29 Jan 2008 ›  11:20am

Whether we admit it or not, all breakups are a kind of contest. In a winning breakup you know you’re doing better. While he starts smoking again you take up jogging, while he hooks back up with his tragic, hairy, stoner ex – you embark on a horizontal dance party with a Calvin Klein underwear model, while he debuts a beer gut and dark circles – everyone says you’re glowing and your ass looks incredible.

In a losing breakup you hibernate with a 3 month supply of Dunkin Donuts/french fries, listening to Nick Drake and moaning—while he’s seen all over town with the 19 year old wardrobe girl from his last tour and friends report that he, “seems taller.”

So the fact that Ali’s taking a quick trip to Capri while Jule moves his stuff (one milk crate at a time) to a loft-share in Willi that he’ll be splitting with 5 other dudes, says everything that needs to be said about that particular horserace. I feel terrible because I love Ali like no other but (and maybe this is just my love of underdogs in general) my heart hurts for Jule. I went over there the other night to check his progress, and found him sitting on the floor eating Dunkin Donuts and listening to Nick Drake (just kidding—but close). He was sitting on the floor listening to NPR and polishing off a jar of Nutella with his fingers. Sure, it was a liberal, quasi-European style of grieving (is it sadder if you imagine that it was a can of frosting and a Bon Jovi tape?) but it was grieving nonetheless.