I find Joanna Newsom almost endlessly make-fun-of-able for her singing. I recall mornings cleaning up after big parties cleaning up with the girlfriends and wailing frustratedly back at Joanna about how she was exacerbating my hangover. But even I have to admit there are moments when the girl just gets the job done. One such example being rainy mornings in a wooden house on a tree-blanketed hillside with a bowl of cranberry and toasted-pecan oatmeal, a cup of dandelion tea and a small, sympathetic dog in your lap. I am a modern-day lady of the canyon and Newsom is my indie Joni Mitchell. It's been such a rare feeling lately that I'm caught off guard by my own contentment.