My life, turned upside down by the slings and arrows of outrageous allusion, always seems so right in the comforting metal of my cereal spoon. The thought of a new day spells disaster for my pitiful existence, but the alphabet shaped bits of...whatever cereal is made of, they give words of joy, unintelligible as they may be. Unlucky fortunes are washed away with Lucky Charms. Frosted Mini-Wheats, not frozen emotions. Cheerios live up to their name. The daily routine may be as bland as a box of Oat Bran, but there’s no question as to which I’ll choose this morning.