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off the tap for investment in the districts in 2011

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The department devoted to rural area each time with fewer people

lavozdigital.es City Council says the problem in the four populations' is already on its way to being solved " The village headman consulted in this way, some of whom do not want to cite them, confirm the view of the ruler of Estella, Blas Moreno, who regretted that the problems created after the city clerk's retirement are not the only ones from an administrative standpoint. According

stress these early mayors headman, the fact that the department is responsible for the efforts of the hamlets and rural areas "count each time with fewer people (it has grown from eight members to just four) is a fact clear that we have less and less important. "
Whatever the case, municipal sources consulted by THE VOICE noted yesterday that the problem created in the districts of Estella, New Jarilla, San Isidro and Guadalcacín Guadalete "is already on its way to being solved", and will shortly be appointed to person who will retake the task is still pending after the departure of Manuel Baez.

has been told this means you will be in charge of this effort has reached even the mayors, but can not do anything until it receives notification of the appointment.

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Another attack

took place on November 27, 2010, say the chronicles. In The Art of Flow. Almada - Brignardello - Correa - Eleisegui - Guerrieri. They played the two Bolts ( Pandolfelli - Millán ). Literature. Choripan. Spell.

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The San Isidro over Guadalete retrain its

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The reform includes new units and a lift for people with mobility problems

Residents of San Isidro Guadalete already enjoy a renovated facilities at the Home of the Pensioner. The Mayor, Pilar Sánchez, moved to the hamlet of Jerez yesterday to officially launch the rehabilitation and reform have been implemented in the Pensioner's home building, which had a budget of almost 130,000 euros from the Local Investment Fund ( Plan E), edition 2009. In addition to providing more facilities for the elderly population, the works provided employment for ten people. The best were executed by the company Servicios Integrales Celimsur.

The first mayor was accompanied by other council members of your corporation, such as Social Welfare Officer and the Mayor, José Manuel Jiménez, and the Town Planning Officer, Juan Pedro Crucible. The municipal delegation was received by a larger number of them accompanied on the visit. The project involved a complete adaptation of the building, two storeys high, to carry out multiple social and cultural activities. Facilities include a lobby, toilets, rooms used for pensioners, shop, reading room and computer room.

The work has also enabled the redeployment the space available for new services and create new dependencies. Thus, it has enabled a computer room on the second floor, and created a toilet for the disabled.
also installed a motorized platform to the second floor accessible to persons with disabilities. To this were added additional 40,000 euros provided by the Municipality of San Isidro, which has received a grant from the Junta de Andalucía, for provision of furniture and appliances.

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read: come

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back the primitive group. And on top of reading, be greased to make you name as long as some sausages.

Do you understand now what is the sacrifice? Do yourself a pique and peek.

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Idiot Rhythm

stretches and stretches your muscles with me. The pace idiot. The murga of idiots. That rattles, always sickly, the same drip. Counts. One Two. Three. "Now," mutters a throat as enslaved by the swing. But this "now" never comes: it is a fake ad drowsy alleviates anxieties.

Jumps never take off under a sky blackened sheet that drowns. Meat transpired and kicking the heavy air even though the end of the song never comes. Because never slew the chorus. The pace of the idiots is made to turn coal and last until all the final clock.

A whistle wakes up and straightens the dancers wrong melody. Because there always are. Becomes the absurd leap. Plant stand and a tac, tac, tactactac, tied to the land. Uninhabited by earthworms. That can not be anything other than tile, bicycle, pitch, bump and knee injury.

Children are learning faster pacing. Soon gather scars on his back and tore the skin flayed, stomp kill those same toys now crave.

Murderers in miniature. Pinned with two teeth to a row of teats, udders india sour milk fat. Yogurt that peppers cut tendons those same heels shuffle dance now enduring.

Quinceañeras legs apart and fall pregnant at the sound of drums. Tight leather marking the pulse pounding semen. Unexpected. And they turn on mattresses miserable sheltered only by a tattoo of Bazooka gum. Frightened by their cries, celebrate with eyes closed and lips death of a teenager almost stillborn. Then they make magic. Skinny thigh meat removed and multiply in their wombs.

I see. Add

bone to bone and blood to blood to mutate into a container 2 to 1. Shampoo and conditioner. Girls, females fed their hunger for that child well can be a brother. Twin.

I see.

Until suddenly moves.

Murga idiots and their idiotic way. Glides on legs circles drawn by children who follow the crush between smooth and diapers. False bronze plates on the palms and fingers that later filled with unrequited desire pits. Every idiot is a uniform sphere hammering a ring rusty. Taunting the puddles covered with broken shoes.

pregnant Quinceañeras the pace up their shirts and belly grows enlarges the shadows. Bellies burst rings that pierce the dream dance boiled fetuses. A breast-udder painted the colors of your nipple harden San Lorenzo to cry "forward." Blood cheeks heated operating ...

return of the jumps. The choreography that no coordinates. Shoulders and back crossed by white streaks that recall a bullet. The kitchen knife that has no teeth for cutting up pizza, but regains edge when stuck in any arm. The pace and the drums populate the wind died hair stained with urine. Of aging women. Teens getting fat. The rancid smell of children who never tire of spitting and trampling diapers toys.

not know, but every body is a breath until you explode, which ignites the sky drowned oil. So you can survive an hour. Another day.

And so will the melody, which is not quenched. Neither the time. For this time no one can really escape. The idiots we are growing. And in the end everyone shaking their heads forward to hit the gap. Applauding this perpetuity.

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Capital Inicial "Algumas day" Half a century of Maradona

Each of my trips have, fortunately, a different soundtrack. As the colors, smells, and people.

In this case, my recent visit to San Pablo, Brazil, took place against a band sound that, fortunately, I enjoy living on the floor of the sister country: Initial Capital.

share the theme "Algumas day." And I keep the conversation I have with Herbert Vianna, leader and voice of Paralamas before presentation in the same show I attended.

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Should we go downtown? Yes, son, let that everybody is safe. Why did you throw that glass of water, mama? Do not throw it, son. I lost when we lost a goal. It's June 29, 1986. In a town of less than 1,000 inhabitants, about 600 kilometers from Buenos Aires, nobody is missing walking on the side of San Martin Avenue or riding in a car. Luis Reyes in a white falcon. Lelo Beli trots waving a flag of Argentina ... wearing his jersey Boca. The right mix. Argentina 3, Germany 2. Horns, screams, hugs and a permanent Maradona's hand, all around are going to give. And we turned. Sing. The 1,000 of the town of 1,000, for that avenue suddenly made Estadio Azteca. From the hand of Maradona.

That, I think now is the first memory of Diego that comes to my head. I was a boy of 8 who lived in a town where you could only see a TV channel and listen to a radio. Channel 9 and LU2, both of Bahia Blanca. And beware that there was no storm, because it directly but could not tune anything. Maradona, as in many other towns in the interior of Argentina, back then it was a religion. As it is today. Diego smiles, and everyone smiles with Diego. Falls into a coma, and boarding are all about.

has been the talent that we have thousands and thousands wanted. The boldness, character, weakness, and heart failure. Diego, Diego what would you be without your heart? What many of us would be without your heart? The innate sense of justice. The natural detector weaknesses, flicker-free, goes back automatically when the worst happens. So this week has not wavered in accompanying the president Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner during the wake of her husband. And you were with Carlos Menem when his son died. Your duty to those who suffer no political banners. Or faces. Or nationality.

why you were magical and happy playing with Napoli and not in Barcelona. Napoli is the city of the unreached, the stain of an empire that no longer exists Italy's most backward erased from your map if they could. You were and you hit the rich kicked where it hurts: in pride. So you played in Boca. So you were commanding a world champion ultra Argentina team questioned clumsy and full of players Flintstones. But you were there. We could never lose, Diego. Your magic poets transformed into the herd of donkeys that Bilardo put on the court all around you.

The World Cup Italia 90. The ankle destroyed the damn nail, the permanent limp. Played on one leg. And that leg came out and played great pass to Caniggia who left out of Brazil. How they wept, remember? Yet still do it. Insults Italians to our anthem. Your response to the obscenities, the entire stadium. Again in your hand, let out to Italy at home. Those who already hate you, now lined up to add contempt. Then came your tears, the final with Germany again. I wanted to hug everyone, but you were away. Quiet hug and tell you, Diego, can not be everything, you know what you want? You know you'll be the best forever, and there is nothing left to prove?

Today, as I write these lines as well, messy, still half asleep, half a century of life are fulfilling. Fifty Years, 10. I laughed and cried with you how many times? Ten? A hundred? I talked about you and I felt a lump in the throat, sometimes happy, other times of grief, how many times? A thousand? A few days ago I was telling a friend in Mexico: At my family, if he criticized Maradona, ask you go. I cast. And so if you do it with Batistuta and Caniggia. Why with them too, asked him. Because they played with 10, and are friends with him. That I answered.

This week I told some new friends while you shook hands. As at the time, I had to make an effort to conceal the emotion. Hopefully life will allow me to repeat the greeting suddenly Diego.

Until then, today, from here, from my home, first repeat the same thing I told you at the moment I shook your hand: Thanks. Thank you very much. And to this we added another thing: Happy birthday.

Rather be very happy, Diego.