many weaknesses; from
the pathetic romance thrown in just to get Radcliffe to snog on-screen to the
random unexplained appearance of Kreacher the house elf, and finally the over-energetic
editing process that was used to cut out ten minutes of footage that could have
saved the film, I can’t express complete satisfaction. The parts that were done
well were amazing, but the parts that failed, failed miserably. Overall, a
7/10, ranked behind Sorcerer’s Stone and Chamber of Secrets and in front of Goblet
of Fire and Prisoner of Azkaban.

I’m
witnessing a drama.
Drama.
The
beauty of interconnected souls, inadvertently ruining the impossible fathom of
love.
Peaks
and valleys, increasingly bipolar
as
the remains of the heart float away.
There
is no hope.
The
protagonist has become the hunter
Born
without senses or sensation; heartless in perfect ignorance.
The
last remaining hero has been vanquished
The
one solitary warrior no longer holds the light of day.
He
has been wronged; left for dead without a Samaritan.
Agony.
Pain
and sadness.
How
can such common words summarize the life of a champion?
History
is penned by the victor
So
why doesn’t virtue hold the pen while falsehood falls by the sword?
My
heart goes out to you.
You,
who invest in the drama I watched so many years ago.
The
greatest battles are won in the dark of night
Yet
evil patrols this very domain.
If
life was meant to exist as a paradox
Then
why do we desire for all to be right?
Stop
reading your part in this drama.
For
just like the greatest dramas ever penned,
The
end is still fiction.
Just
like the beginning.