Gary Dickson 🇺🇸

@garydicksonNY

Joined February 2016

446 Following

294 Followers

1.2K Posts

garydicksonNY retweeted

NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依

@japan_nobunaga

3 days ago

For the fourth time since my arrival, I entered the small eatery. Before I could utter a sound, the woman behind the counter spoke. “The usual?” "The usual," Doris said, setting down sunny side up, wheat toast, hot tea. Exactly as I have ordered it every Thursday for two months. THE USUAL. I had heard this phrase in your films and assumed it was reserved for detectives and cowboys. No one told me it could be conferred upon ME. No one tells you it arrives without ceremony, one Thursday you are a customer, the next you are KNOWN, and the eggs are moving before the door finishes its bell. I want to be precise about the scale of what Doris does, because I have studied her like a strategist. She tracks the orders of perhaps two hundred regulars IN HER HEAD. No ledger. Carl: black coffee, short stack. The deputy: scrambled, bacon "almost burnt, not burnt, ALMOST." Me: the eggs of the rising sun, wheat, tea. When Carl's doctor changed his orders, the short stack became oatmeal WITHOUT CARL ASKING, and Carl, a large man, went quiet in a way the whole counter pretended not to see. That is not food service, America. That is GUARDIANSHIP, conducted at six a.m., while calling everyone "hon." In Japan, a tea master might study a single guest for years to anticipate one preference. It is high art. Doris does it at scale, before sunrise, in orthopedic shoes. "The usual" is not an order. It is a TITLE. It means a place has watched you arrive enough mornings to bet eggs on your return. Citizenship, issued one plate at a time. A man does not ask to be known. He arrives every Thursday until he is. This morning, drunk on my new rank, I tested its borders. "Doris," I said. "Surprise me." The counter went still. Carl turned fully around. Doris narrowed her eyes. Studied me like a hand of cards. And ruled: "...You'll have the usual. But I'm putting the jam on the side. You're not a surprise guy, hon." JAM ON THE SIDE. She was completely right, America. The jam was excellent. Carl nodded once, like a judge. I am not a surprise guy. I am a usual guy. Fifty-four years and one waitress to learn it, and I have never been more at peace. The jam is part of the usual now. She never asked. She knew. Of course she knew. She's Doris.

japan_nobunaga's tweet photo. For the fourth time since my arrival, I entered the small eatery. Before I could utter a sound, the woman behind the counter spoke. “The usual?”

"The usual," Doris said, setting down sunny side up, wheat toast, hot tea. Exactly as I have ordered it every Thursday for two months.

THE USUAL. I had heard this phrase in your films and assumed it was reserved for detectives and cowboys. No one told me it could be conferred upon ME. No one tells you it arrives without ceremony, one Thursday you are a customer, the next you are KNOWN, and the eggs are moving before the door finishes its bell.

I want to be precise about the scale of what Doris does, because I have studied her like a strategist. She tracks the orders of perhaps two hundred regulars IN HER HEAD. No ledger. Carl: black coffee, short stack. The deputy: scrambled, bacon "almost burnt, not burnt, ALMOST." Me: the eggs of the rising sun, wheat, tea.

When Carl's doctor changed his orders, the short stack became oatmeal WITHOUT CARL ASKING, and Carl, a large man, went quiet in a way the whole counter pretended not to see. That is not food service, America. That is GUARDIANSHIP, conducted at six a.m., while calling everyone "hon."

In Japan, a tea master might study a single guest for years to anticipate one preference. It is high art. Doris does it at scale, before sunrise, in orthopedic shoes.

"The usual" is not an order. It is a TITLE. It means a place has watched you arrive enough mornings to bet eggs on your return. Citizenship, issued one plate at a time.

A man does not ask to be known. He arrives every Thursday until he is.

This morning, drunk on my new rank, I tested its borders. "Doris," I said. "Surprise me."

The counter went still. Carl turned fully around.

Doris narrowed her eyes. Studied me like a hand of cards. And ruled:

"...You'll have the usual. But I'm putting the jam on the side. You're not a surprise guy, hon."

JAM ON THE SIDE.

She was completely right, America. The jam was excellent. Carl nodded once, like a judge. I am not a surprise guy. I am a usual guy.

Fifty-four years and one waitress to learn it, and I have never been more at peace.

The jam is part of the usual now. She never asked. She knew. Of course she knew. She's Doris.

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garydicksonNY retweeted

Echoes of War

@EchoesofWarYT

5 days ago

On June 13, 1777, a 19-year-old French teenager landed on a beach in South Carolina, uninvited, to fight in someone else's war. He would become one of the most important men in American history. The Marquis de Lafayette was one of the richest young aristocrats in France. He had a beautiful wife, a fortune, and zero reason to risk any of it. But he believed in the American cause so fiercely that when the French king forbade him from going, Lafayette bought his own ship and sailed anyway. He literally went AWOL from a life of luxury to bleed for a country that didn't exist yet. Congress was annoyed at first. Another foreign officer looking for a paycheck? Then Lafayette offered to serve for free and pay his own way. That got their attention. He met Washington and the two formed one of the great father-son bonds in American history. Washington had no biological children. Lafayette named his only son George Washington Lafayette. He took a bullet in the leg at Brandywine and kept rallying the retreat. He was instrumental at Yorktown, the battle that won the war. He went home a hero on two continents. A foreign teenager believed in America before America did. 249 years ago today.

EchoesofWarYT's tweet photo. On June 13, 1777, a 19-year-old French teenager landed on a beach in South Carolina, uninvited, to fight in someone else's war. He would become one of the most important men in American history.

The Marquis de Lafayette was one of the richest young aristocrats in France. He had a beautiful wife, a fortune, and zero reason to risk any of it. But he believed in the American cause so fiercely that when the French king forbade him from going, Lafayette bought his own ship and sailed anyway. He literally went AWOL from a life of luxury to bleed for a country that didn't exist yet.

Congress was annoyed at first. Another foreign officer looking for a paycheck? Then Lafayette offered to serve for free and pay his own way. That got their attention.

He met Washington and the two formed one of the great father-son bonds in American history. Washington had no biological children. Lafayette named his only son George Washington Lafayette.

He took a bullet in the leg at Brandywine and kept rallying the retreat. He was instrumental at Yorktown, the battle that won the war. He went home a hero on two continents.

A foreign teenager believed in America before America did. 249 years ago today.

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garydicksonNY retweeted

NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依

@japan_nobunaga

4 days ago

I requested a simple band of rubber from my host. She gestured to a drawer, and the very gesture told me everything I needed to know about American chaos. One drawer. Every household. Always in the kitchen, and it holds the same things in every home in the nation: batteries of unknown charge. Rubber bands. A screwdriver too short for any screw. Birthday candles. Soy sauce packets. Three pens, one of which works. And a key. The key is the part I cannot release. I have now surveyed eleven households. ALL have the key. NONE know what it opens. "What does this open?" I asked Sue, holding it up. "No idea. Been there since we moved in." "Then why keep it?" She looked at me as if I had proposed burning a shrine. "You can't throw away a KEY." She is right. I felt it the moment she said it. A key answers to a lock somewhere. To discard it is to abandon a door you may never find. Eleven households, each guarding one orphaned promise, between the candles and the takeout menus. In Japan, we made a national art of putting things in their proper place. I assumed the junk drawer was that art's absence. Wrong. The junk drawer IS the proper place — for things whose place has not yet been revealed. Not disorder. Faith, with a handle. I confess my crime. I once organized Dale's junk drawer while waiting for him. Small bins. Categories. He opened it, stood silent, and said, "Where's the thing?" He could not name the thing. He knew only that it could no longer be found. I had alphabetized a treasure map. We do not speak of it. The drawer does not need order. It needs to be opened with hope, and closed with acceptance. I keep a junk drawer of my own now. This week it accepted a battery, a twist tie, and a key I found in the yard. I do not know what the key opens. Into the drawer it goes. Someday, the door will announce itself.

japan_nobunaga's tweet photo. I requested a simple band of rubber from my host. She gestured to a drawer, and the very gesture told me everything I needed to know about American chaos.

One drawer. Every household. Always in the kitchen, and it holds the same things in every home in the nation: batteries of unknown charge. Rubber bands. A screwdriver too short for any screw. Birthday candles. Soy sauce packets. Three pens, one of which works. And a key.

The key is the part I cannot release. I have now surveyed eleven households. ALL have the key. NONE know what it opens.

"What does this open?" I asked Sue, holding it up.

"No idea. Been there since we moved in."

"Then why keep it?"

She looked at me as if I had proposed burning a shrine. "You can't throw away a KEY."

She is right. I felt it the moment she said it. A key answers to a lock somewhere. To discard it is to abandon a door you may never find. Eleven households, each guarding one orphaned promise, between the candles and the takeout menus.

In Japan, we made a national art of putting things in their proper place. I assumed the junk drawer was that art's absence. Wrong. The junk drawer IS the proper place — for things whose place has not yet been revealed. Not disorder. Faith, with a handle.

I confess my crime. I once organized Dale's junk drawer while waiting for him. Small bins. Categories. He opened it, stood silent, and said, "Where's the thing?" He could not name the thing. He knew only that it could no longer be found. I had alphabetized a treasure map. We do not speak of it.

The drawer does not need order. It needs to be opened with hope, and closed with acceptance.

I keep a junk drawer of my own now. This week it accepted a battery, a twist tie, and a key I found in the yard. I do not know what the key opens.

Into the drawer it goes. Someday, the door will announce itself.

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Gary Dickson 🇺🇸

@garydicksonNY

4 days ago

This guy is a gem.

NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依

@japan_nobunaga

5 days ago

In America, a warehouse store. A fully roasted chicken costs five dollars, the raw chicken beside it costs seven, and I stood between them like a man between two truths. Golden. Hot. Seasoned. Spinning in glory under the lights, in a line of its brothers. Four dollars and ninety-nine cents. I checked the raw birds. Seven dollars. Pale. Cold. You must do everything yourself. This is not commerce. Commerce does not move backward. Somewhere in this building, mathematics lies defeated. I asked the man at the counter. "How is the cooked bird cheaper than the raw bird?" "Been five bucks forever. They keep it that way." "But the store loses." "Yep. On purpose." On purpose. I held my receipt with both hands. In my land, a lord who lowered the price of rice in a hard winter was remembered for generations. They built him a small shrine. This store does it every day, with chicken, and tells no one. A woman behind me grew tired of my reverence. "It's just a chicken, sir." It is not just a chicken. It is a wound the merchant takes on purpose, so that anyone, on any day, with five dollars, eats like a lord. The bird is the message. The price is the vow. I will confess: I bought two. I did not need two. The second was not hunger. It was gratitude, and it was delicious. Some prices are not prices. They are promises. I return every week now. I take one bird. I bow toward the deli, briefly, so as not to alarm the staff. They have begun nodding back. The vow holds. The bird turns. Five dollars. Long may it spin.

japan_nobunaga's tweet photo. In America, a warehouse store. A fully roasted chicken costs five dollars, the raw chicken beside it costs seven, and I stood between them like a man between two truths.

Golden. Hot. Seasoned. Spinning in glory under the lights, in a line of its brothers. Four dollars and ninety-nine cents.

I checked the raw birds. Seven dollars. Pale. Cold. You must do everything yourself.

This is not commerce. Commerce does not move backward. Somewhere in this building, mathematics lies defeated.

I asked the man at the counter. "How is the cooked bird cheaper than the raw bird?"

"Been five bucks forever. They keep it that way."

"But the store loses."

"Yep. On purpose."

On purpose. I held my receipt with both hands.

In my land, a lord who lowered the price of rice in a hard winter was remembered for generations. They built him a small shrine. This store does it every day, with chicken, and tells no one.

A woman behind me grew tired of my reverence. "It's just a chicken, sir."

It is not just a chicken. It is a wound the merchant takes on purpose, so that anyone, on any day, with five dollars, eats like a lord. The bird is the message. The price is the vow.

I will confess: I bought two. I did not need two. The second was not hunger. It was gratitude, and it was delicious.

Some prices are not prices. They are promises.

I return every week now. I take one bird. I bow toward the deli, briefly, so as not to alarm the staff. They have begun nodding back.

The vow holds. The bird turns. Five dollars.

Long may it spin.

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Who to follow

Tim Wenger

@TimWBEN

Senior VP/Market Manager Audacy Buffalo/Rochester. [email protected]

Joe Beamer

@TheJoeBeamer

WBEN Weekday Afternoons 1-3 Sunday Mornings 10-Noon

The Suns

@thesuns_wny

Providing comprehensive coverage for the communities of Hamburg, Orchard Park, West Seneca & Eden/Evans.

garydicksonNY retweeted

NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依

@japan_nobunaga

5 days ago

Stateside, a gas station. I drank a frozen blue beverage too quickly, and was struck down by a punishment this entire nation knows, and accepts, and has named. The drink is called a slush. Ice, sweetness, and a blue that does not occur in nature. The day was hot. I was thirsty. I drank like a soldier at a river. The pain arrived in my skull like a war horn. Behind the eyes. Above everything. Total. I gripped the roof of my car. I may have made a sound. "Brain freeze," said the cashier through the door, with no urgency whatsoever. It has a NAME. The affliction is so common it has a household name, like a cousin. "Tongue on the roof of your mouth," called a man at the pumps. He did not look over. He prescribed the remedy mid-pump, casually, the way one mentions weather. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. The war horn faded. The healer nodded at his pump, finished, and was gone in a Chevrolet. In my land, punishment follows crime by way of courts and seasons. Here, the sentence is instant. Drink with greed, and the ice strikes the mind directly. No trial. No appeal. Perfectly fair. And here is what moves me. EVERYONE has felt it. The cashier. The healer. Children. Elders. An entire nation united by the same small lightning, all taught the same cure, all passing it on to strangers at gas stations, free of charge. You cannot fully distrust a country once you know it shares one pain. The freeze does not punish thirst. It punishes haste. I finished the slush slowly, like a scholar. Blue tongue. Clear mind. Then at the door I forgot everything, drank deeply, and was struck down again. "Tongue, hon," said the cashier, without looking up. Discipline is a journey.

japan_nobunaga's tweet photo. Stateside, a gas station. I drank a frozen blue beverage too quickly, and was struck down by a punishment this entire nation knows, and accepts, and has named.

The drink is called a slush. Ice, sweetness, and a blue that does not occur in nature. The day was hot. I was thirsty. I drank like a soldier at a river.

The pain arrived in my skull like a war horn.

Behind the eyes. Above everything. Total. I gripped the roof of my car. I may have made a sound.

"Brain freeze," said the cashier through the door, with no urgency whatsoever.

It has a NAME. The affliction is so common it has a household name, like a cousin.

"Tongue on the roof of your mouth," called a man at the pumps. He did not look over. He prescribed the remedy mid-pump, casually, the way one mentions weather.

I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. The war horn faded. The healer nodded at his pump, finished, and was gone in a Chevrolet.

In my land, punishment follows crime by way of courts and seasons. Here, the sentence is instant. Drink with greed, and the ice strikes the mind directly. No trial. No appeal. Perfectly fair.

And here is what moves me. EVERYONE has felt it. The cashier. The healer. Children. Elders. An entire nation united by the same small lightning, all taught the same cure, all passing it on to strangers at gas stations, free of charge.

You cannot fully distrust a country once you know it shares one pain.

The freeze does not punish thirst. It punishes haste.

I finished the slush slowly, like a scholar. Blue tongue. Clear mind.

Then at the door I forgot everything, drank deeply, and was struck down again.

"Tongue, hon," said the cashier, without looking up.

Discipline is a journey.

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garydicksonNY retweeted

Troll Football

@TrollFootball

5 days ago

Fan sneaked tequila into the stadium in a flask disguised as a mobile. Mexicans are light years ahead of us.

134K

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garydicksonNY retweeted

Carleigh Minor🧚🏻 @CarleighMinor1

7 days ago

What we’ve been waiting for… Big boy No. 4014 has arrived at Letchworth. @13WHAM

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Gary Dickson 🇺🇸

@garydicksonNY

8 days ago

New Yorkers deserve better!

Reinvent Albany

@ReinventAlbany

10 days ago

Dismal NY Legislative Session Caps Season of Stagnation for Democracy, Transparency, Accountability, Subsidy Reform. Read our end-of-session statement on the 2026 NYS legislative session: https://t.co/cmCB3BMiuB

ReinventAlbany's tweet photo. Dismal NY Legislative Session Caps Season of Stagnation for Democracy, Transparency, Accountability, Subsidy Reform. Read our end-of-session statement on the 2026 NYS legislative session: https://t.co/cmCB3BMiuB https://t.co/5mLgLnTqh9

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garydicksonNY retweeted

Reinvent Albany

@ReinventAlbany

16 days ago

NY Exploits National Partisanship to Restore State Legislative Gerrymandering. We opposed the proposed amendment last year to allow mid-cycle redistricting. We are now confronted with something far worse than expected. See our full statement: https://t.co/eJ2FKbJ0l2

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garydicksonNY retweeted

Citizens Union @CitizensUnionNY

16 days ago

New York's last-minute redistricting proposal guts all existing safeguards in the Constitution and returns the state to an era where lawmakers picked their voters and party bosses drew districts to eliminate challengers, incl in state seats. Our statement: https://t.co/aV4U3BNuRI

CitizensUnionNY's tweet photo. New York's last-minute redistricting proposal guts all existing safeguards in the Constitution and returns the state to an era where lawmakers picked their voters and party bosses drew districts to eliminate challengers, incl in state seats. Our statement: https://t.co/aV4U3BNuRI https://t.co/IG6FTWkARp

garydicksonNY retweeted

LindsayLorigo @LindsayLorigo

21 days ago

It’s finally passed. The Erie County Legislature voted to override the County Executive’s veto and approve youth hunting in Erie County. Proud to have cosponsored this legislation and stand with the families, sportsmen, and advocates who fought to make it happen.

garydicksonNY retweeted

S.W.B. Folsom @SWBFolsom

26 days ago

Memorial Day weekend is my time to remember publicly the Marines who were killed in Iraq and Afghanistan while under my command. Please read their stories and think about them and their families this weekend. A 🧵…

garydicksonNY retweeted

Kaizen D. Asiedu

@thatsKAIZEN

about 1 month ago

Marco Rubio is looking more presidential every day.

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Gary Dickson 🇺🇸

@garydicksonNY

about 1 month ago

The gang that can’t shoot straight.

Dan Clark

@DanClarkReports

about 1 month ago

"There is no deal," Assembly Speaker Carl Heastie says after Hochul announced one this morning.

garydicksonNY retweeted

Reinvent Albany

@ReinventAlbany

about 2 months ago

Support for Three Bills Strengthening NYS Government https://t.co/leSPkX7LyQ

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garydicksonNY retweeted

LindsayLorigo @LindsayLorigo

about 2 months ago

If @markpoloncarz really cared abut affordability, he wouldn’t look for ways to spend every single cent of your tax dollars to grow Erie County government. It’s time to get government out of every area of life and give people a break on taxes. https://t.co/7BAjzr2uEl

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garydicksonNY retweeted

J. Dale Shoemaker @JDale_Shoemaker

about 2 months ago

- For years, Erie Co. Dem boss Jeremy Zellner used an attorney to sue & kick unwanted political candidates off the ballot. - Zellner & this attorney have since had a falling out. - Zellner is now running for state Senate. - Attorney is now suing Zellner. https://t.co/5ycxN7KfIY

JDale_Shoemaker's tweet photo. - For years, Erie Co. Dem boss Jeremy Zellner used an attorney to sue & kick unwanted political candidates off the ballot.
- Zellner & this attorney have since had a falling out.
- Zellner is now running for state Senate.
- Attorney is now suing Zellner.

https://t.co/5ycxN7KfIY https://t.co/d2yJkWpDk4

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garydicksonNY retweeted

Charlie Specht

@Charlie_Reports

2 months ago

Excellent reporting and perspective by @ghkelly1969. Nobody knows elections & NY’s political process like Geoff. The key here is that voters are denied a choice and as Geoff says, NY election laws are tilted heavily in favor of incumbents. Any state pols looking to change that?

garydicksonNY retweeted

Charlie Specht

@Charlie_Reports

2 months ago

My investigation of #Buffalo City Hall aide Demone Smith (and the Assembly front-runner, Leah Halton-Pope, who employs him) is live. Features allegations of misconduct by Smith and another public employee as outlined in a secret government report. https://t.co/HMwjyADpZa

Charlie_Reports's tweet photo. My investigation of #Buffalo City Hall aide Demone Smith (and the Assembly front-runner, Leah Halton-Pope, who employs him) is live.

Features allegations of misconduct by Smith and another public employee as outlined in a secret government report.

https://t.co/HMwjyADpZa https://t.co/q4A6CAvJ4n

garydicksonNY retweeted

Charlie Specht

@Charlie_Reports

2 months ago

Hearing people are pretty shocked at what these guys were (allegedly) able to get away with while running the Buffalo Employment Training Center. Asking women about sex. Suggesting sexual favors. Flaunting connections to Mayor Brown. A link to my story: https://t.co/HMwjyADpZa

Gary Dickson 🇺🇸

@garydicksonNY

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