Blanchett or Bob?

I'm Not There - the unconventional Bob Dylan biopic released on November 21 - utilizes six actors to portray the enigmatic artist: young (and black) Marcus Carl Franklin, old (not black) Richard Gere, Heath Ledger, Christian Bale, Ben Winshaw and (female) Cate Blanchett.

Blanchett dons Ray-Bans and wind-demolished curly hair to play Dylan at his 1965/1966 creative peak.

She looks exactly like Dylan.

She's also hot.

Confusingly hot.

After several hours of studying movie stills alone in my apartment -and watching the I'm Not There trailer 79 times - I was forced to ask myself a disturbing question: why do I find Cate Blanchett so suddenly sexy?

Is it because I secretly want to have sex with Bob Dylan?

To answer this menacing riddle, I sought the advice of those closest to me.

A friend of mine suggested that my obsession lies with Blanchett, not Dylan.

He informed me he once watched the Cate Blanchett film Elizabeth ten times in one day.

During this marathon, he stripped down to his underwear and wrote "God Save the Queen" in honey on his chest.

Does this mean he harbors a disturbing obsession for the long-dead British monarch Elizabeth I?

Of course not.

Elizabeth does not appear in the film; Cate Blanchett does.

Even after hearing this reassuring anecdote, I still wasn't convinced my heterosexuality endured.

Another friend offered a different explanation.

The curious sexual stirrings I feel when looking at an androgynous Cate Blanchett are the result of a harmless "man crush" for Bob Dylan.

"Man crushes aren't sexual at all," he said. "Check it out: I've got posters of that kid from High School Musical [Zac Effron] all over my walls.

I put lipstick on sometimes and leave lip prints on his face.

It doesn'tmean I want to sleep with him."

"What does it mean?" I asked, confused.

"It means I want to . . . just, get to know him a little better.

Invite him out for coffee.

Hug him, maybe.

Smell his hair.

Brush my palm slowly across his clean-shaven cheek."

"It sounds like . . ."

"I like his singing voice," he said, interrupting me. "That'sit, and that's all!"

Rattled, I pressed on.

To tackle and resolve this issue, I knew I needed the assistance of a trained medical professional: an expert on the darkest alleys of the human brain.

My elementary school guidance counselor illuminated the issue with simple clarity.

According to her, my sexual attraction stems from the melding of my admiration for Bob Dylan's musical genius and Cate Blanchett's individualistic beauty and talent.

Finally I understand: my strange sexual longing is a melting pot of emotion.

Like America, it consists of many conflicting ideas coming together to create a more perfect union.

My pseudo-homosexuality, really, is nothing but unbridled freedom.

I repeat this mantra for an hour each morning.

Meanwhile, I count the days until I'm Not There arrives in Evansville.

I wait in desperation. I wait, blue with pain.