Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes. Keep the text exactly as it is written, don't change a single word, but improve grammar where necessary.

Having now lived here for exactly one month as of yesterday, I have managed to achieve another first, though not the kind I was hoping for, by becoming the next-to-last resident to arrive at the circular table for breakfast. The only house-mate I managed to 'out-speed' is the same one who was wearing the attention-grabbing Marvel Comics shirt yesterday. Today, he's wearing yet another comic book-inspired shirt, also adorned with images of classic Marvel characters. From a few quick glances, I was able to spot the Incredible Hulk, Thor, and Captain America. (Quite a powerful combination of superheroes for sure!) With any luck, if I end up sitting next to him in the van today, I may spot a couple more, but I wouldn't go to Vegas and bet on my powers of recognition. I'm a bit rusty in terms of my comic book knowledge, though I used to read comics relatively voraciously as a youngster. Trying not to draw any attention to myself, and to spare myself potential embarrassment, I say nothing about my tardiness, quietly sitting down at the table to dig into a meal that is half French toast sticks, half platter of fruit (a combination including melon, kiwi, strawberry, tangerine and pineapple slices, and one solitary grape). While eating, the same house-mate who has become predisposed to making messes says "hello" to me. I am sure it was me, because I heard something that sounded very much like "Cameron". Being able to actually understand something she has said brings a smile to my face and in my heart, and I look at her, acknowledging her greeting with a gentle "Hi, Nikki." (This is not her real name, which is what I do refer to her as now; I am using her nickname, which I had been calling her for a while, until I realized that she rarely, if ever, responds to it.) The idea of her being the hardest out of all the residents to understand is a fascinating one, especially in the context of one of the "Arthur" episodes being shown this morning. Right now, we are in the final minutes of a 7:00am WLRN-TV broadcast of "The Great Sock Mystery", an episode where the typically indiscernible Baby Kate and Pal become fully understandable, and use their detective skills to recover a stolen sock belonging to D.W. Though the show, as an animated series, is demonstrating what essentially amounts to a fantasy scenario I consider my house-mate, whose ability to express herself is tethered by limitations beyond her control. If those boundaries were to be theoretically eliminated, would she prove herself to be the most articulate and intelligent out of all of us? In all truth, I think it's a valid possibility. She certainly has a better shot than her brother, though being even more limited in his capabilities for self-expression, the complete opposite may actually apply. After a period of being more subdued, he's returned to his grunts and screams. He unleashes a particularly primordial combination in rapid succession, the presumptive stimulant being a VHS rip of "Wee-Sing in Sillyville" (which, by complete accident, I saw him watching on his computer; he'd been asked to temporarily leave his room one night and brought his laptop to the dining room table so he could entertain himself there). I said nothing, but backed up against the wall to get a 'stealth view'. He was honing, and has evidently perfected, a habit that I myself possessed in my youth: the ability to rewind a video to an especially noteworthy moment and keep timing it to near-seamless perfection, much like a master deejay who has figured out how to get the needle to return to the same spot in a vinyl groove to loop a break-beat, or 'cut up' a section in such a way as to completely alter the timing (much as DJ Jazzy Jeff has famously done with the opening dialogue of LL Cool J's album version of "Rock the Bells"). In the old days, I am sure he and I were both honing it in the same sort of way; we are both in our thirties now, though this other house-mate is a few years older than I am. In our day, VHS and cassette tapes proved the first means by which to practice rewinds, though I do remember practicing 'needle scratching' on a rare "HBO: Music Made for Television" vinyl record that has somehow made the trip with me all the way to JARC, having been recovered during a recent visit to a now-closed Public Storage unit. I wasn't good at it then, and I would almost certainly be even worse now; if I knew how rare that record would become in the ensuing decades, I would have never dared try to 'cut it up'. The excited grunts and screams have died down, as it seems this house-mate has joined the others in the living room, where they're likely all watching "Good Morning America", waiting for the moment to 'load up' and get into the van to head out to the day program. I have some business to attend to myself, and put the writing down for now to make my own preparations. Sure enough, all happens as I predicted it would, and as luck would have it I am indeed sitting next to he of the shirt that dares to be cooler than anything now in my wardrobe, and fulfills the terms of that dare with the most minimal effort necessary. With a closer view, I can spot a few more characters: Spider-Man, Iron Man, Black Widow, and what appears to be either Iceman or the Silver Surfer. There is an assortment of onomatopoeia ("BAM", "POW", "WHAM", etc.), and it all gives off a deeply nostalgic vibe. A brief ride ensues. Putting on my headphones, today I am fancying the sounds of Xexex once again. Earlier, it had been Viper...in spite of what the man has done, I am still deeply fascinated with his music. It seems every artist, for however good their intentions are, has a mysterious and even dangerous side. Even when the curtain is pulled back, the illusion is still real to me. Upon arriving at the day program, and saying hello to a few good folks, I make my way to the kitchen. Heading into the break room, I see one of my best friends waiting for me. It seems like it makes his day when he sees me there. I sit down, and we settle into our morning routine of music. He has become quite picky; my go-to strategy of choosing the song with the most views seems to have backfired. "Not this one," he says. I have found it intriguing how he thinks in terms of colors. He identifies certain songs not by their names but by the colors of the pictures associated with those songs ("orange music", "green music", "white music", etc.). An Eyal Golan song with over 61 million views has lost out to a Tamir Gal song with just over 1.7 million views...and with that, the 'most popular' theory has been, at least for the moment, shattered to molecular pieces. Eventually I move to a different seat at the table; I had been sitting at a sensible angle, but not the one I am used to. I do not actually start working until just before 10:30am; I've been invited to participate in a fitness session, and have a great time. It is a historic moment, as for most of the people who were also invited, it seems to mark the first time they have heard the sound of the Yellow Magic Orchestra (YMO). A friend asks me about my preferences...I generalize (jazz, classical, hip-hop), but specify YMO as a favorite group. One quick Spotify search later, and "Rydeen" is pumping through a small yet potent speaker. I cannot fight the urge to immediately start jumping up and down, and dancing like no one is watching. No other song has this effect on me. Hours later, having completed my shift and successfully made it back home, I have my earbuds on now. I am headbanging, pumping my fists as though I were attending a Pantera concert in the early 1990s. I clap three times, synchronized to the three-note motif that opens the song and remains a part of it throughout. I clap another three times. I am feeling the same effect my coworker feels whenever he hears his favorite songs. This is the power of music. To Takahashi-san, to Sakamoto-san, may you rest in peace. Dare I say it, I love you. If I can inspire someone with my writing as you have inspired me with your music, I have done my job.