At first glance, 1977’s The Death of Richie might appear to be nothing more than a made-for-TV, proto-D.A.R.E. public-service announcement. Starring 70s teen idol Robby Benson as the titular 17-year-old and Ben Gazzara as his father, who tragically attempts to navigate his son’s spiraling, suicidal drug addiction, the based-on-a-true-story picture is a powerful one, thanks to these two titanically raw performances. (It was this more deep-cut role in The Death of Richie, as opposed to his famed work with John Cassavetes, that inspired Gazzara’s indie-cinema-comeback casting in Vincent Gallo’s Buffalo ’66, in 1998.) The movie’s ending in the original NBC telecast was so intense that the network censored it for subsequent showings. Recently restored by Fun City Editions (in a Blu-ray set called Primetime Panic 2, packaged alongside two other terrific TV movie, Incident at Crestridge, from 1981, and The Seduction of Gina, from 1984), The Death of Richie is an under-discussed gem. ($64.95, funcityeditions.com) —Spike Carter

Nothing goes with a good party quite like a portable lamp that emits subtle and flattering light. (Does anything kill the festivities as quickly as a fluorescent bulb?) For those who haven’t yet experimented with these rechargeable wonders, the latest launch from Green Wolf Studio is worth the wait. Founder Rebecca Marks has teamed up with jewelry designer Solange Azagury-Partridge on a limited-edition collection of five cordless glass lamps, handblown in Murano, that reflect Azagury-Partridge’s obsession with nature. We’re tempted by the rainbow, but we’ll likely go with this blue beauty, which is anchored in a frothy pink cloud—both a work of art and a great way of flattering the guests at your next cocktail party. (from $695, greenwolflighting.com) —Ashley Baker

I borrowed Lisa Eisner’s chunky black jade bracelet one night—smooth circles the size of a drink coaster linked together with gold bands—and soon forgot I had it on. Only when Eisner searched the dinner party in a slight panic did I relinquish it. The point, besides the possibility that I might be a jewel thief (who could blame me?), is that Eisner’s pieces are that comfortable. Not that comfort’s the first thing that comes to mind when you see her powerful, sculptural hunks suspended on a cord. Her latest collection of hand-carved black jade, which comes from Wyoming, Eisner’s birthplace, appeared on the Row’s spring runway. Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, who is now Eisner’s daughter-in-law and the mother of her grandson, are longtime fans. It all comes full circle. (from $1,500; therow.com) —Linda Wells

Emmy-nominated TV writer Michael Jamin has worked on sitcoms for decades (his credits include King of the Hill, Beavis and Butt-Head, and Tacoma FD), so it’s no surprise that his debut book, a personal-essay collection, is funny, and by that I mean irrepressible-snort, water-shooting-out-of-your-nostrils kind of funny. The stories range from a childhood judo class (understood as Jew-do by his Jewish mother), where he experiences a humiliating takedown by a smaller kid, to a first date with the sugar-crazed Kelly Jelly Belly. Some other stops include Princeton University, Hollywood, and an alternative-medicine facility run by one Master Huang. Along with being laugh-out-loud funny, the stories are keenly observed and, just when you least expect it, achingly honest. ($19.99, barnesandnoble.com) —Paulina Prosnitz

If you weren’t raised listening to classical music, it can be tough to crack into. Our ears have been sanded down by the menacing electronic sounds of modern life—checkout-counter beeps that make you feel like you’re hooked up to a heart monitor, stout bass lines that threaten to topple buildings, pumping synths that only a Justin Timberlake backup dancer could quake to—and we’re deaf to more naturalistic frequencies. And it’s tough to know what style of classical music you’ll like, never mind which recording of a 300-year-old symphony you should listen to. New releases of Liszt pile up like back issues of The New Yorker. This isn’t a revolutionary suggestion, but start by tuning in to WQXR, New York’s public classical station. Their Web site is an essential companion, whether you’re listening via terrestrial radio or the Internet. It keeps a register of what’s playing, so you don’t have to wait until the end of Mozart’s “Jupiter” Symphony to find out that that’s what’s making you tear up. You’ll feel lucky to find Elliott Forrest’s chuckling, Hank Hill visage staring back at you, as if to say, “Don’t be afraid. We’ll light the path.” (wqxr.org) —Nathan King

Imagine accepting a plum job at Hermès and harboring a secret fear of horses. Now imagine confronting that fear on the clock by dreaming up a fragrance about, you guessed it, horses. None of it makes any sense. And yet that’s what Christine Nagel did with Hermessence Oud Alezan. No, it doesn’t smell like panic crossed with barnyard. Please. This is an Hermès stable—woody, smoky, leathery, and rich. At the heart of this new scent is a blend of oud and rose, one softening and the other warming. It’s the chocolate and peanut butter of perfumes, an irresistible combination. The chestnut-tinted bottle has an ivory leather cap with a neat row of stitching like the world’s cleanest saddle. ($371, hermes.com) —Linda Wells