That's kewl. When I go to a steak house, I never ask them to trot out the cow so I can stick my hand up its arse before I order my steak. I don't care if the cow foraged for grass, was fed hay or ate the corn out of pig shit, when I'm served the steak, if it's cooked right and tastes good, I pay my bill and leave a nice tip. Later, if I'm lucky, I pass some gas and pull the covers over my wife's head. When I wake up on the floor later, I go take a dump and find the couch.
TMI? Exactly. Same as needing to know the exact ingredients in the blend I'm smoking.