During the on-again, off-again, eight-year-long New Frontier closure square dance, owner Phil Ruffin did more waffling than an Eggo factory. Fortunately for us, a group of suckers ponied up his asking price and, surrounded by a phalanx of Cold Beer and Dirty Girls, Phil Ruffen drew his foot long margarita filled pen and signed the New Frontier's death certificate. The Frontier, for all its seedy retro charm, was a dump about two heart beats from being condemned. Good riddance.