Belgians don’t cut corners, Italians seem to do nothing but cut corners, and Americans are somewhere in between. As I drive around Brussels and try to dodge the driving customs of 26 countries, I have to tune into a Jazz radio station (89.10FM) to calm my nerves. Lately, I can’t get enough of Tony DeSare’s version of Prince’s “Kiss.” Fortunately, it was playing when I recently parallel-parked in a compromising position with one tire on the curb. At the sight of my maddening misdeamnor, a Belgian strolling by stopped dead in his tracks, raised his hands to the level of his nose, and began clapping his hands like a butler summoning his manservant. “Bravo!” he exclaimed in reverential mockery. Here, if a parking position doesn’t meet the requirements of the Department of Motor Vehicles, the average Belgian will likely bark at the driver. Forget about parking on curbs or corners or backwards or sideways in Brussels. Some days it seems that it’s all about working between the lines here with not much thinking outside the box. But it’s nothing that a little patience and jazz can’t heal.