Life on the edge

I watched the glass fall off the ledge and it seemed like slow motion as it bounced off the poor woman's head below. I think she said, "Oh my" or "Oh no." Then she felt her head to see if it was broken. It wasn't, of course, because the cup was light plastic, thank God.

If it wasn't plastic, I probably wouldn't be writing this right now. I'd probably be fretting in some hospital wondering if my homeowners insurance covered skull fractures and lacerations caused by wine glasses knocked off of theater balconies.

I'm not even sure I knocked it off the balcony, to be honest. I mean, yes, it was my cup and, yes, it was right in front of me but, no, I'm not sure it was my foot that actually hit it, even though logic would dictate that it was my foot, since my feet were generally pretty darn close to the cup most of the night.

See, everyone was trying to leave, and the cup got hit by a foot (maybe my foot) and then there it went, right over the edge, floating for what seemed like an eternity before bouncing off her head.

When it was fairly obvious the lady wasn't hurt even the slightest, we got out of there.

That's when I got to thinking, boy it's a good thing I wasn't drinking a beer, because if I had been drinking a beer, then there most assuredly would have been a scene with a capital S, because quite frankly, a beer bottle would have at least left a bump on her head and probably worse.

It also would have splashed some beer on her head or possibly on her nose, because you never drink all of a bottle of beer. At least that's what I was taught, just in case there's dirt or a grub or something in the bottom. Wine is just the opposite. You drink it all.

It could have happened, too, because people were drinking beer up there in the balcony, and they were leaving their bottles on the floor near their seats with just a little bit of beer in the bottom.

Which brings me to my point: Grizzly bears will kill and eat you. No matter what you think, they are not fuzzy and warm and kind. They are opportunistic predators, and if you happen to make yourself out to be an easy meal, they will eventually eat you.

Maybe not the first time you do something stupid. Maybe not the second or the third or the thousandth time. But eventually, if you're dumb enough around bears, you will pay.

That's what happened to Timothy Treadwell and his girlfriend, Amy.

They were eaten by bears because they were dumb around bears. Over and over and over again. For 13 years, Treadwell went up to Alaska and was dumb around grizzlies. He became rather famous for this. He'd set up his video camera and get real close to grizzlies and then do his dumb little talks in front the camera as if he were some sort of God.

(What he really was is mentally ill. That becomes pretty evident as you watch the film. Probably manic depressive, bears or no bears.)

So finally, one October day, a grizzly ate him and ate his girlfriend. Park rangers shot the grizzly and recovered his body parts, and hers as well, from its stomach.

See, I had just finished watching Treadwell's tale as told by filmmaker Werner Herzog, and when the film was over, we all got up to leave and the wine cup was jarred off the balcony.

Treadwell's life was a falling cup.

You wish you could stop it. But you can't.