Eat, Pray, Love, Sell.

Here we go again with bandwagon marketing.

In honor of this month’s film-release version of Elizabeth Gilbert’s best-selling “Eat, Pray, Love” memoir, we have these lovely promotions to consider -- in the most spiritual way, of course:

1. From the Ritz-Carlton in Sarasota, an “Eat, Stay and Love with Dinner” special.

2. An “Eat. Pray. Fall in love with Micato Safaris” inspirational India tour starting at $19,795.

3. A “Where to Eat, Pray, Love in San Antonio” tourism promotion (wonder if this would have had any effect during the Battle of the Alamo).

4. “Eat, Pray, Love eaux de parfum – emotionally charged fragrances to be worn alone or layered together, that not only transport you to a specific destination, but also to a different state of mind" ($32 each).

5. An “Eat, Pray, Love. Read” promotion from Sony advertised on HSN: "Throughout your journey of self discovery, what better way to entertain yourself than with this revolutionary library-to-go” ($229.95).

Please be advised that Harlequin Cat is in no way responsible for the unintended marketing consequences of blogging about these "Eat, Pray, Love, Sell" promotions.

Confidentially, though, I just spotted two green anoles on the lanai and am off to eat, prey and love.

HQ

Life Before Laptops.

No vacation for Harlequin Cat this summer. But am sending you a peachy-beachy postcard anyway. Try telling these vacationers they need a mouse to surf.

The Dog Days Of Summer.

It’s August. Too hot to look up the origin of “dog days of summer,” but no matter. I do a quick Internet search anyway. The word “disambiguation” on Wikipedia drives me away. So on to writing.

I happen to know this lovely lady of a Yellow Lab. Just looking at her regal pose sans heavy panting and strings of drool – well, you’d think there was nothing better to do in life than to sniff Eau de Carolina Jessamine wafting from a dry mulberry stump.

But peek on the other side of the photographer's sun-dappled cloth and you can see the effects of the dog days. A brown crunchy yard. Two cat-embossed birdbaths bone-dry. And carcasses of shriveled hibiscus flowers strewn like pink-and-white cigars.

I can’t remember a dog who lamented the dog days of summer, though.