Top Ten Reasons I'm Psyched that Chuck Returns to NBC tonight, January 10!

10. Chuck finally gets a decent haircut. Zachary Levi is a handsome man. They gave him that awful haircut (see photo at left) to make him look dorky. Well, hot geeks exist, and they’re the best, so bring on the haircut and the hotness!

9. Jeffster, a.k.a “Sam Kinison and an Indian Lesbian.” The band rocks every venue they play, from the Buy More to a church on a wedding day.

8. Chuck gets spy skills! It’s bugged me for a while that the government didn’t just put Chuck through spy training. Then he’d be better at defending himself. Heck, Casey and Sarah could have at least taught him basic self-defense. But did they? No. Thanks for remedying the situation, Intersect!

7. Maybe this year, they’ll have Chuck sing. Zachary Levi used to be a musical theater actor, and his voice is beautiful. I’ve seen an ad for the new season in which the Intersect allows Chuck to play guitar. Maybe it will allow him to sing, too. Shows with singing are in this year! Pretty please?

6. John Casey. Oh, how I’ve missed that cranky man, with his love of Reagan, bonsai trees and his Crown Vic. How will Casey react to Chuck’s dominating new skills? I can’t wait to find out.

5. Wait, Chuck’s magical spy skills will sometimes malfunction? Hee! Let the hilarity ensue.

4. Spies + Romance + Humor = Awesome!

3. Speaking of which: the return of Captain Awesome. Captain Awesome (a.k.a. Devon) can do sit-ups hanging upside-down from a doorframe. He’ll teach you how to tuck in your shirt, use hair product or dance the tango. Devon will come to your party wearing nothing but a fig leaf, and on top of all that, he’s a doctor! Oh, and his fumbling at keeping Chuck’s secret (something he’s not awesome at?) makes Captain Awesome all the more lovable.

2. Chuck and Sarah’s chemistry. It makes my heart flutter!

1. It’s a miracle we got Chuck back at all! (Thanks, Subway!) And even after NBC renewed it, Chuck wasn’t supposed to air until spring. They moved it up! How? Why? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’ll just thank my lucky stars and soak up the sexy, goofy spyfun.

On shooting oneself in the foot: (a.k.a. "I Call My Writer's Block Jordan Catalano.")

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

Seriously, I wish I could scream my fool head off, but I have roomies and neighbors. I have a good scream, too. I’ve been told it's blood-curdling.* In fact, I've been a stunt screamer in a play. The girl whose character was supposed to scream didn't have my mad shrieking skills.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

I’m tired of fucking up, of standing in my own way. Once upon a time, I didn’t know failure was an option, but now it is, and I flirt with it—the boy who smokes under the bleachers: dangerous, unsuitable, easy. And the more I’m warned that he’s all wrong for me, that he's my doom, and that I’m throwing my life away, the more irresistibly I’m pulled away from the limelight of the cheerleading squad to linger with him in the dark, the gravel and smoke—to let him touch my clean, chaste skin even though God and my grandmother wouldn’t approve. Even though it makes me feel dirty.

“You’re not a fuck-up,” Val assures me. “The world is fucked up. They try to use fear and negative reinforcement as a motivator, and it doesn’t work! That’s what the prison system is based on, and it does it work? No, but it’s not going away anytime soon. You and I, we’re sensitive to negative reinforcement, so when we face it, we shut down. You’re not a fuck-up. You’re a talented, accomplished, dedicated woman."

As long as she was talking—as long as I could hear her soothing voice—I could believe it, but as soon as we hung up, the shame would rise again. Well, fuck that noise! I wish I were the kind of girl to shout, “FUCK THIS!” and go out drinking. Hell, maybe later tonight I will.

I am human. I can only do what I can do. I need to stop worrying about others and just worry about myself. Maybe I’ll reread the Tao of Pooh. There’s a part in it about how Pooh never works, but somehow always finds what he needs. I’m going to try to do that: joy my way through life. Follow my bliss. All that hippy bullshit.

*I seriously doubt anyone screams like that in real life. It's certainly not how I scream. When startled, I have let out a quick shriek (like the blood-curdler, but only a millisecond long) or--more often-- a low, hoarse "AAH!" (Perhaps I subconsciously want to seem tougher and think a low shout is more effective than a high scream?) My weird rant on screaming technique is now complete. As you were!

P.S. I can't believe how many times I just wrote the word "fuck." I can hear my mother scold: "Inappropriate!"