Welcome back to the Latinas in Tech TV series on Substack! I’m Chakra Girl, your interim hostess and show runner since Dr. Nutmeg is still in a coma. You can see her subconscious JavaScript Dreams if you scroll down, followed by another episode of “Model Ricans.” But first, we’ve got some great news about a Latina in Tech turned ARTrepreneur (you may remember when Dr. Nutmeg interviewed her earlier this year):
Congrats, Edith Quintanilla!
After entering the Latinas in Tech Mentorship Program on Nov. 29, 2023, Edith Quintanilla of Houston, Tex. successfully landed a $10,000 investment from an angel investor in October. That’s less than a year to a huge step on her entrepreneurial journey, y’all!!
How the heck did Edith do it?
Built up her confidence by creating a one-year vision and goals.
Transferred her customer success skills from her previous tech jobs at Indeed.com and Emtrain to her own Etsy shop PoderosaDivina.
Created a pitch deck using the Latinas in Tech Entrepreneurship Program template to understand her market competition and her own value proposition.
Networked with other small business owners in her own community.
Remained open to constructive feedback and coaching before meeting with a potential angel investor.
And that’s not all! Edith also maintained positivity and commitment to her own goals in spite of financial worries, Hurricane Beryl, and a few health issues through prayer, meditation, yoga, and relying on her enthusiastic network of cheerleaders — Her sister, her boyfriend, and Mel Feliciano.
Edith plans to spend the $10,000 on shop supplies and operations.
If you’ve started shopping for the holidays, check out Edith’s Etsy shop PoderosaDivina. Her new Sisterly Love prints are the perfect gift for your BFF, colleague, prima, or any woman who has made a difference in your life this year.
Edith, we celebrate you on this Thanksgiving Day!!! Thank you for inspiring all us Latinas — not just in tech — but in art, business, data, and animation.
You truly embody the values of PoderosaDivina!!!
Xoxo
If you’re in the Houston area, check out Edith’s first solo exhibition at the Katy Angels Gala II on February 1, 2025.
Dr. Nutmeg’s Javascript Dreams
In other news from The FACTory, Dr. Nutmeg has been using Javascript to work out the grief that pushed her into a coma. I know, it’s weird, right??? But hey, that’s just what Latinas in Tech do. Here is the latest code we’ve been detecting in her subconscious:
How Do We Decide Which Data Structure to Use? We've learned 4 so far:
1. Arrays
2. Objects
3. Maps
4. Sets
Do we need a simple list of values?
If yes, we need an array or a set.
When do we use an array?
Use when you need an ordered list of values.
Use when you need to manipulate data.
When do we use a set?
Use when you need to work with unique values.
Use when high performance is really important - operations like searching for an item or deleting an item from a set can be up to 10x faster in sets than in arrays. Use case for sets: to remove duplicate values for an array. So, sets are not meant to replace arrays, but rather to complement them when dealing with unique values.
Do we need key/value pairs?
If yes, we need a map or an object.
Keys allow us to describe values.
When to use objects?
The traditional key/value data structure before we had maps in ES6.
Easier to write using the . or [] operator.
When to use maps?
Better suited for key/value data storage.
Easy to compute the size of a map.
When you need keys that are not strings.
Coding Challenge #3
We have a map with a log of events that occurred during a hurricane.
The values are the events themselves, and the keys are the minutes in which the events occurred.
const gameEvents = new Map ([
['17,' 'Panic'],
['36,' 'Negotiation'],
['47,' 'Panic'],
['61,' 'Negotiation'],
['64,' 'Distraction'],
['69,' 'Run'],
['70,' 'Negotiation'],
['72,' 'Negotiation'],
['76,' 'Panic'],
['80,' 'Panic'],
['92,' 'Run'],
]);
1. Create an array 'events' of the different events that happened (no duplicates).
My answer:
events = ['Panic', 'Negotiation', 'Distraction', 'Run',]
console.log(events);
The right answer:
const events = [...new Set(hurricaneEvents.values())];
console.log(events);
2. After the hurricane ended, it was found that the distraction at minute 64 didn't actually happen. Remove this event from the hurricane events log.
My answer:
let events = new Set (['Panic', 'Negotiation', 'Run',]);
The right answer:
hurricaneEvents.delete(64);
3. Print the following string to the console: "An event happened, on average, every 9 minutes"
My answer (incomplete because I wasn't sure what I was doing):
console.log('An event happened, on average, every ${} minutes.');
The right answer:
console.log('An event happened, on average, every ${90 / hurricaneEvents.size} minutes.');Model Ricans Episode 4: 1988
Bueno — November’s National Novel Writing Month is over, pero an average of 66.25% of you opened the first 3 episodes of “Model Ricans” this month, so we’ll continue!
In last week’s episode, Desiree somehow time travels back to 1987, at the exact moment she and her family of Model Ricans are uprooting from New York to re-plant in Orlando.
In this week’s episode, Desiree is in her second semester of seventh grade, and she still has no idea where she is supposed to plant herself, or who she is supposed to be in this new environment.
1988
Mrs. Lanny underlines the year 1988 on the chalkboard.
The white numbers are blurry from my desk, even though I'm sitting in the second row of the classroom. Where are my glasses? I pull a hardcover case out of my backpack and adjust the frames on my face. The eights look like sideways infinity signs and Mrs. Lanny's white lab coat wraps me with a sense of deja vu.
"It's a New Year!" Mrs. Lanny's enthusiasm is an obvious attempt to pull the class out of post holiday blues, but we are in middle school. We are depressed regardless of the season. This much I know after one full semester in Orlando Snorelando, where all hope for the future goes to die. Every day is the same. Wake up, catch the bus, sit alone on the bus, go to seven different classes with kids who ignore me, eat lunch alone, walk down hallways alone. Pretend our first Christmas in Orlando was normal without hot chocolate and Rockefeller Center.
Mrs. Lanny moves slowly between our desks, her huge butt barely squeezing through. "Every New Year is an opportunity to reinvent ourselves." She pauses dramatically right next to my desk before continuing. "I want y'all to spend the first 20 minutes of class writing your answers to the following three questions on the board."
Who are you?
Who were you last year?
Who do you want to be this year?
Groans sweep the room. My forehead drops to my desk. Why does it seem like time and math were different in New York? And then the sound of pencils scribbling on paper. A bunch of kids declaring who they are at 7:30 a.m. on a Monday morning. I get my notebook out, reluctantly following everyone around me.
Sky Bowman coughs. It's a phlegmy gurgle sound that needs to be spat. Gross. He stands and walks out of the classroom swinging his stringy bleached blond hair out of his gorgeous green eyes. It's totally slow-mo. I hate him. I love him. He didn't even look at me. Like he doesn't even know me. I wish I could follow him to see where he’s really going. Maybe I should cough. The logic spontaneously computes in my brain:
Mrs. Lanny lets Sky Bowman leave because he's got phlegm.
If I cough, she probably won't even notice. I am an invisible new girl.
IF I can follow him and see where he really goes, maybe I can be popular by association. And then Mrs. Lanny will see me. Seems like more fun than trying to answer questions I don't know how to answer.
Who am I? Who was I last year? Who do I want to be this year? Ummmmm....not invisible? I start to draw a hangman without a head. Looking around the classroom, none of these kids are like me. When I talk they tell me my accent sounds funny or weird even though I sound just like Samantha on Who's the Boss? One time, Brandi, one of the popular blond girls, asked if I'm Italian so I told her, “No, I'm Nuyorican because I'm not from Puerto Rico like my Parents.”
Brandi rolled her eyes before repeating my words slowly. "New-Yo-Rican? What's that?"
“Like Maria from Sesame Street, rememba?”
“I rememberrrr Oscar and Big Bird, I don't know anything about Maria or NuyoRico or whatever.” And then Brandi turned her back toward me. For good. I had one chance to befriend the most popular girl in school and I blew it. Plus, I barely know anything about Puerto Rico so how can I say that's where I'm from?
I gotta change my strategy.
Can I write that I was the most popular girl in my school in New York?
No. I can't write that. Mrs. Lanny won't believe me. But all the boys wanted to kiss me so it had to be true. One time Timmy Maloney kissed me at the bus stop. When I told Big Sister about it, she told me to punch Timmy in the face. Poor Timmy. Maybe that's why none of the boys look at me here. I look too tough. Ha. Yeah, right. Scribble that. I'm the chipmunk and Big Sister is the tough one. I wonder if she hates college as much as I hate seventh grade. Probably not. She came home for only two days with her roommate during Christmas break. Neither spoke to me. They looked at me and Lil Bro like we were little kids.
But I’m not little anymore.
Who am I here?
I look up at the chalkboard, thinking about 1988 in relation to 1987. Everything is different. I used to be the smartest in my class in New York. Looks like I'm stupid here. I don't even know who I am. Regardless, I write on my paper: Last year I was the fastest runner in New York. This year, I am…uhhhhh. I don’t know. Ugh, this is so boring. Is 20 minutes done yet? I don't have any concept of time anymore.
Everyone is still writing like they know exactly who they are.
Except for that new kid in the back. He's staring off into space. There is a saxophone next to his desk. Maybe he's in band like me. I wonder if he tries to play the Pink Panther theme like I do. He starts writing frantically, as if he just got an idea. When I look down at my paper, it is full of crossed out sentences and does not answer the teacher's questions at all. I'm definitely going to fail this assignment.
"Can I get a drink of wahhhter?" Brandi stands before the teacher answers. She's showing off her Outback Red shirt and pants and penny loafers, as usual. I stare at her all the time in the cafeteria. In the hallway. In class. I hate the way she says wahhhhhter. It's wawwwwwter. I've been trying to hold on to my New York accent as a way to remember who I used to be. Clearly, it's not working. Should I write about that?
Why are we writing an essay in math class, anyways?
Mrs. Lanny tells Brandi to turn in her essay before she leaves. The most popular girl in school and the most popular boy in school both left class early.
Why does life seem so much easier for them?
Maybe if I close my eyes I will time travel to the future. Wait for it. Peeking out of one eye, hoping the scenery will change but instead Mrs. Lanny says, "OK, everyone, time is up, please place your essay in the basket on my desk." Ay ya yay. I don't know who I am. I don't know who I want to be. I've written an essay about being not being invisible anymore but I used to be the fastest runner who punched Timmy Maloney in the face.
I wait in the line formed in front of Mrs. Lanny's desk. The kid I saw with the saxophone is standing behind me, tapping me on my shoulder and whispering in my ear.
Oh no.
I am mortified and rush out of the classroom.
Like a popular kid, I don't ask Mrs. Lanny permission to go to the bathroom as blood runs down the length of my leg.
Share this post