Besides being the fastest mothufucka in the world, he is also one of the funniest mothafuckas in the world.

The dude embodies a rare balance of knowing he's the shit and yet being totally nice, approachable, gracious, and accomodating to reporters. He always stops to talk to everyone (whether they're from a major broadcast network or a smallish newspaper), always gives great quotes, and always has a great attitude, regardless of whether you've grabbed him after a practice session or, you know, breaking a world record.

When you're hanging out at a bar with Michael Phelps, Michael Phelps looks like a dude at a bar. A dude at a bar who's wearing a terrible pink shirt.

He's kind of a gentle ya-dude. Of course, with eight gold medals, he can be any kind of dude that he wants. But still...less than exciting. I don't know what I was expecting. A toga, maybe.

...this is just a tribute.

I, friends, am not a sports writer. That's not my life's ambition, that's not why I'm here in Beijing. (Well, not really. When I'm home and not bound by a stupid confidentiality agreement, I'll tell you all about it. Doesn't that sound magical?)

I am ashamed to say that I perpetuate every stereotype about women and sports.

Some of my Chinese colleagues are inconsolable; hurdler and national hero Liu Xiang has pulled out of the Games.

The man is more than just a star athlete. To the Chinese youth who I spend my days working with, he's an idol, a symbol of hope, pride, and ambition who has come to epitomize China's desired global image; fast, strong, able to stay on par with international competitors.

The open kitchen at Din Tai Fung is packed floor-to-ceiling with bamboo baskets, steam wafting frantically through the air as a dozen chefs, equally frantic, scoop filling and pinch dough into bulbous half-moons. The world-famous dumpling restaurant has two locations, and I am sitting on a vinyl bench outside of the take-out area at the branch at Shin Kong Place, a six-floor shopping mall that flaunts designer brand names at stratospheric prices.

Oh, adventure.

China certainly keeps me on my tiptoes. If I were an asshole, I might write something like "Good thing I packed a sense of humor!" but since I'm not a fan of getting punched in the babymaker, I'll keep that linguistic gem to myself.

Yesterday, I decided to use the Olympics to my advantage and do the exact opposite of what everyone in China is trying to do; get OUT of Beijing.

The cynical part of my brain scoffed at the news. Big fucking surprise. Who didn't see this coming?

The naive, doe-eyed, shy little girl part of my brain (it's small, but it exists) was incredulous. But...but...how could anyone have seen this coming?

There was a stabbing today in Beijing.

The first day of the Olympic Games should have been a joyous one, an all-day celebration of athletics and intercontinental patriotism.