Now I'm getting a leetle less hours than I want at work, but I think I'll be okay, since the quarter's just started and includes the holiday season. Besides, even if I do lose my benefits, I was planning on not staying past the quarter anyway.

I originally hoped I would only end up working at Starbucks for about a year, though I knew that at the rate of my schooling, I would need two years at least. Ah, but one can hope. I'm somewhat sick of school at this point, and I can't wait to get working. I'm 26, and I've never had a "real" job. I'm sick of being poor, tired of having to rely on the generosity of others, and I'm ever so anxious to... well, get my life started. I'm in this inbetween stage where I'm older than a kid but still live like one. Sigh.

I "procured" a copy of the latest Nancy Drew video game Last Train to Blue Moon Canyon. The age level is 10 and up, so it wasn't hard. And it is addicting! It's one of those puzzle games where you "solve" a mystery by going around figuring out puzzles that will give you clues to the mystery. The animation was so-so (though I liked that it was stiff rather than disorientingly smooth) but the settings and textures were fabulous. Since I've been modeling my final project character, I'm more appreciative of how difficult it is. Just explaining to Matt today how I wanted a simple box created was hard enough. But I know my strengths and weaknesses, and for me, my strength (in the 3D world) is animation, followed by modeling, followed by a distant texturing, even more distant lighting, and way far in the back, rigging. So it's a good thing that Dave really likes texturing and Matt really likes rigging.

While I'm talking about jobs and 3D, I want to get something off my chest. My parents have been very supportive of my pursuing art... to a degree. They recognized that I had talent and definitely wanted me to pursue it... as a hobby. To them, art isn't something you make money at, it's something you do during the weekends and decorate your house with. My dad more than my mom knows that there are artistic careers out there, but they've never known anyone with one (other than my fashion designer aunt). So I've been stubborn, whiny, and argumentative, but mainly, I've gotten my way in pursuing an artistic career. My mother would be ecstatic if I told her that I'm giving up on art and becoming a lawyer/nurse/meter maid. Her latest argument has been that it's difficult to break into the animation industry, so I should instead spend my youth (relatively speaking) on something that's more stable and easier to get in to. The other week one of my teachers said this industry is hard and if he could, he would be a nurse so that he could work 4 days to support himself and then spend the other 3 days being creative.

Anyway, my point is, yes, it's a difficult industry to get in to, but I don't want to give up. I don't like how my mom wants me to give up before I even try. I know it's hard to get in, but honestly, who says I won't? It's in a way insulting, obliquely saying that I'm not talented enough to make it, so why waste my time trying. It's hard enough hearing about how tough it is from actual professionals without adding my parents to the mix. Am I living my dream or theirs?

That's one of the hardships of immigrants (or children of immigrants) that's rarely understood by the regular community. The stock answer is, I'm living my dream, this is America, it's my life. But we, the children of immigrants, know better. When your parents sacrifice so much and work so hard to bring you the opportunity to live out your dreams, well, you can't help but feel the guilt. This is horrible thing. It inspires a fear of failure (and a fear of success, oddly enough, because then you fear failing to keep up the success), and I think it makes people choose far too often the safe route versus their passion. I can't help it. I want to try. Even if I fail, I don't want to say I didn't even try. But what can I say, this subtle pressure is enough to mess with your head.

Anyway, gotta sleep. It's almost morning.