Meet Matthew Cooke, a Stranger reader who has vowed to do everything The Stranger suggests for the entire month of February. Look for his reports daily on Slog. —Eds.

I usually spend my Saturdays in the most brainless pursuits imaginable, and so I can’t say I was looking forward to hunkering down in a library basement during an exceedingly pleasant afternoon, listening to a reading by an author I’d never heard of.

I’d never actually been to a reading before, at least not since college. And even then, it was more like a poetry slam. (Do they still do those? Am I dating myself?). I wasn’t even sure what to wear. Corduroy, maybe? A turtleneck? A beret? A pipe and a smoking jacket? I settled on jeans and a sweater.

Walking in, I was impressed by the turnout; not only where there a fair number of people, but there were more than a few youngsters, many of them female. When Ferris walked up and introduced himself, I felt a little swoon in the room. It wasn’t exactly The Beatles on Ed Sullivan, but it’s good to know that writing is sexy.

If you haven’t already guessed, I harbor my own literary aspirations and it was instructive for me to see the nitty-gritty of a book tour. I was heartened by Ferris’s normalcy; I tend to think of successful novelists as untouchable geniuses, floating in shimmering pools of wisdom and enlightenment. But Ferris, while clearly sharp and self-possessed, was not some impossibly smart Superman. He just focused on an idea and stayed true to it.

It gave me hope. And so, in the presence of hope, I’m forced once again to approve of the recommendation. However, this is their one and only pass; if they send me to a reading on a sunny day again, there might be a “go fuck yourself” involved. Some things just aren’t negotiable.