To log, or not to log, that is the question:
Whether ’tis Nobler in the mind to surf
The Single fin longboard of outrageous Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of thrusters,
And by opposing end them: to curve, to sweep
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heart-ache, of thousand six foot Al Merricks,
That plague the breaks of Fistral up to Croyde,
Where secretly they wish to surf the log,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; of two foot glass,
For on that ten foot log what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled ten toes forward to the nose;
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes the hang ten so;
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,
Of riding a performance short board all ones life?
The pangs of waves let go, the fins delay,
The insolence of Slater, and of Dane;
That patient merit of the lazy longboarders,
When he himself might off his calf leash take,
With a beaver tail wetsuit?
Who would Fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat trying to paddle a five ten in ankle surf.
But that the joy of five toes over,
The undiscovered realm of fibreglass, from that nose
No Traveler returns,
Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather stoked to find the glide,
Than try ride surfboards that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the question, five ten or nine foot four…?
To Log, or Not to Log? Shakespeare’s Single Fin Transcript Unearthed
