There I was, presenting this year's Academy Awards along with Tony Randall.

Mind you this is a dream of two nights ago.

So it doesn't matter that Tony has been dead since 2004. Or that I don't really see Tony, we just yell directions at each other. Or that I'm viewing myself in third person, like a little drone is following me. And that I have no role in the movie business.

What matters I've been thrown into the role with no experience, training or rehearsal.

The show is a cluster of epic proportions. No, not like the James Franko/Anne Hathaway debacle. That was a polite, well-staged production of "Our Town" in comparison.

This is like watching "Let's Make a Deal" where everyone in the building has done three lines of blow.

Audience members run everywhere, including on stage and behind the curtain. Instead of elegant envelopes, the nominees are listed on a board like "Family Feud" -- "and the winner is ..."

I don't recognize a star and haven't heard of any of the movies, all of which are sequels.

And all of the categories have been changed, replaced with acronyms that sound like IKEA products. (I  joke on the spot -- biggest laugh of the night.)

One category is moved back stage, where only two movies are nominated and one of the nominees has to walk down this half-mile long hallway and all the audience can hear is the click, click, click of heels for minutes.

Through it all, I can already hear the headlines of "Worst TV ever" and "New presenter the biggest bomb ever."

I started a flop sweat that had to be mopped up behind me.

The morning alarm saved me from the savages of the press.

The meaning of all this?

That's the feeling I suppress from my job and life right now.

Days earlier, I had a dream in which I moved to a community I know moderately but my vehicle was this large, white behemoth with round, rubber balls at tires. I couldn't see out the front window. When I tried to drive straight, it went sideways. If I attempted to park sideways, it lurched forward into bicyclists.

I finally managed to park it and walk the city, only to find I knew nothing about it. The fine-eating establishment I walked into was a seedy strip joint. The food trucks moved as I walked. And the university I sought had moved next door to itself without providing a means of getting from one to the other.

I understand my feelings and reality is much better. I'm used to being the answer guy and six months in, I'm still the question guy. I'm doing much better than my dreams.

And I wish I had a chance to meet the real Tony Randall.

Peace and sweeter dreams to you and my brothers and sisters.