Post-VCon 33 observation: harrysaxon has a long-lost brother from Wisconsin

October 7, 2008

Going to a science fiction convention, you see a lot of different people. People dressed normally, people dressed in various costumes, and some people who just plain need to learn how to dress themselves (whether normally or in costume). You see the homely, the beautiful, and the vast majority who are somewhere in between. You take it all in stride. But there was one sight that was totally unexpected and threw me for a bit of a loop for a second: harrysaxon’s doppelganger.

That’s right, our very own harrysaxon seems to have a long-lost, near-look-alike brother from Wisconsin in the person of fantasy author Patrick Rothfuss. I first saw Rothfuss at VCon 33 on Friday as part of the panel in the “How Stories End” session and I had to do a double-take.

Rothfuss is a good deal hairier than harrysaxon, and if harrysaxon grows out his hair, it tends to be wavy rather than curly like Rothfuss’. Rothfuss’ hand gestures are also more expansive, where harrsaxon’s involve more pointing or cutting motions, usually brandishing a cigarette, rather like some kind of wizard in a duel wielding his carcinogenic wand.

But those are trivial differences. Their facial features and body shapes are pretty much identical. Even their voices are similar – although Rothfuss’ is just a touch lower and not flavoured with the slight huskiness harrysaxon’s has that comes from my friend sucking on about 900 Dunhills a day.

For a minute there I had to tell myself “Self,” (because, in the words of George Carlin, I do so enjoy good conversation) “that can’t be harrysaxon. There’s no way. He can’t be here because he’s closeted with RockBand at home perfecting a kazoo solo for an extra 5,000 points or something.” But still… I couldn’t shake a nagging doubt.

Next time I stop by harrysaxon’s parents’ place for a beer, I think it may be necessary to interrogate his father about whether he made any business trip stopovers in the mid-west a couple of decades ago.

Or maybe Ray Bradbury was right in his short story “Nothing Changes” and faces just have a habit of repeating themselves.


  1. That’s pretty hilarious, actually. I don’t see the resemblance as much as you, except I’d totally wear that T-shirt, but I do see it, and such things aren’t entirely communicated by still photography. I wouldn’t be caught dead with feminists and fencing, though.

    And, for the record, I’ve smoked Number 7’s for several years now – the Dunhill were killing my throat – and I actually spent the weekend… well, there was some Rock Band 2, I guess. But there’s no kazoo. Though I kind of wish there was, now.

  2. Correction: 900 Number 7’s a day.

  3. Give me some props! I think I’m around, maybe even under a pack a day now. Chewing a lot more gum to satiate the oral fixation.

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