Glimpses of my heart:As I have pieced it back together:As I have pieced it back together

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In the course of publishing my own sites, I had become more and more involved in WordPress. I have contributed around 25 WP, WP MU, BuddyPress and WordPress 3 plugins over the last 2 years, some of which have become quite successful over 61, downloads , with a user community actively requesting new features and improvements.

I founded my new company, Celyan. This site is my personal blog, with random rants about anything geek ranging from trips in Japan to voiding warranties on home electronics gadgets or messing with a soldering iron. Sometimes I write in English, sometimes in French, depending on my mood of the day. I usually translate the most popular posts in the other language. You can also download my CV here Pdf format. Hi Yann, is there a chance or the possibility to change your Recent Posts Widget into a new widget that shows 5 or more random posts of the whole blog and in my wished case only as thumbnails without any text or something?

Merci pour vos encouragements. Bravo pour votre travail et pour vos contributions. Hello The YD Recent posts are displaying on the top of the text. I want to display them bottom of my text. Web log tools collection blog reported today that a security flaw in the Tim Thumb plugin was discovered. I am worried about the security of my blog as I am using the YD recent posts plugin which depents on Tim Thumb in my blog. How will this affect the security of my blog? Yohan: The version of Timthumb included with some of my plugins is not affected with the security flaw, and never was.

That version is quite old and never supported the vulnerable feature it does not manage content from external sites at all. I guess that is a relief for you as it was for me when I checked the issue this morning. Hello Yan, I have just discovered your Export2Email plugin, I have been looking for a plugin like this for many weeks. I am using it in a WP blog within a Magento store, the blog pages will feature new products deals for our sales-team to send to their contacts. I am using WPv3. Nothing happens. I must be missing some simply key thing — but I have no idea what it is… any suggestions?

I installed your plug-in because I thought I could replicate my main theme on my multisite to all of my networked WP sites. I attempted to copy over the theme, but got a memory error, and most of my sites display this:. He followed me into the office.

And he rubbed himself against my ass when I leaned over to unplug the modem. I let it happen that time. There were a lot of those. Those I never forgot. They seep into your skin like cat piss. Each time I had to calculate the odds of something worse against the odds of getting back to my van. One of those creeps, his suit cost more than my car. He had an elevator in his three-story McMansion.

Maybe he thought he owned me, too. I hope I ruined his suit. I lost the points. I made it back to my van. My van became my home, my office, my dining room. I was safe in my van. In my van, I could pull off near a park for a few minutes, smoke a cigarette, read the news, check Facebook, breathe until I stopped shaking, until I stopped crying.

We were monitored by GPS. But if I stayed close enough to the route, I could always claim traffic. This was Northern Virginia. There was always traffic. No, that job canceled. They said it was fixed. He was bidding last night on a train. It was a special piece. He showed me his collection.

His garage was the size of my high school gym. But his sensible Toyota commuter box was parked out front. His garage was for the trains. He had the Old West to the west. And Switzerland to the east. But the train he wanted went to someone in Ohio because his internet went out again and he lost the auction.

He was heartbroken, and no one would listen. I remember he started clicking a dog-training clicker when I said the signal was good behind the modem. He said he was sorry. The clicker helped when he was feeling overwhelmed.

I said I should probably try it. The guys looked at cable as a science. They could tell you the attenuation per feet of any brand of cable. I looked at cable like plumbing, or something like that. I like fixing things. Some customers were idiots. Most just wanted things to work the way they were promised.

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I knew it was, though. So when he said the problem only happened at night, I started looking for a leak. One bad fitting outside. Because he was different. Because he was a customer. And customers are all idiots. I remember training a guy around the time I was six years in. I asked around. We were all working hurt. The bigger the risk, the bigger the paycheck. When your elbow still hurts from the time you disconnected a cable line and your body became the neutral line on the electrical feeder and volts ran through your body to the ground. When your hands become useless claws 30 feet in the air on a telephone pole and you leave your skin frozen to the metal tap.

So you take a couple pills to get through the day, the week, the year. If painkillers show up on your drug test, you have that prescription from the last time you fell off a roof. I chose pot to numb my head and body every night. But it was the bigger risk. It would have made up for the fact I was making less than every tech I asked. Some had been there longer. I was the only female tech because really, why the fuck was I even doing that job? I joined the Air Force.

They kicked me out for being gay.

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Until I was offered a few dollars more, just enough to pay rent, as a cable guy. He said the problem was my numbers were always lower than most of the guys. All those points I mentioned. So my raises over the years had always been lower. But it was mostly true. My numbers were always lower.

Numbers were based mostly on how many jobs we completed a day. On paper, the way we were rated, I was a terrible employee. The points were what mattered. The guys could piss in apartment taprooms, any slightly wooded area, against a wall with their van doors open for cover, in Gatorade bottles they collected in their vans. I knew every clean bathroom in the county. One bathroom break and I was already behind. The guys could call for help on a job. No problem. One of them told me my pussy smelled amazing while he held a ladder for me.

Said I needed his. And for the most part, I liked to tell myself I could handle their taunts and harassment. I never had a shot at being a good employee really, not by their measure. Well, there was one way. I worked with an older guy, a veteran like me. I usually got along with the veterans. He was no exception. Once, after I explained why I called him for help, he told me that he understood. He said he found vets were less likely to treat him like shit for being black. That made sense. But when I asked him how he kept his points up, seeing as how he worked slower than the other guys, he said he clocked out at 7 every day.

Worked the last job for free. It brought up his average.

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One year, though, the company tried a little experiment: Choose a couple of people from each team, let them take the problem calls, those jobs a couple of techs had failed to fix, and give them the time to actually fix the problem. Time was the important thing. Because for the 10 years I was a cable tech, there was no time. I rushed from one job to the next, sometimes typing on the laptop, usually on the phone with a dispatcher, supervisor, customer or another tech.

The first few years, I was reading a map book to find the house. Then crawling down the street, counting up for because I needed house number but no one else on the street thought it important to put numbers on their house. One more bad month and I was out of a job. Maybe you can understand why I avoided canceling anything but the most dangerous jobs. After a few years, I spent most of my days off recovering. I was depressed. Most mornings, I woke and it took a minute to decide. Do I want to die today? I guess I can take one more day. If I just make it to my day off.

I tried to go to school for a while. But I was too tired to learn coding. And I had all the time in the world to fix them. I called him back.

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He said I was just pissed because they were Republicans. I said I was pissed because Dick was a fucking war criminal. He called me a communist. Said a couple of guys had been out. Internet problem. Read the notes.

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Which was good. The further I was from Dick, the more likely I was to keep my mouth shut. The house had a few problems. But I finally got it fixed. Dick was home. He had an assistant or secretary or maybe security who followed me around while I checked connections and signal levels. I just wanted to make sure I never had to fucking set foot in that house again.

Dick walked into the office while I was working. He was reading from a stack of papers and ignored me. I told the assistant it would probably be a week or so. It was my last call that day. If they did, he never mentioned it. That was the year I met a Russian mobster whose name was actually Ivan, a fact that on its own made me laugh. There were rumors of mob houses. I pressed him for details. I thought he was full of shit. The Russian mob house was off Waples Mill Road. It was a massive McMansion, looked like a swollen Olive Garden.

I parked behind a row of Hummers. Ivan was a big kid with cauliflower ears.

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He met me at the door. Same collection of leather-bound books on the shelf in most McMansions. I think they come with the place. The modem was in the little network closet. The signal looked like they had a bad splitter somewhere. Remember what I said about cheap splitters? I told Ivan I thought there was a bad splitter somewhere. I needed to check the basement. He seemed worried.

Kept looking at the door. Looking at me. Like a puppy trying to figure out where to pee, a large, heavily tattooed puppy. I ask for you. I heard him down the hall. Heard Russian, garbled words. A couple of doors opened and closed. Ivan came back and opened his paw to show me a gram bag of coke. He seemed sad that I was laughing. I did not want to find out what climbing a telephone pole felt like on cocaine.

You must taste. This is true and extremely annoying. It was a problem he could fix. He came back with a little round mirror and a little pile of coke. No cuts. Drugs affect me. He stepped closer and he looked older and very sad.

Glimpses of My Heart : As I Have Piece it Back Together

You do not taste, is maybe not safe for you now. I took a bump. He was visibly relieved. This is smart decision you make. I think my heart attack started on the stairs. It was good, though.