JUST IN TIME for your holiday shopping: the Susan Reimer Tearaway Calendar. Three hundred sixty-five days of Susan Reimer. A lively quote, a muttered curse, a sardonic comment or biting sarcasm for each day of the year. The perfect gift for the newspaper reader who really enjoyed Susan Reimer's last column, but can't remember what it was about.
Purchase a shopping bag full of these desktop calendar cubes for Christmas. They make ideal gifts for women friends, thoughtful neighbors and your children's teachers.
Each calendar comes in its own brightly colored box, so you won't need to sit cross-legged on the floor at 2 a.m. wrapping them in time for the children to forget to take them to the school party the next day.
I came up with this absolutely un-original money-making scheme after seeing calendar cubes displayed at all those kiosks that suddenly crowd the malls at holiday time and make shopping that much more difficult to navigate.
Everybody who is anybody -- and some people who aren't anybody -- markets his own tearaway calendar, and I want one, too.
Sports teams, beer, bad jokes, cartoon characters, television shows.
Even collective nouns, inanimate objects and offensive remarks have their own tearaway calendars.
I am a real person, even if no one I live with thinks of me that way, and I should be able to get someone to make me into a calendar.
Joshua doesn't even exist, and he has his own calendar -- 365 days of the fictional Jesus figure from the novels by Joseph F. Girzone.
There is a duct tape calendar -- 365 things you can do with it. There is a Beatles calendar -- 365 days of a group that hasn't recorded together in 26 years.
The pope has a calendar. So does radio adviser Dr. Laura. The title of her calendar is "Now Go and Take the Day," but I think she stole it from the pope.
Dilbert, Ziggy, Mickey, Cathy, Pooh and Garfield have tearaway calendars that recycle single panels from the funny papers. I can do that: 365 of the best paragraphs I have written. That's perfect for me because I have kids, and I haven't been able to write more than one sensible paragraph at a time in years.
I don't have to worry about who I am offending now that Jeff Foxworthy has crossed the threshold of taste with his "You Might Be a Redneck If ..." tearaway calendar. An example: "You might be a redneck if there is more carpet on your toilet than on your floors."
And I don't have to worry about the quality of my work because the "Random Acts of Kindness" calendar has collected a year's worth of thoughts not worth thinking, let alone remembering: "Greatness comes in all shapes and sizes and most true heroes are unsung."
Hey, I can write stuff like that. Easy.
There are calendars for cars, for gardeners, for cats, dogs and TV shows: "Friends," "Jeopardy!," "Star Trek." "Wheel of Fortune." The Nick at Nite calendar has this entry for Dec. 13: "Dick Van Dyke's birthday. A great day to trip over furniture."
Do people get paid a lot of money to do this? I need to know.
You can change your life with one of these calendars, and I want to change mine. "Simplify Your Life." "I Can Do It." "Stop the Insanity." "The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People," which covers only the first week in January. "The Road Less Traveled." "Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus." "Meditations for Women Who Do Too Much."
How about one titled: "The Pay Off Susan Reimer's Home Equity Loan" calendar?
Beavis and Butthead have a calendar. So does John Bradshaw. The "Healing the Shame that Binds You" calendar. What were they thinking when they titled that bad boy?
I was going to buy the Cosmopolitan "Nice Girl's Guide to Sensational Sex" calendar for each of my women friends. "Daily tips for red-hot lovemaking," read the label. But it occurred to me none of us would live long enough to use 365 sex tips.
There is a calendar for everyone on your shopping list -- even middle-school boys who go through life not remembering what day it is: "Snaps. The funniest, rudest and most creative snaps, caps and insults." Example: "If ugliness were bricks, your mother would be a housing project."
I am working hard to make sure my tearaway desk-top calendar is at your mall kiosk in time for the holidays.
Next year, I am hoping to mass-market the "Susan Reimer Exercise Video," featuring me carrying 12 bags of groceries from the car while my lazy children pretend not to hear me calling them.
I have plans, too, for "The Susan Reimer Beauty Book," with helpful advice such as "Don't apply mascara when the car is accelerating," and "Don't let your husband see you putting on pantyhose."
And this is just the beginning.
Ideas? You bet. I have 365 of them.
Pub Date: 12/01/96