In 1991, the first annual Ig Nobel Prizes were awarded for discoveries “that cannot, or should not, be reproduced.” 19 years later, the Igs, as they’re lovingly referred to, are still being awarded for improbable (and bizarre) research findings. FM attended last week’s awards in Sanders Theatre. The scene was chaotic, uncomfortable, but nonetheless amusing as answers to questions we never knew we had were answered and old wives’ tales debunked (don’t worry, you can keep cracking your knuckles; if laureate Donald L. Unger didn’t get arthritis after 60 years of constant knuckle cracking, you won’t be getting it anytime soon either).  Between the man—excuse me, human spotlight—wearing only silver body paint, sneakers, and a Speedo, not to mention the ongoing poker game, the mini-opera, and the constant multilingual interruptions, FM was not sure what to make of the corybantic stage. However, the crowd loved every minute of the ceremony, cheering every time the word “risk”—this year’s theme—was uttered.  Acceptance speeches were humorous and mercifully short, and when they weren’t, a young girl, “Miss Sweetie Poo”, marched across the stage to indicate that it was time for the laureates to wrap up. “Please stop, I’m bored. Please stop, I’m bored,” she repeated. The highlight of the Igs? Watching Elena N. Bodnar, this year’s Ig Nobel Public Health Laureate, attempt to wrap her brassiere-turned-gas-masks around the faces of (real) Nobel Laureates Wolfgang Ketterle, Orhan Pamuk, and Paul R. Krugman. Did we mention she had been wearing that very bra? What good sports.  “If you didn’t win an Ig Nobel prize tonight—and especially if you did—better luck next year,” said MC Marc Abrahams. Bewildered, FM couldn’t agree more as we quickly escaped through the nearest exit.