Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes. Do not change or remove a single word. Keep everything as it is written, but improve grammar where necessary.

"Chiggum-wa." That is as best as I am able to discern a delighted sound that came from one particular housemate less than a minute ago. Whatever he is watching, it must be more captivating than the norm, for I normally do not hear him squeal in such a manner. I have a suspicion of what it might be, as I have heard him make this sound in the past when I played a certain song for him. He seems to respond extremely well to music, and we have a routine now where I will use my phone to play songs for him that I know he enjoys. He seems to be aware of it now; it has evolved from a diversion to a habit. Not the type of habit that nuns wear, but the sort of habit that builds camaraderie between people. He has a different sort of mind from mine, but on a human level I know he is just as loving. He has one of the purest hearts I've ever seen. He is a few years older than I am, but I still think of him as my 'little brother.' Right now, he is in deep concentration. I hear a switch get flipped, but I'm in no position to try and identify which specific one. A door is shut, gently but loud enough for me to hear. It seems to be in roughly the same vicinity as the switch. A washer (or is it a dryer?) hums in the distance. There is no gritting of teeth, no tapping of feet, no squealing. At this moment he's as focused as 46-year-old Jack Nicklaus was before sinking the game-winning putt at the 1986 Masters. He is excited again; a few staccato grits are accompanied by a primal squeal. The sound of velcro can be heard; it seems someone is putting on a pair of shoes, or taking a pair off. He screeches with far more passion, but not enough to reach an apex of delight quite yet. More gritting. I hear a sound as it penetrates the wall in front of my computer setup. I have a suspicion of who was adjusting Velcro; she has a tendency to wear shoes of this sort on a daily basis. She is a cool older lady, welcoming. She seems to ask for little, apart from being able to watch her shows and participate in activities with the rest of the group here at the Joshua House. The 'squealer' squeals again, though it is more like a laugh. He bears more than a slight resemblance to Beavis, and I can't help but see myself as a Butt-Head. We tend to get in antics together, though nothing yet that has proven a severe nuisance to the community at large. The older lady says a few words to herself; I am able to make out what sounds like the name 'Cameron.' She shuffles her feet down the hallway. "Good morning," she says. "How are you?" I turn around to see who it is, and see her propping herself against my doorway. "We're having cereal for breakfast today...or maybe oatmeal...I don't know. But Marie took the bowls out. I put the cups and spoons out last night, so everything would be ready for this morning." With a smile, I thank her. "Today is the 24th already," she observes. She is wearing a dark blue shirt; her gray hair is a symbol of her dignity. I have no reason not to believe she was the one adjusting the Velcro; as I look down, I observe tall white socks covered by black sneakers which do indeed have Velcro straps. "Let's go, let's go, let's go," I hear the house manager say to the 'squealer,' before admonishing his sister for not sitting up straight on the couch, observing the aural and visual transmissions being conveyed on a television set currently playing host to "Reba" reruns. (It's never been my favorite show, but I love Reba's music.) Apparently, "let's go" was our breakfast call for this morning. Each CNA seems to have their own preference. One of them loudly shouts out "breakfast!" Another will say "all right, guys, come." Yet another likes to say "(go) wash your hands." Heading to the table, I am met with multiple humbling reminders of just what a difficult job the manager of this home has. I know for a fact I would fare no better if the roles were reversed; in fact, I would be a whole lot worse. My housemate engages in a 'squealing' song, both of us now back at our computers. He squeals in multiple pitches, almost seeming to form a melody. His rhythm is steady, and this time has a discernible time signature. Unfortunately, I am not musically inclined enough to relay it to you, but anyone who has had even remedial training on the piano could tell you right away. Alas, no such folks are anywhere to be found in this house, and I took my last piano lesson over twenty years ago. A 'glittery' sound effect, for severe lack of a better word, can be heard from a certain housemate's phone. I already know which one, for she is the one who had encouraged me to get back into playing Candy Crush Saga. Having deleted it from my phone, I feel the temptation to try and play it again. But one level turns into another level, watching one ad to gain a free powerup turns into watching another ad to gain another free powerup, and sooner or later you become an addict. It is not unlike the experience of going to a casino, being stimulated by the loud sounds, bright colors and lights. Everything is engineered to get you hooked, and I have read too many horror stories of what happens to people who get addicted to mobile games. I would rather stick with my beloved "Tecmo Super Bowl II: Special Edition," and sports games in general, and make new (virtual) memories with old athletes. The real Dan Marino probably had a relatively normal day yesterday, but in my world it was anything but; brought back to 1992 by way of a time machine, he threw for 29 shy of 300 yards, guiding Miami to a 39-9 victory over the Buccaneers, in a rare show of not only offensive but defensive excellence. In real life, Dan is over sixty years old, and long removed from professional competition. Hopefully, he is enjoying his retirement. One of the joys of old games like the "Tecmo Super Bowl" titles is how they allow you to let these legends relive their past glory, and create new glory, even if it is only imaginary. If you wanted to use Marino in the latest Madden, you would have to either create him (and that's presuming the 'create-a-player' feature hasn't been taken out, like so many other features old versions of Madden used to have; you have to go back to the PS2/Xbox/GameCube era to get the absolute best combination of features) or download a DLC which you may or may not have to invest money to get. Even then, you are pitting Marino against a new generation of athletes; as a historian, I prefer the idea of having him face the best of his own generation, on a playing field that faithfully recreates the NFL of the 90s. Marino vs. Aikman makes significantly more sense to me than Marino vs. Prescott. I prefer to have Marino playing with his old teammates, rather than being asked to lead a new era of athletes. I'd rather pair Marino with the Marks Brothers (Clayton and Duper) than have him throwing passes to Tyreek Hill. While today's athletes are, on average, stronger, I don't think they have the work ethic of the old veterans. When they say the older generations were better, the numbers won't lie to you; the only reason you're seeing more eye-catching numbers today is because the rules were changed to allow for more offense, and make it easier to score. The rules also put more restrictions on defensive players; Gary Reasons' 'hit' on Bobby Humphrey in 1989 could never be duplicated in the NFL of today. These days, breathing on Mahomes or Jackson would be enough to get a defender ejected.