"Don't tell me the details," my friend said to my other friend. "I don't want to know the sordid details that seal the deal against him."
He wasn't talking to me, but he was looking at me. "What I don't know can't hurt me," he said.
I've got to conclude that no one really wants to know much of anything. We would rather avoid all of it, any sort of unpleasantness or danger or fear or risk that might stand in the way of our phones or movies or sports or, most of all, our meals. We don't want to know what's in our food. We don't know to know who has a gun in the restaurant. Maybe we feel safer thinking that someone does. We don't want to know who is in a certain mile radius and doesn't have enough to eat. We don't want to know where the food we didn't eat goes or the containers it came in. We don't want to know if the people serving the food are part of a cult. We won't ponder, except in ironic ways, how that food is either killing us or the planet.
And we certainly don't want some asshole on the Internet taking us to task for what we don't want to know. He is lucky that we take the time to check in on his writing from time to time and let him have his say and maybe say something nice about it. We take it or leave it, but if it starts to make us uncomfortable, there are plenty of other places we can go on our Ipads. We don't need him, and we don't need him telling us that ignorance is not bliss. That we do not need. I don't blame us.