"I don't know anything about music. In my line you don't have to."
-- Elvis Presley

This is the story of a band called Pinguino. In their heyday, which was a short period in the late sixties and early seventies, they had a certain local appeal in the frozen north. After some years had passed, perhaps a decade or two, they, along with their now aging audience, thought it might be fun to reunite and celebrate old times. And so they began to play once a year, which turned out to be a nostalgic time that brought together not only the band, but also many of their loyal followers, who would otherwise probably never see each other.

Originally, Pinguino had a lead singer, Morris, a lead guitar player, Herman, a bass and guitar player, Paris and Louis, and a drummer, Buddy. While the group had a changing line up in their early years, the reunions usually had these five members. What had at first been great fun, their annual get together, slowly became tedious, a chore. Rehearsing for this once a year event became a pain in the ass for Morris, whose house they practiced at, and, in part, because of Louis’s overbearing insistence on what they played. They were overcome by a high seriousness that, sadly, didn’t become their style. As a solution they decided to take a year off. No one could say for sure that it would only be a year, but all agreed it was a good idea.

After the summer passed, Morris and Herman (at least according to Herman) decided that any future reunions should put Louis on the bass and exclude Paris completely. And so Herman went to Paris and asked if he didn’t think the group would be better served without him. For some in the group, like Louis, this was a real head-scratcher. To Louis, this would be like going up to a welder, a ballerina, or a prison guard, and saying, “doesn’t it make sense to you, sir or madam, that the community would benefit from your admitting that you are not very good at what you do, and doesn't it make sense that you not be a part of the group.”

For Louis, it was hard to fathom how Herman could expect anyone to agree with this kind of logic. “O. K., you’re right Herman, I’m not good at what I do and I think everyone would benefit if I didn’t participate.” Even if this were true, Louis thought, how could Herman really expect a person to agree that, yes they were inadequate at what they do, and yes it would be a good idea if they accepted his logic. Louis simply could not understand how Herman could expect someone to agree that their being unwanted was a good thing. Louis could certainly understand Herman’s thinking, what escaped him was Herman’s belief that he could convince Paris that his not being a part of the band was really a good thing. Herman even thought that if he wrote this down all would be convinced. Was it a lack of inter-personal skills? Louis wasn’t sure, maybe a consequence of social isolation, who could know? He could easily understand Herman and Morris’s wanting him to move to bass, but the idea of not including Paris seemed rude, cold, and inappropriate, given what these reunions had come to stand for: less an aesthetic attempt to reinvent the wheel than a time for old friends to reunite.

Like any good postmodern tale, the lesson of the Pinguino story is one of cosmic uncertainty: will Paris and Louis survive a fantasy island reality where they believe in follies like global warming and Guantanamo torture? Will they come to their senses and accept Rush Limbaugh's wisdom that those soldiers in Iraq who are critical of American policy are cowards? Will Herman recognize the idea that the audience is an important part of playing music? Will singing fusion versions of "I Can't Help Falling in Love with You" and "Little Red Book" accelerate Morris's career? Can Buddy learn to bite his tongue when his mouth beckons his foot? Time will tell.