Ecstasy is everywhere these days, from Sammy “the Bull” Gravano’s arrested Arizona posse to the Borough Park yeshiva boys scolded by a Brooklyn judge for smuggling the euphoria-inducing drug. Everywhere, that is, except, recently, in Manhattan. The cause of the drought wasn’t Operation Condor, the NYPD’s controversial illegal-narcotics initiative, but this year’s Miami Winter Music Conference, held at the end of March. The annual event attracts the world’s top D.J.’s and everyone else connected to the dance-music industry – including ecstasy dealers. All week long, local clubbers complained about the sudden scarcity, especially since two of the dance-music scene’s most bliss-inducing European D.J.’s, Paul Oakenfold and Paul van Dyk, had squeezed in New York gigs during their trip to the States for the conference. Some were forced to turn to other drugs. “We had to buy a whole bunch of coke for the weekend,” grumbled one nightcrawler. “It’s so expensive. Plus, it puts you in the worst mood for the rest of the week.” Jet-setting dealers were unsympathetic, offering little more than “gone fishin’ ” messages on their Manhattan machines. “Hey, everybody,” said one’s cheerful voice mail, “I’ll be back from Miami on April 2, so please give me a callback then.” Another dealer, reached on her cell phone in Miami, was downright dismissive: “I can’t do nothing for you right now, honey,” she said as house music pounded in the background. “Call me back next week.” Dealers returning to the city faced overloaded answering machines – and angry messages. “I get back to the city completely dazed from Miami,” griped one purveyor, “and before I can even unpack, I’ve got to hear people pissed off about E.” So much for good vibes.