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Saturday Night Live alum Amy Poehler has enlisted several celebrity friends to serve as narrators for the audiobook edition of her memoir, Yes Please.

The participating readers include Sir Patrick Stewart, Carol Burnett, Seth Meyers, Mike Schur, Kathleen Turner, and Poehler’s parents. It also includes a recording of Poehler’s one night only live performance at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater.

The Wall Street Journal has posted a SoundCloud clip with Stewart reading Poehler’s haiku about plastic surgery. Dey Street Books, an imprint of HarperCollins, released the audiobook, the eBook, and the hardcover book yesterday.

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Antonia Quirke, author of Choking on Marlon Brando, reviews Kathleen Turner's new memoir Send Yourself Roses in The Times: "Oh, this is a very mad memoir indeed. I challenge you to put it down for even one moment. Up Turner rises — unfettered now, vibrant, and gives us a series of the maddest chapters I have ever read (“Hillary Clinton said I should publish my speeches”) in which she insists she likes this or that friend because they accessorise well with belts. She accepts her genius (“all my experiences and all my power and knowledge and connections and finances. And the legacy I want to leave”). She celebrates her voice (“my voice has been called smoky, husky, sexy, tobacco-cured, scotch-laden, iconic . . .”) and her need to communicate on deeper levels (“at the spa that night at dinner, I couldn’t resist reading an essay by Maya Angelou to the whole group”). She leaves her husband of more than 20 years, visits AA, supports the Long Island fishing community, lectures on stage technique at college (a personally designed course called Practical Acting: Just Shut Up and Do It!) and over the radio about the Patriot Act, challenges the Broadway audience (“f*** American puritanical hypocrisy, f*** it all”) and talks to old people on the telephone (“most of them don’t know who I am, which is rather sweet”). There may be four or five people left in New York who haven’t yet been helped by Turner. Kathleen, I am in awe. Be madder still, please. Because, really, who gives a fig about sanity anyway? Nobody ever comments on it. So, take it away, woman. Go shopping in the third person (“Kathleen Turner wants a bacon roll with no salad”). Fall in love again (“God, I’m horny”). And after Hillary Clinton has projected your speeches on the moon, get up on stage and — quite seriously, it’s so obvious — give the best Gertrude in the history of the theatre. All the while knowing that this, that more, that everything, should be yours. "

I wasn’t going to write this story, but then I looked at the line-up of posts I have. Go ahead, scroll down and look in awe. Or maybe a couple of notches below awe. There’s the ALA post with mucho comments. The new Knuffle Bunny exclusive. Two great book recommendations and one book slam. So even though this story is a little late, it feels right to include it and knock the one weak post off the page.

So I had a great Independence Day. At midnight, I was re-reading The Other Boleyn Girl, and I read until 2:00 a.m. for no other reason than I wanted to. I love this series, because though you know it might be trash, the historical aspect allows you believe that it’s good for you. They’re like the book equivalent of Lunchables.

I slept late, and then played around with my digital photos for a while. The family decided to give the community pool party a try, and even though I was worried that it would be too crowded, it was very fun. The kids played games diving for change, racing for soda, and swimming a relay race. There was also food and little star-spangled knick-knacks to buy. At the end, they had a beer dive for the adults. All the kids probably enjoyed that more than anything, because there is something very amusing about watching grown-ups make fools of themselves to get a beer. Adults call that “college.” We went home and Bill cooked out while I snuggled on the hammock with my younger daughter. We ate inside just as the storm went through, meaning the night would probably be fine for fireworks.

At the local fireworks display, we met up with our friends and set up a spot on the ground. After music and visiting, the show was about to begin. Now I didn’t think of the fireworks as a fake war, as noted by John Green at Brotherhood 2.0. It never crossed my mind. But he is an intelligent Printz-winning author, and I’m a blogger who just about wets herself with glee for using “bitch-slapped Tinkerbell” in a post, so maybe that’s understandable. What I’m saying here is that I was moved by the pretty lights and the crowds surrounding me. There was music playing during the display as well, and it was not your standard 1812 Overture, but pretty much any pop/country/rock song that featured the words “America” or “U.S.A.” Yes, we could question the wisdom of including Carrie Underwood’s “Independence Day,” which is about abuse, arson, and perhaps murder, but it was crazy-fun to sing out the chorus while the fireworks lit up the sky. “Let freedom ring! Let the white dove sing! Let the whole world know that today is a day of reckoning!”

Beside me was a man who was cheering on the display like most men would yell at a football game. Given the profusion of Spanish I heard uttered earlier, I’m going to make his story that he and his family recently came to America and were very excited to be here. With the fireworks, and the music, and the exuberance, I was touched. I thought it was one of the best shows I’d ever been to.

Suddenly the fireworks stopped. Technical difficulties. Much more like my luck, especially given my fantastic day. I mean, how much lo