I try to suppress a giggle whenever I hear someone in their twenties blurt out the assertion that they are getting old. Sometimes it’s because they try to do something physical and fail, like pull themselves out of a chair or sofa. At other times, they may have forgotten the name of a former classmate or are feeling fatigued.

As I approach middle-age, now that I’m in my 50s, it is mildly amusing when someone 30 years my junior claims to be getting “old.” In my twenties I was lacking in my knowledge of the world, yet I was still in as good of physical condition as I had been in high school. (That’s not saying much.) When I hear such silliness, I think to myself, “If she’s old, what does that make me?” (The answer is “hanging on by a thread, thank you.”)

Like most people, I realize my age yet the affects of aging haven’t all sunken in. In short, I know I’m getting older, but I occasionally still think of myself as yet to reach my physical peak. Or my mental peak. Then I do something stupid, I try to watch a nighttime talk show like the Tonight Show or Late Night. That puts me in my place.

Why? Because these guest stars are brought out to a wild audience reaction with cheers and screaming and the like, and I’m sitting there with one word in my mind — “Who?” If I know one of the guests on the Tonight Show, it’s a miracle. I remember growing up watching the Tonight Show when Johnny Carson ruled, not Jimmy Fallon.

Back then, when I didn’t know a guest, it was probably because the guest’s career finished a few decades before I was born. That was rare, though, since I knew and appreciated Jack Benny, Groucho Marx, Lauren Bacall, and the rest of them. The problem today is that I don’t know the third lead actor in some series that you can only watch online or on one of the pay-cable movie networks.

This week, my wife turned on a recorded version of Jimmy Fallon and I knew a guest. One guest. Barbara Walters — someone older than me. The new hip, modern stars meant absolutely nothing to me. And of course the hosts — Fallon, et. al. — kept talking about how much of a fan he is of this nameless so-called star.

When Letterman was on in the early days, he rarely had even met the guest before the band played the entrance music. Sometimes it even seemed that Letterman didn’t care much about the guests, just had to crank out another show. Usually it seems I’d prefer it that way than with all the fawning over the guests by most of today’s hosts. I don’t want to watch a talk show host kiss up to a celebrity who isn’t really a celebrity in my book!

I miss Carson. He really seemed to enjoy doing a show. He was genuine in interviews and funny as a performer. I always enjoyed Letterman. I realize he was an acquired taste, but we shared a sense of humor through the 80s and 90s.

I think Jimmy Fallon is usually pretty funny, but I get tired of the kissing up and celebrating of celebrities, especially when I don’t know who they are. Maybe his show and others like it need a slow lane for those of us too old to know who some of these goobers are and why we should bother tuning in to watch their segment? Or maybe we can all stop pretending that we care about them.

I saw the little yard-ape called Honey Boo-Boo on earlier this week. The only reason I didn’t break the TV screen is that I can’t afford a new large-screen TV. Besides, I know where the power button is. A while back I just unplugged and turned off the satellite dish. That was OK, but I wanted to see some select programs.

Please, just hold the celebration of minor celebrities or put that on the channels that I have blocked, OK? Maybe they can start a Kardashian News Network (KNN) and play that stuff with marathons of Inside Edition and the Oscars and Grammys and let the people who care for some reason indulge and let them worship celebrities to their heart’s content.

Then let them stand in the grocery checkout aisle for hours at a time at one of those lanes that never open, and allow them to read all the issues of People, Us, Them, and Star Weekly magazines. Let me get back to reality. That’s the way old folks like me want it. And get off my lawn!