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

6:18am. WPBT-TV is slightly more than midway through this morning's "Arthur" rerun, a later one from when the show had switched gears from its original hand-drawn art style and standard resolution to HD and Flash animation. The show still looks as good as it always did, though being someone who grew up with the early seasons, I'll always have an affectionate soft spot for how things were at the start, 'errors' and all. There are a few constants that carried over, most notably certain voice artists. Though Arthur and D.W. had the misfortune of their voice actors being switched out on a rotational basis every several years as their performers inevitably underwent puberty, three of the featured characters in the episode currently being broadcast--Binky, Buster, and Muffy--kept their original voices from the first episode to the last. Hearing Bruce Dinsmore, Daniel Brochu, and Melissa Altro exhibiting their vocal skills is another inspiring reminder of the craftsmanship of professionals, a testament to the boundless wonders of which the human voice is capable. To the east, a bird sings for the moment. This time around, I feel no need for it to battle against "Arthur" for sole possession of my interest. The newer episodes, strangely enough, make for good background noise. They function well on their own, and are mostly as entertaining as they had been when the show was in its 'prime'. Going to the end credits, I see that Terrence Scammell was one of the featured voice actors. It is a unique treat, as Scammell is not a regular on the series, perhaps due to his obligations with other shows as he has become one of the eminent voice directors in the Montreal scene. He is a good friend of Sonja Ball, and along with her and Rick Jones was one of Montreal's 'terrific three' that became a mainstay on nearly all shows dubbed in Quebec in the late 1980s and throughout the 1990s. As the pool of voice actors in Montreal was not as immense back in those days compared to what it is today, they had less competition to deal with, and the few competitors who emerged from the depths of obscurity to enter the fray found themselves contending with a formidable triumvirate. Today, it can be argued that all three belong on Montreal's "Mount Rushmore" of voice actors, though the fourth face on that monument may always be up for debate; my personal choice is Holly Gauthier-Frankel, and I cannot imagine many people in or outside Quebec would want to hurl rotten tomatoes at me for it. It's not a particularly controversial pick, all things considered. Actually, of the four on that "Mount Rushmore", it seems all except Sonja have done voice direction, which is unfortunate, given her talent and versatility. If I had the opportunity to work with her, it would be an honor to let her direct me and the other actors, should I end up creating one of the movies that plays out in my head on a daily basis (particularly when I am at work; in the midst of dishwashing and putting down labels, a lot of space is opened up for my imagination to run wild). For now, it is a dream. Hearing chatter in the living room, I head out to see if breakfast is ready; as it has turned out to be a false alarm, I retreat to my sanctum. The second time it is heard, it is indeed a breakfast call; we head into the dining room and are greeted by bowls filled with cereal but devoid of milk. All of us, save for one house-mate, soon find our cereals bathing in low-fat (or fat-free, depending on what's available) dairy goodness. Tucking into my Cheerios, it seems the milk has been sitting out for a while, not long enough for it to curdle but long enough that it isn't cold anymore. I can't complain one bit, one way or the other. A bowl of cereal, even with semi-cold milk, is always a satisfying treat, particularly on a Tuesday morning that will see me staying after work to participate in the latest session of the drama program here at JARC. About midway through the cereal, our house manager arrives and is greeted with a chorus of hellos. I have not heard back from her yet on the revisions I made to an obituary she shared with me yesterday; listening intently to her memories of the deceased, I began to understand why she has been so stressed lately. It is a difficult job to manage a group home, doubly so when you have to do it against the backdrop of having lost a beloved brother and friend. Still, I believe they will see each other again. And with any luck, or if fate ordains it, I will be reunited with the relatives I have lost too. Shortly after the house manager's arrival, the 'night shift' CNA--the same young lady who was such a good listener when I told her about myself a few days ago, filling in for the lady who normally handles these responsibilities on weeknights and weekday mornings--served us the second half of breakfast, a thin half of bagel with a sliver of cream cheese and half a banana. Seeing a 'sneak preview' of my plate, as the same meal has already been served to a couple of house-mates in advance of my receiving mine, an idea comes to my mind. I normally wouldn't be so daring, but there has to be some way to make the meal more exciting. And then it hits me: the same spoon I've been using to enjoy spoonfuls of Cheerios could be converted into a makeshift knife. It is nothing that has not been done before, but a concept that thrills me in the moment. Taking my spoon, I divide the halved banana into many small pieces, and place each on the bagel in a circular formation, creating an impromptu 'banana wrap' by folding the bagel itself in half with the banana pieces now in it. I could just as easily enjoy the elements by themselves, but there is a satisfaction in having them together in combination. Throughout the meal, an old song that had come back to my mind--the opening theme of "Inner Space", composed by Sven Libaek in the early 1970s--was playing in my head, not on a constant loop but in what felt like a series of stops and starts. Returning to my room, I search for it on YouTube and find that an old upload of the entire soundtrack to that series is still available, nine years after it was first posted. I save a copy to my hard drive, with intentions of enjoying it offline provided the Internet should go down for whatever reason. I use the Realtek audio manager to experiment with different types of reverb, adjust the levels, and even lower/raise the pitch one semitone. Regardless of what I do, the main melody never ceases to sound incredible; such is the brilliance of Libaek as a composer. The day flies by, the melody revisiting my mind in different distortions and manipulations, and before I know it I've returned to the sanctum once again. I have decided to stick with the Willy Loman monologue. A bird weaves its song into one of Libaek's musical tapestries, its melodic musings blending brilliantly with the vivacious vibraphone. It is hard to believe the day has almost reached its conclusion. The atmosphere is darker than normal, due to overcast skies and a prevalence of rain. Checking my emails, I see I've received a 'thank you' message from the house manager; apparently, my rewrites on the obituary met with her approval! I also see that I've heard back from a representative of Ken Burns; on a whim, I decided to reach out and ask him for filmmaking advice, and got an awesome PDF where he shares some of his perspectives for the benefit of aspirants and veterans alike. It is a wonderful document that I plan to hold onto as long as possible; to have simply been acknowledged out of countless people vying for the attention of a legend, that alone made contacting the man worth it.