The crazy guy sat alone on the park bench, babbling to himself.

He didn't notice the woman behind him. She watched him deliver an impassioned monologue, comprised of seemingly extraterrestrial utterances, to the evening air.

The woman likely thought he was speaking in tongues, or Klingon. Perhaps she thought he was another severely mentally-ill citizen who had slipped through the holes in the United States' social safety net and landed in the park, where he likely also slept.

But none of these probable scenarios were true. That crazy man was me, practicing Chinese by speaking it to myself.

When I noticed the woman gaping at me, I wanted to explain what I was doing. But I realized that guys who sit in parks in small-town America speaking Mandarin to themselves aren't considered more normal than religious fanatics, sci-fi super geeks or the mentally ill.

Various versions of this scene have played out repeatedly over the following years, because I do find that chatting to myself in Mandarin really does sharpen my proficiency. And, lost in furious concentration, I often fail to notice when I'm suddenly not alone anymore.

In the US, strangers nary have a clue that I'm speaking Chinese, or a real language at all. But I'm not sure I appear much saner when Chinese people catch me giving speeches to the air, in bad Mandarin, when I think I'm alone.

I've never asked anyone who has snuck up on me practicing Chinese, what they think of a foreigner sitting on a curb in the middle of the night trying to discuss the impacts of upcoming political reforms with a lamppost.

And if I did ask, how could they even be sure I was talking to them?

But the method truly is effective. That's why it's the foundation of the English-instruction empire built by controversial entrepreneur Li Yang.

Li has largely based his lucrative language-instruction business on the unorthodox approach by which he taught himself English as a university student - that was, pacing in the courtyard of Lanzhou University, shouting English to the sky at the top of his lungs.

He had been worried about passing the College English Test, because he needed to qualify for Level 4 or higher to graduate, he told media. Reportedly, he earned the highest score on the exam in his department.

The brand name for his company: Crazy English. And many people believe Li is genuinely crazy. Some accuse him of running his business like a cult, doing things such as allegedly forcing young students to kowtow to him.

I'm not looking to be idolized by masses of bowing kids or making boatloads of cash. Really, I just want to improve my Mandarin.

And there are many perks to practicing Chinese by speaking it to myself. The greatest is that the degree of patience with which my audience tolerates my stumbling, mispronunciations and restarts is up to me, because, well, I am my audience.

So, if it truly helps me elevate my linguistic aptitude, do you really think it's crazy to talk to oneself?

Don't answer that. I wasn't even talking to you.