Whether it's cereal, salad dressing or lightbulbs, we're overwhelmed by choice ∣ Ervolino

Last week, I felt like having a nice bowl of cereal for breakfast — something I don’t crave very often.

Sometimes you feel like a Grape-Nut. Sometimes you don’t.

I ate cereal much more often as a child. And there were at least 10 or 12 choices.

The crispy one? The crunchy one? The one that tasted like cardboard but insisted it was GOOD cardboard?

Or, how about the Kellogg’s Variety Pack, which held eight small boxes of different cereals?

Eight choices!

As soon as the Variety Pack entered our front door, I claimed the ones I wanted and talked my brother into claiming everything else.

I was 10. He was 7.

It was child’s play.

I eventually came to appreciate warmer breakfast options — farina and oatmeal — but preferred the cold stuff, especially during the summer months.

After all, who wants to wake up on a hot day and eat a hot omelet with hot toast and hot coffee?

Well, now that I mention it, I love hot omelets, toast and coffee, even on hot days. But it doesn’t hurt to have some cold cereal in the house, just in case.

So, last week, I went to Stop & Shop and looked for the cereal shelf, which, as I’m sure you know, has grown to an entire department. In fact, it takes up a whole aisle, both sides.

The selection is mind-boggling.

A few years ago, a friend went to Cuba and came home with photographs of the grocery stores there. Almost all the shelves were empty. And, when there were items on the shelves, they were usually all one brand.

No selection!

It’s positively un-American!

Something that is thoroughly American, though, is a condition called “supermarket syndrome,” also known as Visually Induced Dizziness, which can be triggered by the complex and overstimulating environment of supermarkets, which continue to become larger and present shoppers with more and more choices.

Another “limited” item when I was a kid was something new called “salad dressing.”

I grew up in an oil-and-vinegar household. The only thing we “dressed” was ourselves.

But restaurants had begun serving wedge lettuce salads with “choice of dressing,” and, the next thing you knew, everybody had bottles of the stuff in their fridges: French, Russian and bleu cheese.

And croutons! And bacon bits!

We were so fancy.

Today, the salad dressing aisle is another Disneyland, filled with dazzling colors and flavors. The No. 1 option is ranch, which went global in 1972 when the relatively small company that made it, Hidden Valley Ranch, was purchased for $8 million by Clorox and became an instant hit.

Ooh! A new salad dressing from Clorox?

Count me in!

I avoid dressings these days. But I did buy my cereal on Wednesday. (Corn Chex.)

I then went to Lowe’s on Thursday, because I needed a new drill. While I was there, I remembered that I also needed lightbulbs.

I had recently bought bulbs for the lamps in my living room, but they were too harsh, bright and white — like hospital lights.

I couldn’t wait to replace them.

So I went to Lowe's, and an employee pointed me to the Great Wall of Lightbulbs.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked him, in my Visually Induced Dizziness voice. “Where did all these bulbs come from?”

Once I recovered from the shock, I shared my dilemma: “The ones I have now in my living room are too … white. They’re harsh. And make me feel uncomfortable.”

In conclusion: “I just want some plain old lightbulbs.”

“Well, we have a few types,” he began, “starting with Pure Clean Light.”

That sounded a little too much like what I already had.

“What else have you got?”

“Well, we have Crystal Clear Light. Energetic Daylight. Bright White Regular. Bright White Decorative. Neutral Warm White. Arctic White. Candlelight. Cool Daylight…”

All of this reminded me of the last time I went to the Home Depot in search of white paint.

The clerk told me, “We have Old White, New White, Pure White, Off-White, Navajo White, Eggshell White, Porcelain White, Vanilla White, Snow White, Perry White, Betty White and Barry White.”

During my lightbulb hunt, I also had to decide between smart bulbs, dimmable bulbs, incandescents, LEDs and a half-dozen other possibilities.

After focusing all my thoughts and prayers on the matter, I finally decided on some 60-watt “vintage style” bulbs with amber glass that promised “warm light” and a limited five-year guarantee.

SOLD!

I bought six of these bulbs, took them home and quickly discovered that they did not fit into my lamps.

My friend Olga loved the bulbs so much, she suggested I buy new lamps for them. “There are so many nice ones to chose from now — goosenecks, torchieres, swing arms, tripods…”

We live in an era of infinite possibilities

And they’re exhausting.

This article originally appeared on NorthJersey.com: Too much choice is a sign of 'supermarket syndrome': Bill Ervolino