World's hottest couple (like in terms of being talked about, not necessarily in looks) Taylor Swift and Harry Styles stepped out once again in New York last night and were spotted leaving Taylor's hotel hand-in-hand, off to dinner. Which restaurant they went to is not mentioned in reports, which is really putting a wrench in our plans to go everywhere they've been, touching everything they might have touched, rubbing a cheek on a tablecloth, breathing deep from the hand dryer one of them might have used. So if someone could please tell us what restaurant they ate at, and where exactly they sat in that restaurant, that'd be a big help. In the meantime, we're just gonna go back to what we call "roto'shipping," which is lying down on the floor on our side, squeezing our eyes really tight, and then doing that Three Stooges walk-around-in-a-circle thing while thinking about Taylor and Harry. You should try it sometime! But think about someone else. Harry and Taylor are ours. [Daily Mail]

Speaking of One Direction and love, Harry's bandmate Louis Tomlinson — Harry and Louis make up the legendary OTP Larry Stylinson — has apparently fallen quite deeply for his girlfriend of one year, Eleanor Caldor. Eleanor, heir to a long dead retail fortune (not really, I don't think), goes to the University of Manchester, but has still managed to hold on to her famous, world-touring man. Louis says of Eleanor — who is alternately reviled and beloved by 1D fans and will almost assuredly die at one of their hands thirty years from now, on a windswept cliff, with the fan yelling, "It was always you, wasn't it!" — that he likes her because "aside from the fact that she's hot, she had everything that I was looking for. She's funny, loud and confident." He apparently said, "I love you" after five months, which is pretty, heh, swift for a 20-year-old. So that's well and good for them. Of course the reality is that Larry Stylinson burns brighter and hotter than ever before, it's just all behind closed doors, of course. This is all for show, while LT is the real deal, the one deal, the only deal. Now we just have to make sure that Louis is safe while riding around in cars so he can reunite with his boo as soon, and safely, as possible and their love can continue to flourish. Harry, not Eleanor, duh. [Us Weekly]

As was prophesied many years ago, golden strongman Tom Brady and his bride from the other side of the world, Gisele Bundchen, have welcomed a daughter into the world. Vivian Lake Brady was born on December 5, joining her brother Benjamin Rein, and half-brother John (Brady's kid with Bridget Moynihan). Young Vivian will, of course, as has been foretold, become the trusted vizier of future North American Empress Blue Ivy Carter, serving as the right-hand woman of one of the most powerful people in all the world. She will be of great importance during the terrible war between Blue Ivy and Will & Kate's child, which will last for a hundred years and likely end with the destruction of Gillette Stadium. Either that or Vivian will become some sort of terrifyingly good model/athlete and her proud parents will watch it all from their Malibu mansion and smile at each other for a job well done. [People]

Back to boy-band love for a second: Lindsay Lohan is apparently getting quite close with the British man band The Wanted — they're like One Direction's dropout older brothers — and even rode up to Boston from Philly on their tour bus last night. She's reportedly got her eye on the group's heartthrob, Max George, though also reportedly Max wants to keep things super casual. But still, Lindsay is riding around with boys on buses to Boston, which means something's going on. But really she should be out hustling for that dolla-dolla, because lord knows the girl needs the cash, what with her IRS problems and all. I suppose one could make the argument that nobody's hiring until after the holidays, so why shouldn't Lindsay travel around like some especially tired Penny Lane, but I'm not sure I buy it. Someone's gotta be hiring somewhere, and Lindsay should be knocking down their door. Anyway, I hope Linds and Max and the rest of the lads like Boston. Maybe they can take a Duck Tour or walk the Freedom Trail or, hell, head out to Harvard Square and freak out some nerds. They're also, of course, welcome at my parents' house for dinner, they just have to let me know a couple hours ahead of time so I can explain to my parents who on earth these people are besides "that girl from The Parent Trap movie you own." [TMZ]

Ugh. Tampa socialite, which is a bit like saying "Phoenix royalty" or "Akron aristocracy," Jill Kelley — y'know, she's the one involved in the Petraeus infidelity scandal — has been shopping a tell-all book around, one she claims is "payback" for Petraeus's mistress Paula Broadwell harassing her with emails and publicly embarrassing her. No word yet on whether there are any interested buyers, but I'd probably be willing to cough up a few bucks for her to put it down the disposal and move on with her life. I mean, I'm sure some people are mildly interested in this story, it is pretty dramatic, but by the time any book came out, wouldn't it be long over it? Unless Jill Kelley's ghost writer can write like Speed Racer? And even then, aren't we kind of tired of it now? It just seems like the best pitch Jill Kelley could make would be pitching that thing in the garbage and returning to being a Little Rock luminary, I mean Tampa Bay socialite. [Page Six]

On Wednesday night, Demi Moore, 50, and her 26-year-old beau, Vito Schnabel, went to an Art Basel party in Miami at Alex Rodriguez's house, and while there, Demi did a dark and mysterious dance of unknown origin. Yes, there's a picture of it. Was Demi dancing for rain? Was it a dance of seduction? Was each swivel and buck of her hips a call to some long-dormant god to wake up? We may never know. All we do know is that Demi danced merrily, but with solemn purpose, as Lenny Kravitz sat awkwardly on a couch right next to her and tried not to pay attention to all of her curious thrashings. Apparently Demi wasn't even drinking — well, nothing but Red Bull — so this dance was coming from a real soulful, spiritual place. And, some say, she is still dancing. Up in the sky, out there at the edge of the forest in the whisper of the leaves, under your floorboards at night, across the vast reaches of the oceans. Demi, dancing. Always dancing. In your dreams and in your child's wishes, in the limitless light of outer space. Perhaps the god that Demi woke up was, in fact, Demi. [People]