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icepixieI haven't written SG-1 fic or really even thought about the franchise in seriously like five years, so God only knows how much resemblance this actually bears to canon, or, for that matter, to graduate programs in archaeology. But I've pretty much written it for the lols, and because I wanted a story to go along with my icon.
(Since I'm teaching my students about plagiarism on Monday, I would be a hypocrite if I didn't mention that the idea for said icon is not mine. I saw a version of it, I think with a different picture and slightly different wording, many moons ago, but haven't seen it around since, so I made my own. Whoever came up with this icon idea, you're brilliant. :))
Title: They Didn't Teach This in Grad School
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
icepixie
Rating: PG
Word Count: 358
Summary: "Sure, the freshmen he'd taught as a grad student might have murdered Middle Kingdom culture, the English language, and possibly his soul, but at least they hadn't been trying to murder him."
* * *
As he's ducking behind a rock to get out of the line of fire, Daniel Jackson wistfully remembers writing papers. Working at a dig and examining artifacts had always held more interest for him than the inevitable write-up of findings that came after, but right now, hunching over a computer and tapping away at the keys sounds pretty good. "Stay down!" Jack yells in his ear. He's finally learned not to protest that he wasn't getting up, and now he just crouches even lower behind the rock.
As a staff blast strikes a few feet away, he starts to think that even grading Egyptian Archaeology 101 papers sounds pretty good compared to his current circumstances. Sure, the freshmen he'd taught as a grad student might have murdered Middle Kingdom culture, the English language, and possibly his soul, but at least they hadn't been trying to murder him.
Jack is doing some kind of military hand signal thing with Sam, and once they finish their hand jive, Jack shouts, "Head for the Gate! We'll cover you!"
He doesn't need to be told twice. Trusting that his friends know what they're doing, he runs for the Stargate, nearly bent double in order to present as small a target as possible. He sees Sam aiming her P-90 out of the corner of his eye, and he briefly wonders if she ever misses academia, or at least not getting shot at on a near-daily basis.
Enemy fire whizzes past his ear, and he even manages to work up some longing for the drafty, ill-equipped office he used to share with three other TAs in the program at Chicago. To have his worst problems in a day be the coffee-maker not working or a student showing up to demand an explanation for the C on his latest paper sounds divine in the face of this.
Just before the Jaffa aiming at his back fires, Daniel jumps headfirst through the wormhole, thinking that if he's ever allowed to supervise a grad student again, he's going to tell him or her to stay the hell away from little old ladies bearing hieroglyph translation job offers.
(Since I'm teaching my students about plagiarism on Monday, I would be a hypocrite if I didn't mention that the idea for said icon is not mine. I saw a version of it, I think with a different picture and slightly different wording, many moons ago, but haven't seen it around since, so I made my own. Whoever came up with this icon idea, you're brilliant. :))
Title: They Didn't Teach This in Grad School
Author:
icepixieRating: PG
Word Count: 358
Summary: "Sure, the freshmen he'd taught as a grad student might have murdered Middle Kingdom culture, the English language, and possibly his soul, but at least they hadn't been trying to murder him."
* * *
As he's ducking behind a rock to get out of the line of fire, Daniel Jackson wistfully remembers writing papers. Working at a dig and examining artifacts had always held more interest for him than the inevitable write-up of findings that came after, but right now, hunching over a computer and tapping away at the keys sounds pretty good. "Stay down!" Jack yells in his ear. He's finally learned not to protest that he wasn't getting up, and now he just crouches even lower behind the rock.
As a staff blast strikes a few feet away, he starts to think that even grading Egyptian Archaeology 101 papers sounds pretty good compared to his current circumstances. Sure, the freshmen he'd taught as a grad student might have murdered Middle Kingdom culture, the English language, and possibly his soul, but at least they hadn't been trying to murder him.
Jack is doing some kind of military hand signal thing with Sam, and once they finish their hand jive, Jack shouts, "Head for the Gate! We'll cover you!"
He doesn't need to be told twice. Trusting that his friends know what they're doing, he runs for the Stargate, nearly bent double in order to present as small a target as possible. He sees Sam aiming her P-90 out of the corner of his eye, and he briefly wonders if she ever misses academia, or at least not getting shot at on a near-daily basis.
Enemy fire whizzes past his ear, and he even manages to work up some longing for the drafty, ill-equipped office he used to share with three other TAs in the program at Chicago. To have his worst problems in a day be the coffee-maker not working or a student showing up to demand an explanation for the C on his latest paper sounds divine in the face of this.
Just before the Jaffa aiming at his back fires, Daniel jumps headfirst through the wormhole, thinking that if he's ever allowed to supervise a grad student again, he's going to tell him or her to stay the hell away from little old ladies bearing hieroglyph translation job offers.
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no subject
Date: 2009-11-01 02:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-01 04:56 pm (UTC)