It was pitch black, and my girlfriend Carol and I were stumbling down an uneven stone stairway in the Mount Qixianling National Forest Reserve, in South China's Hainan Province.
Today, China is enjoying a similar prosperous time, so I thought I would spend the recent holidays thinking up a school of thought I could embrace.
About 10 million American TV-viewers tuned in as more than 70,000 crazy fans packed Bill Walsh Field in San Francisco. And then there was me, an audience of one in an empty bar in Beijing.
Learning Chinese is like exploring a Raiders of the Lost Ark-type underground tomb. Fire lanterns hang on tunnel walls, and between each lighted area is frustrating darkness.
The discovery of coffee's ants-in-the-pants goodness was made by an Ethiopian pastoralist who noticed that his sheep became unusually perky after they munched on a reddish berry-looking bean.
My friend Wang Hui recently spent her monthly salary on a mobile phone.
"This next song is about bullies," I told the crowd who stared back at me like I was talking in some kind of coded language used only by German U-Boat commanders.
When my wife and I passed by the pumpkins, we experienced a spiritual struggle: To pick or not to pick? This is a question.
After five years of cordial nodding and smiling, the downstairs couple in our apartment block invited us to their brightly lit sitting room one recent evening.
Most of my married Chinese friends admit that the happiest moment on their wedding days is counting cash gifts on their wedding bed!
Apparently, some people in Beijing have yet to get the memo about queuing.
Can you imagine lying down at a concert, enjoying your food and soft drink? And you don't need to dress formally - short pants, T-shirts and sandals will do.