Back in the old days, the Chinese used to describe busy traffic as "cheshui malong" - chariots like flowing water and horses like dragons.
The Olympic torch relay dramas mean nothing to my American buddy Barry. His biggest drama involves those annoying little facial expressions adored by millions of teenage MSN message users all over the world.
"The sky is falling," cried Chicken Little. Flustered critics of Beijing's Olympic preparations are echoing the same nonsensical alarm.
Often, I feel helpless at night - the number of sheep I have counted could fill a dozen pens, but I am still alert and perky as if I am about to watch a horse race.
According to a recent poll, two out of three people believe there are too many surveys published in the media.
In her childhood, a dentist once pulled a dangling tooth out of her mouth without anesthesia. When Huan Zi recounts this incident vividly to the handsome dentist in front of her, he looks astonished.
China's four classic novels - A Dream of Red Mansions, Journey to the West, Romance of the Three Kingdoms and Outlaws of the Marsh - are mandatory reading for any expat who wants to get a better handle on the mysteries to the Middle Kingdom.
People joke that the number of pet dogs in Beijing is more than the urban population.
I came across this on the news recently: A Canadian girl found her love by kissing the first guy who got on board the bus after she accepted the bet of her friends.
The rat stared at me, I stared back, and then we both screeched: "Aiya!"
I never thought of myself as an old man until a few years ago, when a couple who rented our apartment kept on addressing me as daye (grandpa) and my wife as yi (aunt).
My friendship with Fei goes back to middle school, when I first noticed the sourness in her life.