For one thing, they make us laugh at the end of the day when all of our immediate obligations have been taken care of. They demand nothing of us except a smile or a chuckle. I go to bed four nights a week, happy and laughing with Jon Stewart. I don’t stay up late enough very often for the late-night comics, but I try to sneak in a few minutes of Colbert.

The talk-show host may be the most ubiquitous and intimate member of our long television history.

And they offer us the rare chance to see stars and idols and legends in what look to be "real" and "informal" circumstances. These are generally promotional but still rewarding.

After days of reading about Mel Gibson’s transgressions and impending divorce, it is interesting to finally see him, in the flesh, acting like a normal person, answering Jay Leno, when asked if his coming child was a boy or girl, that it would be "a human being." We think then we are seeing the REAL Mel, not the tabloid Mel.

So talk shows have their values, including Jack Paar’s unique sensitivity, Dick Cavett’s in-depth showing off, Johnny Carson’s humorous mischief, Jay Leno’s sheer likeability and nice guyness. This is the country’s informal celebrity forum going on nightly.

I look to see who’s on Leno and Letterman these days, but I can’t stand to watch it all. And I can take or leave all the younger, newer ones, with the exception of my pet, Craig Ferguson, late, late at night on CBS. He is sardonic and off the wall, but not a sadist like Letterman.

Why DO we embrace them so highly? I think primarily it is the depth of the bond. Late-night. In bed. Decompressing from the day. And it is basically a talking head and that head is talking to YOU and that head is, always, to varying degrees very funny and insightful and very smart. And when you think of the capacity for stupidity that Americans seem to indulge, it is surprising that they embrace and don’t reject someone who is that smart.

I suppose Leno is the most blue collar of any of them, so he crosses many class lines, but my God, Conan and Letterman are SO goddamned fast and smart and edgy and wonderfully weird. And talented! Conan can write, play guitar, sing like a bird, do stand-up … and Letterman has such a quirky dry wit. I never used to watch much but my husband watches every night (he’s a Leno guy) and so I am a captive audience. It’s intriguing, the bond we have with them. Of course, we watched Conan’s first night last night.

I hope you’ll all take this occasion to become "Nightline" viewers. We started out three years ago as a distant third – we are now beating Letterman. We’re not too funny but we can verge on important.

I haven’t embraced anyone intimately since the love of my life, Johnny Carson, left the "Tonight Show." I agree with Liz that Jay seems like a really nice fellow (though I can’t imagine watching him in prime time), and I think Craig Ferguson’s monologue is almost always funny and spot-on (though since he has gotten married, he has a few too many gooey moments). She is also right that Letterman is a sadist (and worse, just not all that funny anymore – he’s never been better than when he started out with his daytime show 20-something years ago) and I have never, ever understood the so-called allure of Conan. So that leaves me with occasional forays onto Craig’s show and my prized collection of Johnny Carson "Best of" DVDs.

Carson was just absolutely brilliant – dry and so funny and knowing and the master of the sideways look. And humble – just think of all those animals of Joan  Embery’s he let crawl around in his hair and how deftly he treated his guests. I loved his banter with Doc and Tommy and Ed, his Carnac act, his jokes about his expensive divorces (which were never actually all that personal or revealing, which is as it should be). I first saw Robert Klein and Steve Martin (with his banjo and bunny ears) on his show; I can still remember whole chunks of his conversations with Don Rickles and Dyan Cannon and a totally hilarious impromptu love duet he sang with Steve Lawrence. Now that he’s gone I don’t want anyone but my husband or my dog (and, occasionally, Craig) in my late-night bed.