One day in the early '70s, after seeing other houses in the area clad in voguish aluminum siding, Houston resident John Milkovisch clamored down from the attic with a bulge of aluminum beer cans—50,000 aluminum beer cans, to be precise. Milkovisch—"a child of the Great Depression" as the AP identifies—saved everything, even the cans of Bud Light, Texas Pride, and Natural Ice that piled high as a result of he and his wife's afternoon, six-pack-a-day ablutions in the shade of their backyard. On this day, he began cutting open and laying flat each and every can, ultimately covering the entirety of his squat, single-family home in aluminum.
The lids were used as garlands, the occasional Heineken bottle collected to make emerald accents in the cement siding. Whole cans line the sidewalk and frame the mailbox. John and his wife Mary are long gone, but Beer Can House remains an "accidental piece of folk art," as the AP writes, restored and open to the public by a local nonprofit. Let's just hope the same is true for the country's all-Heineken and all-Bud Light abodes.