The latter half of 1999 was characterized by unnecessary Y2K paranoia, but if this piece is any indication, current A&E editor Patrick Rapa was feeling pretty all right. He served as a judge at Delilah's Exotic Dancer of the Year state finals, a competition that was equal parts ribald and ridiculous.

A guy gives the stage a quick cleansing with rubbing alcohol and it's ready. And the dancers begin, one at a time. They know who the judges are, so they are sure to aim eyes, nipples and smiles in our directions. We sit there in a row like target ducks, chewing ice and taking irrelevant notes.

Across the dance floor, middle-aged businessmen get to be less picky. They whistle and wink. They drink to erase selected memories, to make way for new ones. Each new dancer is the best dancer.

One performer marches in to military snare drums, then rips off her army fatigues while lip-synching "War, what is it good for?" Another tries the tired-but-true cheerleader angle to a remix of Toni Basil's "Mickey." Her pom-poms are small and perky.

The woman in the leopard-skin bikini dances to "Jungle Love" and stabs an inflated alligator pool toy with a hunting knife. She keeps her top on and her nips tucked away — a bold and confusing move. She does not make today's finals.

A top-heavy woman pours fluorescent body paints, aglow from funhouse blacklights, all over herself and then makes souvenirs for the crowd by pressing her chest onto pieces of posterboard. The art bears a superficial resemblance to Odie, Garfield's wide-eyed doggie pal.

John, a fellow judge who runs a Web design company, leans over to tell me his theory that Delilah's Den and other establishments of its ilk are adult arcades. He's just happy to be here. "Dancing girls. I mean, thank God for it. Can you imagine living in a place where you don't have this?" I'd been living in that sort of place up until now, but I'm starting to get what he means.

The article was just one of many installments of Rapa's now-defunct "Hot Seats" feature, which required that he simply plop down somewhere and record what he saw. "This was my first strip club," says Rapa. "The experience wasn't awkward, just funny and fake-classy. They basically gave Brian Howard and me free drinks all night, but that was the extent of the perks. The perkiness, however, was limitless."