There’s other, more topical buskers, like the guys in the photo below – though I don’t know if they qualify as buskers because they don’t have any talent save for the ability to wear spandex so tight you can tell their religion.  The little boy in the picture doesn’t seem too keen on the idea, either.  “Guys, you couldn’t have worn underwear?  Really?”

I can’t say how much it suits a Vancouver-based Olympics that a) the torch looks like a giant joint, and b) they’re posing in front of a head-shop.

I loves me some irony.

Wayne Gretzsky's dad is somewhere in this picture. Dressed in white and holding a giant flaming torch, he might be easy to miss.

Wayne Gretzsky’s dad, whose first name continually escapes me no matter how many times you might remind me, ran the torch for the leg down Granville.  Well, he didn’t run, so much as stroll.  He didn’t even try to jog, trot or stride.  I was kind of let down – where’s the drama, the sense of urgency that’s supposed to be there?  What if the torch is late because Gretzsky senior can’t manage a fast-paced strut for six blocks?  I know the guy’s in his sixties, but if you’re gonna get the opportunity to carry the Olympic torch because your claim to fame is that your kid is good at hockey, at least hop on the treadmill and work on your cardio a little bit.