wehub-resource-sync
72 lines
2.9 KiB
HTML
72 lines
2.9 KiB
HTML
<html>
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<head>
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<meta charset="utf-8" />
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<style>
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#result {
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font-size: 40px;
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margin: 20%;
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}
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a {
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color: steelblue;
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}
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textarea {
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width: 50%;
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height: 50%;
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margin-left: 25%;
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margin-top: 5%;
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}
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</style>
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</head>
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<script>
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//create the worker
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var worker = new Worker('./_worker.js')
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//respond to it finishing
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worker.addEventListener('message', function (msg) {
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console.log('worker response:', msg)
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// render results in some html:
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let rows = msg.data.map(o => `<div>${o.text}</div>`).join('')
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// boom.
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document.getElementById('result').innerHTML = rows
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}, false)
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window.onload = function () {
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//send the worker some text
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let text = document.getElementById('text').value
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worker.postMessage(text)
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}
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</script>
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<body>
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compromise <a href="https://www.html5rocks.com/en/tutorials/workers/basics/">web-worker</a> demo
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<div><a href="https://github.com/spencermountain/compromise/blob/master/demo/plugin.html">view source</a></div>
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<p></p>
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<textarea id="text">
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Now this is a story all about how my life got flipped-turned upside down.
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and I'd like to take a minute, just sit right there, I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel-Air.
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In west Philadelphia born and raised, on the playground was where I spent most of my days.
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Chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all cool, and all shooting some b-ball outside of the school.
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When a couple of guys who were up to no good started making trouble in my neighborhood,
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I got in one little fight and my mom got scared, she said, "You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air".
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I begged and pleaded with her day after day but she packed my suitcase and sent me on my way.
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She gave me a kiss and then she gave me my ticket. I put my Walkman on and said, "I might as well kick it".
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First class, yo, this is bad. Drinking orange juice out of a champagne glass.
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Is this what the people of Bel-Air living like? Hmm, this might be alright.
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But wait I hear they're prissy, bourgeois, all that. Is this the type of place that they just send this cool cat?
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I don't think so, I'll see when I get there.
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I hope they're prepared for the prince of Bel-Air.
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Well, the plane landed and when I came out. There was a dude who looked like a cop standing there with my name out.
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I ain't trying to get arrested yet, I just got here.
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I sprang with the quickness like lightning, disappeared.
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I whistled for a cab and when it came near. The license plate said "Fresh" and it had dice in the mirror.
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If anything I could say that this cab was rare, but I thought, "Nah, forget it" – "Yo, home to Bel-Air"!
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I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8 and I yelled to the cabbie, "Yo home smell ya later".
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I looked at my kingdom, I was finally there. To sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel-Air.
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</textarea>
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<p class="desc">worker output:</p>
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<div id="result"></div>
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</body>
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</html> |