Anatomy of an Op Drop II: A Different Definition of 'Fun'

This is the second of three posts taking us through the process of last Thursday's Op Drop, from beginning to end. In the first post of the series, I talked about the Design phase--specifically, in the case of this drop, the design of several promotional stickers I've started putting up in my travels, in addition to dropping disques.

Phase II: Build

Building up a stockpile of disques prior to a drop is probably the most tedious part of the process, but I still find it strangely enjoyable, in the same way I really dug the crafting professions when I played EverQuest or World of Warcraft. It’s oddly satisfying for me to take a pile of components or raw materials, process them so they’re usable, and then assemble them into a stack of finished products that are more than the sum of their parts. It’s not quite the same high I get from the design phase, and it doesn’t carry the visceral thrill of a successful drop, but I still dig it enough to keep me from getting bored, at least so far.

I’ve streamlined the process quite a bit over the past few months, which has thankfully cut down on the time and effort I have to put into the build phase. (The message on the first ten Mark I disques I dropped, for example, was printed by hand on each and every one of the sleeves…which, you can imagine, took awhile.) It’s pretty well a one-man assembly line, with me running from one station to another as required. The PC I have set up in my living room handles burning the DVDs, while the one I have set up in the bedroom prints the labels and stickers. The coffee table between them serves as the assembly area, where—in between running from one computer to the other as they finish their tasks—I’ll slap the labels onto the DVDs and clamshell cases, and stack the completed disques. Assuming that both PCs cooperate (and I remember to set a fresh disc burning once I’ve removed a completed one, which I don’t always do), I’m usually good for about ten to twelve disques an hour…which means that a drop like Thursday’s can take upwards of three or four hours’ worth of preparation to pull off.

I usually have something playing in the background to keep my mind occupied while I’m in build phase. To get me in the mood, I generally either start out listening to one of Alizée’s albums, or I’ll put on one of the Lili DVDs in my collection—En Concert, my own copy of the Op Drop disque (yes, I kept one for myself!), or another disc I’ve put together of interviews and television appearances, like Fun TV or Stars à Domicile. If these can’t inspire you to do your damnedest for Alizée, you’re either clinically dead, or may in fact be an android and/or cyborg that’s incapable of feeling human emotion.

Between me and my kid brother—who I coerced into helping when he dropped by my place unexpectedly on Wednesday night, when I was deep into Build mode—we managed to get forty disques and forty promo stickers made up before he'd finally had enough, and we called it a night. Though he's decidedly not an Alizée fan, and has actually kind of frowned on the amount of time, money and effort I've sunk into Op Drop so far, even he was impressed by the pile of completed disques we'd amassed on my coffee table.

"All that work, and tomorrow you're just going to leave them all in random places for strangers to pick up," he said, pulling on his jacket as he prepared to head out.

"That's the plan, yeah."

He shook his head at me. "There has to be a better way to do what you're trying to do."

"There probably is," I admitted, "but until I figure out what that is, this is manageable for one person. At least I'm doing something. And besides, it's fun."

He cocked an eyebrow at me as he opened the door to my apartment.

"Dude, your definintion of fun," he said as he stepped out into the hall, "is way different from mine."