Damages

I brought my SONY DSC-N2 (that's 10.1 mega-pixels for you tech fetishists) with me to work today. Allow me to clarify. I didn't bring it to work on purpose; I had it on my person so as to document for insurance the tragic body damage done to my beloved 2007 BMW Z4 Coupe 3.0si (starting at $40,400, god knows how many mega-pixels). Maybe I'm not tipping those idiots at the garage well enough, but they've got to be more solicitous in their care of my baby. That car is all I've got. Which is sad, but true.

So anyway, having the camera on the premises, I thought I'd do a little candid photo-blogging and present you faithful readers with a few snapshots of essential Home Firm personnel. Here, then, are some of the Queen Bee's loyal drones...



This is Wes Toobin. Don't be fooled by the mild-mannered appearance: Wes Toobin is a shark. His jaws can crush you, he relishes the scent of blood, and his mastery of civil tort law is unparalleled in the legal world. Toobin reminds me of Tim Robbins, who also has a "bin" in his surname. Aside from the Great and Underappreciated #2, Toobs has been with the Queen Bee the longest. Like his brother Jeffrey ( who's on staff at The New Yorker), Toobin is a Harvard Law man and was an editor of the Review there. My only criticism: lose the ovals. Toobs could use some power frames.



The doyenne of the secretarial pool, Kathleen O'Connor could very well be my favorite Home Firm employee. She's talking here to Frank C. Williams, my fellow senior associate. Kathleen wears green the entire week in which St. Patrick's Day falls. She has four sons, she's been married for 35 years, and to the best of my knowledge has no perceptible flaws. Which makes me think she's hiding something. Some ignominious past. Maybe she's a Sinn Fein operative, a former trained assassin for the I.R.A. who had to go underground in America. But I could care less as long as she keeps bringing me soda bread on Fridays.



The aforementioned Frank C. Williams. I don't know what the "C." stands for. Probably nothing, because the man himself doesn't stand for much either. Frank's one of the most opportunistic bastards I've ever known. But, in all fairness, maybe that's just sour grapes. Maybe I'm a little jealous. Frank and I were the same class at law school (not Harvard), were hired at the same time by the Queen Bee, and he's got a better office than I do. He's also got his own secretary, whereas I have to share one with The New Girl. Note: Frank has the most overpowering handshake I've ever experienced, which he deploys alpha-dog style whenever he feels like making someone feel like an emasculated bitch.



There are about eight paralegals on the floor. Five of them are women. I've asked out four of them; been shot down four times. Here are the excuses: "I have a boyfriend," (Carla) "I don't date the office," (Melinda) "I'm on medication that prevents me from going out at night," (Kiko) "I have a boyfriend" (Lauren). Bridget, pictured above, is the fifth and most recent paralegal hiree. I haven't asked her out yet, but as you can tell from the photograph, it's clear she finds me charming. Behind that look of irritation and borderline disgust on her face lies a deep reservoir of affection and incipient longing for yours truly. I have an instinct for these things. Bridget and I: we are star cross'd. Eat your heart out, New Girl. And Carla and Melinda and Kiko and Lauren.

That's all the time we have today, boys and girls. Got to help prepare the A-Team for the Stallion's deposition...