When the stars converge Sunday night on the Kodak Theatre, many of them will be most concerned about whether or not they take home that little gold statuette. But for those who are not even nominated, where’s the fun in it all?

We’ll tell you. It’s in a gift basket given to those who present the awards. A consolation prize to some, but what a consolation prize.

Stainless steel Ebel watches. Givere truffles. iPods. Digital cameras. Silk blankets. Hand-embroidered scarves. Velvet evening bags. Three nights in Cabo. Meditation chairs. BriteSmile gift certificates. Hint Mints. Wine. Vodka. Tequila.

Sure they could afford everything in there several times over, but that’s not the point. It’s so much better to receive than to buy.

These 125 baskets, weighing about 40 pounds and worth close to $20,000 each, are not personalized. How disappointing for the stars, who might hope that a little more thought went into them.

Well, if we were doing the gift baskets, here’s what we’d add:

l For Benicio del Toro, the name of a plastic surgeon who could do a little nip and tuck for those suitcases under his sleepy-sexy eyes. But not the name of Fox News’ Greta van Susteren’s surgeon. (Don’t you wonder why these people who can afford the best in plastic surgery always seem to head straight down to the bargain basement?)

l For Cameron Diaz, a new stylist. This girl always looks like she tore out of bed during a fire drill. We’d give her some ibuprofen, too. Surely her cheeks must ache from grinning like a maniac all the time.

l For Russell Crowe, some boxing gloves, words of wisdom from Dale Carnegie, anger management classes and a case of Trojans. If he’s determined to sleep his way through Hollywood, he’s gotta take precautions.

l For Julia Roberts, two books: “Looking for Mr. Right” and “Women Who Love Too Much”; and a Lady Schick, because she’s no longer with Benjamin Bratt and may have a hairy pit relapse.