So, as usual this morning, I'm on the stairclimber at the gym, watching CNN devote what seems like an entire morning on the death of George Tiller (no wonder their ratings are in the toilet). Remember, this isn't just any abortion doctor - he's like a hall-of-famer, late-term baby disposal unit – popping them off just as they cross the finish line.

But no matter, as I watch CNN's in depth coverage - the kind you'd never see them give to the murder of a soldier by a Muslim convert - I kept obsessing over one thing.

Am I wrong for not caring?

I mean, I know that soon there will be a movie about Tiller (not about William Long, of course), probably starring walking hairpiece Ted Danson. But I still don't care. I mean, I know that killing Tiller is wrong. It's murder. And if you're against the killing of unborn children, you can't just go out and kill a man, even if he kills unborn children.

But that still doesn't explain why I don't care. And I'm willing to bet that the rest of America - save the media - don't care much either.

Why is that? It's not about Tiller's murder being wrong. I get that. That's not the issue. This issue is, when you make priorities of "stuff that's wrong" - is it more wrong to kill a dumpster full of viable babies, than to kill the doc who fills that dumpster?

And by posing that question, does that make me a crazy pro-lifer? I mean, I don't march outside clinics waving grotesque posters of dead fetuses. I don't hand out equally graphic pamphlets. I keep to myself mostly, and drink boxed wine.

But I do have some definition of what being "pro-life" is. It goes like this: if you look at the people you love - your child, your sister, your spouse -and cannot imagine them never being born, then you're a prolifer. But if you can imagine your loved ones never being alive -then congrats, you're a pro choicer - and I admire your gumption. Oddly, I've never met a pro-choice advocate who can say she wished she'd aborted her obviously adorable child (I'm still waiting!).

Anyway, before you call me a callous bastard for my ambivalence over Tiller's murder, realize I already beat you to it. I am a callous bastard. But I guess, as Obama often points out, it's all about empathy.

It reminds me of an old joke I wrote:

Knock knock!

Who's there?

You'll never know!