I’ve been reading a lot of news stories lately that keep referring to our economic doldrums as, “The Great Recession.” “The Washington Post reports today on a new study highlighting the effects of the ‘Great Recession’ on marriage,” read one such piece, and still another told us, “How to throw the perfect ‘Great Recession’ party with only a few cabbage stalks, a half-used candle and a dusty bottle of peppermint schnapps.” (Or something to that effect.) The more I see it, the more it bugs me that such a tremendous, devastating, unrelenting period in our nation’s (and the world’s) history has such an anemic and pitiful name. “The Great Recession.” Phooey, I say. What kind of name is that? If you want people to stand up and notice — to really shake in their boots and then go trembling into the world ready to do something about it — we need a name that will make the hair on a fat man’s back standup straight. Something that strikes the right balance of fear, trepidation and doom. Like “The Great Morass.” Or “Crappyville.”