Last night was the firm's annual holiday party at the Rainbow Room.

The Rainbow Room is a Cipriani outfit, run by the Venetian family that manages the famous Harry's Bar. The food ranges from authentic and traditional -- like the tuscan white beans with no added salt or beef carpaccio cut as thick as deli meat -- to ill-conceived and bizarre -- like the slices of fried baby eggplant wrapped around blocks of cream cheese. But there's no denying that the space is magnificent. In the ballroom, a brief spell on the revolving circular dance floor will scroll you through an eye-level view of the top of the Empire State Building, a panorama of Central Park, and the glittering lights of the bridges across both the city's rivers.

The firm holiday party was traditionally just for partners and administrative staff; a few years ago associates like me were invited to come along. My guess is this is when the partners stopped coming; I could count the number I saw there on the fingers of one hand. At one point while I was watching drunkenness overtake the paralegals on the dance floor, I caught a glimpse of the firm's presiding partner. He was standing in a corner of the room, all alone.

I didn't have a fantastic time at the party last night. I wasn't bored or displeased, but I did cut out early. Frankly, though, the party wasn't meant for me, and that's just fine. A lot of the support staff are rolling in late today, and they've surely earned it.