I have just returned from Bruhdway, and I have learned this:  All About Me was genetically engineered to be show queen catnip. (Or rather it was likely conjured out of the ground bones of David Merrick, the dandruff of Stephen Sondheim and a discarded pair of Angela Lansbury’s spanx in some dark alchemical rite.)  If you have a hankering to see Michael Feinstein’s Paul Lynde impersonation, or Dame Edna sing “Ladies Who Lunch” then run, as they say, don’t walk.  If the previous sentence means nothing to you, or causes a faint itching in the extremities, avoid this show like scabies.  There are jokes about the biz we call show, Liza Minnelli, and Meryl Streep.  The theme to the “Golden Girls” is included a medley towards the end. You need not approach this show with a certain appreciation but it helps, else you may be wondering why all those eligible gentlemen seated near you are howling with laughter, as if they are in on a joke that only vaguely resonates with you. Also:  a pre-show cocktail would not hurt.