Sometimes, when I’m feeling really rebellious, I may actually go to one of those soup and salad bar places.
You know the kind. The kind where for the low low price of $7.95 you can load up a plate with salad and cover it up with so much stuff that it no longer resembles a salad when you’re done. The kind where you can pile on some muffins and pizza and clam chowder too. The kind where you can spot 80’s teen acting powerhouse Corey Haim.
Star of such heart-warming films as Lucas, License to Drive, and The Lost Boys, the most stunning thing I realized yesterday about Mr. Haim is that in addition to not being in movies much anymore and not really being friends with Corey Feldman anymore, he’s also…not really on Atkins anymore either.
It was at the Soup Plantation here in Brentwood yesterday where I saw him — he paid his $7.95 right before me and started his quest down one of two pathways of the soup and salad experience… He grabbed his tray, placed it on the metallic ledge, and pushed it past a variety of healthy items that were (surprisingly) not to his liking.
He passed the salad. No go. Passed the vegetables. No go. Piled some raisins, pasta salad, and croutons on his plate. I watched him as he ate off his plate while he slid his tray closer and closer to the end of the ride. I tried to keep up. I had to. This was Corey Haim.
About a minute later, I stood next to Corey at the “good part” of the Soup Plantation experience. The area with the warm pizza slices and the soup and the chocolate chip muffins and the corn bread. It was there that the guy started loading up on all the carbs you could ever imagine, and I kept thinking about Corey’s role in the movie Lucas where he played a very skinny, very self-conscious wannabe who was constantly beat up by the school bullies.
Me: “Lucas would have never eaten that many carbs.”
I thought I was being funny. Corey, apparently didn’t.
Me: “Heh, yeah.”
Corey Haim motioned to the pizza guy behind the counter that he wanted two pieces coming out nice and hot from the oven. He waited, tapping his fork, not looking back at me. Thing is, you don’t get a moment like this too often. I wasn’t gonna let it go. (And I’m strange like that.)
Me: “Lucas was probably on Atkins. I mean that kid was skinny! Real cut. You know?”
Corey: “Lucas was poor. He wasn’t on Atkins. They didn’t even have Atkins back then.”
Me: “Yeah, well they do now.”
Corey looked at me. Didn’t say anything.
Me: “It’s supposed to be a real healthy way of eating.”
Corey: “Gee… Thanks for the tip.”
Corey’s pizza slices arrived just about then, and he dragged them onto his plate — moving across the way to the frozen yogurt machine where he started to make a vanilla sundae. Piling on the calories.
He turned back to me as he finished, motioning to the sundae he had just created like he was challenging me to some kind of duel. But, then he just walked off and joined his two friends in a booth without giving me the time of day ever again.
It was obvious to me. Corey Haim was so not on Atkins.
And he really couldn’t care less.