Either way, Idina’s character’s life would have turned out ok.  We exit and pass the stage door.  There are buses waiting for whom?  For people from assisted living facilities?  Yes, probably.  It was not long ago that my mother was in assisted living.  I remember she took trips on occasion.  But the young people are all standing around behind the barriers.  I am no dope.  I go where the young people are.  The actors and actresses come out one at a time.  They come down the line and let the ones on line take selfies with them.  They autograph the playbill.  I am at one with these groupies even if I feel like a vampire feeding off the flesh of vibrant beings.  I, too, wait, hold out my playbill, flash a picture. 

 Idina Menzel comes out. And she does walk down the line.  I have her photograph and her autograph.  And all I want to do, but dare not, is cup her cute youngish face and say:  “Idinala, because she is one of us – a nice Jewish girl from Queens and Syosset – “please tell me you have a plan in place for your retirement,” because when you are sixty it must be very hard to belt out your soul on stage once a day five days a week and an additional twice a day two times a week.