Charles Simic fixes his high beams on one of my pastimes, toilet reading. His is apparently pursued in private residences, when for example he feels the need to withdraw from dull society at dinner parties. A seat on the toilet with any kind of reading material is preferable to self-medicating with too many adult beverages. He mentions Halliwell's Film Guide, which is indeed perfect. Every little review makes you think of something else you suddenly need to know, time passes, you notice nothing till your haunches are numb from lack of blood, and by then you are fortified by the prospect of rearranging the Netflix queue at the first opportunity. The Baseball Encyclopedia is similarly utile.
While I agree with Simic about the suitability of reference works, I don't think I would retire to the bathroom at a dinner party, even if I ever received invitations to attend them. (Probably it's becoming clear why I do not.) How much can you read before your absence is noted? Moreover, it's hard to get comfortable in the private bathroom of your host. It's made for his comfort, not yours, and, worse, you can't count upon not being interrupted. You're behind a locked door, but someone will soon knock or push on it--beverages are being served--and behind the door you sit in the open. The key concept is withdrawal, and withdrawal is defeated when the world comes knocking.
Withdrawal is abetted by anonymity, which is why I take my Nook or my paperback with me to the citadel of anonymity, the public restroom. The fact of the stall--extremely attractive. You're alone even when someone else is very near. Instead of worrying about interruptions I worry about the charge to my Nook. Society is a conspiracy against concentration and the refuges are contracting. Sometimes I'm about as happy to come out of there as infants are to be born.